The Red Door is Dor

Archived from the former firedocs blog.22 February 2006

Dor was the first Tulpa I ever met. A thoughtform placed in me by some entities I won't bore and scare people by describing, it (which I think of as 'he' because I personalize everything) was doing a fabulous job as a psychic/psyche/body 'block' on a certain group of memories.

It took me four days of meditation, of constantly bringing myself back to it, of never looking directly at it, of unbelievable focus, will and work, to finally deal with him directly; his biggest talent was misdirection. When I finally could address him, I pointed out that no matter that I knew another identity had created and placed him there, still, now he lived in me, he was part of me. I offered him a deal. If he would instead morph into a "door" at my intent, he could not only maintain his fabulous block-ness, and I made sure he knew I admired his quality there, but he could also "evolve" in the opposite regard as well, and become far more than he was. I told him he was ignored and going nowhere currently; but I could bring him into my 'sacred space', my visualized meditational world that gets my energy and attention at times, and he could be more.

I believe that "all things long for evolvement." He was already using my own energy to live as a small part of me. I'm management at heart. Why not have him working for me instead of for someone else? And he agreed. And as the first part of the deal he became a door and let me through.

I never did figure out the details. By that time I hardly cared. Succeeding in getting past him had become the bigger issue. I found childhood things, issues drenched in that vaguely sticky brown-grey-dust that in my archetype work always symbolizes things hidden from myself. That night, in May of 1995 after having finally gotten past the block, I fell through my body before I was anywhere near sleep, and ended up talking to the entities in some astral zone too weird to believe. What I did believe, with utter disgust I might add, is that they had re-blocked a portion of what it had taken me years to become aware of finally and days to deal with. I gave up. It was just not worth that much trouble frankly.

They gave up too, in a different way. The block, whom I had renamed Door, had failed them. He had converted. Been subverted. He might carry the core of founder intent, but he had become my soldier, not theirs. They didn't use him again. I let it go, and ensconsed Door in my sacred space, as the front door to a small mansion over in a nearby territory, which I often visited solely for the humor of seeing so many bizarre astral things, like my own psychic Star Wars Bar Scene. He was door and security guard and bouncer rolled up in one.

But I devolved. It was that year that started it, and within another calendar year my psychic 'awareness' was 99% gone. I spent a decade in grim trauma, drama-queen, psychic-brick, stuck in hell state of mind. My sacred space, which I could not really feel, sense or see, was ignored, abandoned, and faded. Door with it.

Ten years later, I began slowly waking up. I am still in that process, only a small % clear so far. But I woke up enough to be able to roll out my space and feel it, sense it, sense my outer guides, talk to my inner guide and archetypes.

And finally, I went to visit Door. He knew I was coming, and he was lovely. For the occasion my creative subconscious and he wrought his image into a really magnificent sort of ornate golden royal door. But the mansion was empty, having long ago lost the "free energy" my intent supplied it that had drawn the many aspects of me to party there. He was alone. He had grown since I had first met him; during the time I was psychically active and he my door, he had evolved closer toward autonomy. He was still quite some way from being fully so, but he had a good deal more 'independent awareness' than he'd had initially. But still, he was alone. He did not accuse me, but I sensed my own betrayal of honor, of a sort. I had made him a promise and then abandoned him. He had done what I asked, become what I asked, functioned within me as I requested, and then I had just walked away for ten years.

So we had another conversation about his role within me. "Door," I said, "Maybe you could expand your role again. Your experience as a door and a block, and in judgement regarding what had intent toward me, is surely a great base for you helping me to see through walls in myself, to find doorways of opportunity and insight, to recognize what is being hidden from me vs. what I am hiding from myself vs. what is simply not there. I'm sure that metaphysically, there are many correlates to what you already are, that you could grow into." He loved the idea. He wanted to be more involved with me, although that is a given--I am an energy source, of course, and his own evolution as a thoughtform into an identity depends on what I put into him. Guilt motivated me, and curiosity. It had seemed an inspired idea and I wondered if he had given it to me.

To show me how well he could do in this role, he took an active role with me the rest of the evening. Every thought I had, he showed me the walls. The limitations. The assumptions. The doorways out. And those in. He showed me how it related to other things in life. He was similar to the Narrator aspect, but not autocratic, and instead of talking at me he simply "let me see." He was similar to the sounds-like-Seth aspect too, but not so logical and again, not a speaker; it was more like he would just clear up the picture for me in some sense, and the seeing and following that insight and new thought path was up to me. It was a job application of sorts, and he outdid himself. I was literally astounded, over and over again. His insight was exceptional, inspired.

I agreed to the new role. I renamed him Dor, a "real identity name" not just a function name, in recognition of his evolution and potential.

He asked for only one thing: an organic physical, perhaps wood would do, shaped like a tiny door, painted red like chinese red, and placed in a tiny bag that could go on a string around my neck so that it would lay close to my heart chakra. I almost laughed. I recognized this as something shamanic cultures are known to do. I understood that he wanted, felt he deserved and even 'needed' as part of what I was asking of him, some kind of anchor in my physical reality. It needed to be something real, of the earth; plastic wouldn't do. He preferred a dark red, because it is so strongly anchored in the physical. And he wanted it to touch me or be near me. So, I told him that I would do this for him, and that once I had done it, we would be set.

But I didn't. I got passive/aggressive about it. A lurking fear that his origin from "them" and me giving him so much more energy worried me. The famous Buddhist story of the Tulpa kept coming to mind for me. At some point of evolution his longing for growth will make him long for autonomy, yet as he is a part of me, moreso the more dense in energy he gets, that will be a battle between us when the day comes. He began a thoughtform but will gradually become the equivalent of an inorganic on psychic steroids, and then eventually, an identity in his own right, though I've no clue to the details of what that will mean for him... or me.

After about a month, Dor showed up in a meditation and asked me if he was to remain alone; a door to the mansion so underutilized it was nearly transparent. We had come to an agreement, then I had renegged on it. Just like I had made one with him previously and then abandoned him for 10 years. Fortunately, time doesn't really mean anything to him, but the guilt bothered me anyway. I assured him I really was fully willing to commit to this, and to demonstrate this, I sat down and wrote it out in a couple of pages longhand. Now, my intent was anchored in the physical and fully expressed. The agreement is a done deal.

And still I put off getting him his 'anchor'. I thought of it often. But over a year passed and I did nothing to make that happen except think about it in a positive way.

Recently I have had some substantial personal changes and decided it was time. Time to SEE. Time to get clear. Time to start taking care of my obligations and even the most minor issues of integrity. And definitely, time to resolve my unfairness toward Dor, and allow him to become within me what I find so fascinating.

But let's face it. I am not wearing a stupid bag around my neck. People would probably think it was for drugs, haha. And I understood his concept of door but I decided that I would find some natural-things-of-earth that were nice, that he could anchor in, and that I could keep near my heart chakra, and as long as we were both clear on his scope and what they represented, something like say, a stone might be better than dead wood anyway. A pendant necklace would be the perfect solution. Something long enough to lay under my clothing for the most part, so I could always wear it. Something sturdy enough I could sleep and shower in it, so it was a constant companion.

I commissioned a jewelry artist Kristen Vasques (who does very nice work) to create a pendant necklace for me and chose some differing shades of red stones she had on hand. A nice red jasper (that looks like cinnabar marble, has the slight brown edge) in the shape of a crystal. A good sized round red carnelian, a true red. A couple small beads of copal (ancient) amber, with the slight yellow/orange edge. All in all, a spectrum of dark reds and three very different materials. Some copper beads, a good silver chain, and I had a pendant for a talisman or a necklace. I like it. I hoped Dor would like it. I put it on when it arrived and that night I did a short meditation where I told Dor about it.

We will see.

Destiny

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 09 January 2006

What is destiny?

Is it the need of the heart to assign some meaning to the randomness of where we end up?

Is it some convenient term to describe whatever we secretly wish for our lives? Or is what we secretly wish for our lives there inside us as the small voice of who we are and what we're here for?

Is it something real, something at the core of all our existence, something our shallow negative culture has bred out of our attention?

What happens when the one thing your sense of destiny has been telling you consistently since you were 5 years old seems improbable at best, ego-bound or delusional at worst? How many years do you fight that sense, no matter how strong or conscious it is, no matter how it manifests at different ages, before it goes away and you feel like the window closed on some critical thing and you've lost it; you may as well die, if your primary purpose here was missed. At what time does a person find the courage to deal with their own resistance and give themselves up to what some larger, more powerful internal sense of self wants?

I am a magnet

For all kinds of deeper wonderment

I am a wunderkind

And I live the envelope pushed far enough to believe that

I am a princess on the way to my throne

Destined to serve

Destined to roam

(Alanis Morisette's Wunderkind from the Narnia soundtrack)

I miss Archangel Michael. But from Jan 1-6 I had meditations that blew my mind and found me some really key elements of self. Whatever and wherever I am a year from now, I suspect will be in part because of those six days of the creation of a new world for me.

I call it destiny.

Oklahoma Suicide Bomber

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 07 December 2005

I was reading in my dream. It was a thin column of fully justified (straight on each side) text. It was a newspaper presentation. I was in the midst of reading the column which was about the fairly recent event of a young college man who, for reasons unknown, attempted to blow himself up in a stadium with 80,000 people at a sports event, but instead blew himself up outside it. [Note: I've seen a couple references to this online, but don't read newspapers.] As I was reading along, suddenly a yellow highlighter came in and highlighted the text I was reading, emphasizing the last part of a sentence. The article continued, with more text below, but the instant I finished reading the highlighted text, "my body woke me up" with that specific highlighted sentence in my head as a concept and in my memory as a visual.

The text looked like this:

...and something here and something here and something here and something here and the bomb exploded, having been triggered by the wireless detonator. And something here and something here and something here and something here and something here and...

So my body wass instantly awake and alert, aware of what I read, and my conscious mind says (4:47am for godssakes!), "So?!"

Who cares? What does it matter? He blew himself up, we know. And then it occurs to me: the wireless detonator.

It might have been him but my sense suddenly was: someone else triggered it. Not him. Someone else had a detonator, he was not working alone, and they were relatively near him.

The story (now that confusion has at least in part subsided) goes that the college kid did it for reasons unknown. (See map, thanks zombie) . Three blocks away is a mosque which is linked to a student association of Islam; the kid had various islamic materials and bombmaking materials in his own part of the room, but that is considered an incredible, unrelated coincidence (to the fact that islamic persons are infamous for blowing themselves up and trying to take others with them). A couple of kids said they had seen him go to the mosque (a few blocks away) but as the officials of the mosque, after the event, said "Neverseenhimbeforeinourlives" or something like that, police say they aren't sure.

OK, so a few blocks away from his apartment is the mosque and then farther away is the sports arena. He tried to get in, but wouldn't let his backpack be searched, and so he went around to the opposite side of the arena and tried to get in that doorway instead (gate 6). Again they insisted on searching his backpack, he refused and left. Arena security reported that a man refusing to be searched was seen sprinting away from gate 6 with a backpack, and KABOOM! a minute later he blows up.

His understandably upset family suggests that he was simply temporarily despondent and committed suicide. Riiiiiight. I know every time I feel temporarily despondent, I begin building shrapnel bombs to put in a backpack and take into sports arenas filled with tens of thousands of people, don't you?

It is possible that he set off the bomb intentionally or unintentionally. It is also possible that someone else participated in the construction and had their own detonator, just in case he got cold feet or something, or worse, seemed about to get caught.

I was not thinking about this subject yesterday or when I went to bed last night. It is out of the blue, although I did read about it a few days ago. Yet another in my current series of 'terrorism related dreams', in my opinion. I'm thinking I would have better sleeping habits if these could wake me up at say, 7am, instead of 4-something...

Weather Map of Terror

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 01 December 2005

I don't just dream in color, I dream in multimedia.

A map of the USA was shown me. Starting at NW, a light swooshing-shape began to travel downward, and curved around the bottom, across the lower continent, and up the right side to the NE. My sense was that this was something natural. Weather, magnetics, I'm not sure, but something native to the planet.

Then it was shown me again, and starting at the NW around WA, a dark-shaded area suddenly showed up as the pattern reached a certain place, and at the same time, a bell went *ding!* I recognized this as the site of a terrorist attack which had previously happened (in the dream's-world). The swooshing motion-shape continued on its path, and when it reached the area of N CA or so, another *ding!* occurred and a big shaded area appeared; it was very large, these shaded areas, they were "the overall areas affected," not just the place something happened.

The pattern continued from there and down by mid-Southern CA another *ding!* and a really big shaded area popped in and it spread a bit above and below and to the sides (suggesting that although it happened in one place, it had a big effect on a wide region around). The natural pattern turned and flowed along the bottom area of the continent, with another *ding!* sound and a big shaded area filled much of Texas and spread out on each side. Again, I understood that there was only one small focus area but I was being shown what amount to the "primary social and economic impact areas" in this map-shading example. The pattern continued and near the bottom right, not sure precisely where, another *ding!* and another shaded area popped up.

At this point there was a thick, nearly solid (irregularly shaped/wavy) shading from NW Canadian border all the way 'swooping down and around' to just above the top of FL or so. The 'natural' pattern continued up the right but there were no more of the dings or shading, and the pattern finished its route up to the NE Canadian border without event and stopped.

I realized that I was watching a Flash web presentation and that what was being shown me was that there was a sort of pattern in where the major terrorist events had happened--and, in where they would happen, as well, which was seen by 'what was left' of the pattern it was following.

I had this huge emotional response, a sort of horrified joy that someone had "figured out the pattern" of the attacks, and then a sort of horrified dread, realizing that there were more attacks to come which would affect the East coast. In the dream there was a sense that despite all that had already happened, I realized I had been living in the denial-hope that maybe there would be no more. This made me realize there would be more such events, and I had horror and grieving and fear and anger and astonishment all at the same time.

The emotion of the dream was incredibly powerful. In the dream I started yelling for Lu to come quickly and to see what I'd found, and I was so upset I half woke myself up, and then noise from outside brought me fully awake.

When I woke up for real I was still sort of upset about it. I didn't know if this was showing me the future, or if I am just neurotic and somewhere in the back of my mind I'd been thinking about it.

Update: The next day (12/1) I dreamed of the same subject. The details seemed important when I awoke--but I forgot them too quickly to get them written down. One thing I remember from the dream though, was about me, not the data; I remembered having dreamed of the subject the day before, and I wondered why I was suddenly dreaming about this subject. And a voice told me that although I was not in the direct path of these events, still I perceived them as a direct threat to me and my reality, and so I was picking up psychic information about them as a sort of survival-skill overlap so to speak.

the pattern does not seem all that logical though to be honest. I mean it doesn't seem unusual of course -- WA, N CA, S CA, TX, the SE, and more are actually high density and high economic areas and likely to be targets. But I would expect, intellectually, events to occur up in the North near the Great Lakes areas, and oddly enough the north and midwest weren't shown as taking a hit at least in the dream. So I don't consider the dream likely to be precognitive. Might be just the 'sitting in on' an aspect living in a situation the back of my mind must be chewing on as a side-effect of my political blogging or something.

Go View

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 22 November 2005

It's a matter of HAVING to.

A long time ago, I read something where stage actress Helen Hayes said about acting: If you can do anything else, do it. At the time, about age 13, I thought she meant, if you have any other skills. Yet over time I saw that actors were very often incredibly skilled at many different things. Surely it couldn't be that. Later when I hit adulthood, and the dichotomy of "responsibility vs. my music," for the first time, I fully understood. She meant: if you can do anything else without wanting to throw yourself out a window, without feeling like your soul is dying from the inside.

Because statistically, almost nobody succeeds in the acting field. The business is merciless, the conditions are ruthless, the work when you get it is insane, the people are treacherous wolves, and it is a business without a future for nearly everybody who pursues it. Whether they are working small town dinner theatre, religious musicals or on broadway, in TV commercials or film dramas, the self-expression through dramatic experience is at the core, and in the end, people pursue serious acting not because it is fun, not because they casually might as well, but because they cannot fully live unless they do.

Some time ago I decided to take six months off my "non-work work" so I'd have time for a life. And to view, but having "a life" is first. Then viewing. Then everything else. For about 10 days prior to the due date, I viewed like crazy. A few days into the official vacation, I turned a 90 degree turn into politics, and spent two weeks catching up on a world I might rather have not known about all things considered. Dragged my sorry butt out of that and have been sleeping long and spending more time with my little girl since then. Mellowing. Petting the cats. Pretending I don't have anything to do but work.

Working hard to NOT work hard for once. Trying not to view or anything else, not to feel like I HAVE to.

And damn if it doesn't just call to me. That state of mind. That flow through my middle. That offbeat internal surprise. That vulnerable inner feeling of delight on feedback. That sense of body-understanding when feedback fills in the holes. The need for it. It's like some Vitamin-B of the soul that my whole personality starts to crave when I don't get enough of it. I was going to take the rest of November off -- just to try and "de-focus," since I always tend to be obsessively focused on something.

I'm not sure I can stand it.

It wells up inside of me when I sleep. It calls to me in half-precog dreams that wisp away before I'm fully conscious. It tugs at my guts when my friends are grieving. It dances just outside the edges of my consciousness. You could know me, it whispers. I am part of you.

The world wants to be known. Wants to be felt from the inside. Wants to be experienced. The world is as alive as we are. From the shorelines to the cloud cover, our experiential reality is a shifting kaleidascope of consciousness. You can hear it if you listen: Come play.

Go view.

Constructing Faith

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 12 September 2005

We are lost without it.

Reality holds a catch-22 of the most profound sort. I look at the world around me and see grim despair, corruption and conspiracy. It seems like the scope of the negative is so vast that one can't, even by the most optimistic standards, find any reason for hope. The whole of reality sometimes seems an endless tunnel . . . and someone clearly already blocked up the other side, so we aren't ever gonna see light from that direction. How can I hope?

Wake up! That's what faith is for. When there is reason for hope, we don't need faith---we have reason, after all.

Faith is both a construction material and a dynamic. Faith itself can create new tunnels and shift circumstance toward finding a light at the end of one we're in. With faith, we see paths we might never have seen otherwise. It is the ultimate "management perspective on reality."

I had a sense that the monks, nuns etc. who pray continually and work to "hold and anchor" faith and such in our world, are critically important, and we have no idea what our consensus reality might be like without that. (I wonder if this "insight" is a side-effect of the dream with the nuns?)

Faith is like being happy: it takes work. It doesn't just fall on you out of the sky. You can't buy it, and it doesn't have anything to do with circumstance. It seems a talent in some, although that has more to do with their innate connection to God/Self. It is a genuine skill, and one critical for development in times like these. Anybody can develop it; but it takes work: It takes asking for help. If you're confused, try "To Whom it May Concern." The human ignorance about God and the confusion over which pretty label to use only confuses humans... it does not confuse the myriad identities ready to help if asked. There is no point to moaning a lack of hope. Hope is directly tied to faith, and faith is directly tied to God. Ask for it.

The world isn't going to get prettier. We were warned about this ahead of time. Why do we act surprised? Why do we sit and moan like victims? "Oh, the world's so bad! Things are so dark! People are so corrupt! Waaaaaa!" Oh get over that! It is TIME for the people capable of holding faith in God, in love, in positive things, to begin doing so!

Michael and others of God are anchored in personalities all over this planet. Some of the most unlikely and unsuspecting people have immense inner strength---some born of experiences of this world, but known by their soul before their entry, and accepted so they would have the strength to live during these "interesting" times. It's not enough to survive here in body. You are here during this time for a reason, and it is your spiritual duty to figure it out. When did it become "uncool" to pray?! Have the maturity, courage and fortitude to find who you are and be that potential.

Build your faith like a bridge you construct one prayer at a time. Ten seconds of prayer, a few times a day. Would 5-10 minutes total time invested per week be too much? How much is really being asked of you here? You have the potential. Step up to your responsibilities already.

Michael is calling and I just can't shut up on his behalf! My God. Literally. I think I am actually getting openly spiritual.

My conscious mind is flipping out, observing this. But my inner self feels totally calm, bemused at my mind's response, and... well, and I sure have a lot more faith than I did a week ago.

Michael has come through for me again. I asked once... a dozen years ago. When I had no faith, little optimism. When the shadows of the fear and violence that ruled most of my life hung over me like dark curtains I would never find my way through. And he brought me out of it just for the asking. And I swore I would not forget. Yet, in late '95, my whole "awareness" started just "going under"... I am coming to believe I was deliberately hidden, to keep me out of the limelight of certain entities. I let everything go in my oblivion. And I lost the thread... I lost the beat.

Recently, I asked for it back. I worked to have faith that "faith" itself would happen. And it has. Everything is just.... okay. The world is happening as it will, and on the surface it's going to be worse, but it's OK. Everything is going to be alright eventually. There is more at stake here than governments and bodies. There are levels of commitment and loss that we can't even begin to conceptualize.

I AM of MICHAEL, I said on a little graphic I made yesterday. Going public with the Faith.

We have faith each according to his willingness to ask for it, allow it, and hold it. Cynicism is not cool; it's pathetic. Ask for faith. Stand up and be counted. Be part of the spiritual solution here. It sure beats the alternative.

Fly

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 10 September 2005

I've been thinking about the magic again. His name was Nestor, and he was the 'real thing' that I suspect legions of fakes have attempted to emulate. A healer; some call it a 'psychic surgeon' though to be honest, I don't like that term. The account I wrote about the experience not long after said,

I had this profound and rather important feeling while we were talking. It is difficult to explain and sounds a silly, but I'll try.

I felt "internally certain" that IF ONLY I could be around him long enough, just stand next to him while he did this on people, that I could do it. That something inside of me "recognized" whatever he was doing. That somehow his... faith? skill? I don't know.... would be almost contagious, if only the exposure were possible for me. I considered this consciously during that time, and I couldn't find any logical reason why I'd feel that way, I just did. It was the... internal equivalent of something on the tip of your tongue. Like ALMOST recognized. Almost there. Almost made the connection. . . .

He didn't do anything that martial arts traditions around the world haven't described as possible. Still, it was . . . fascinating. Not sure why it's on my mind lately.

Lately. . . for a couple weeks now, I wake up with my chant to Archangel Michael in my head in the mornings. Michael is the first and last thing I think about each day. I feel like he is calling me, like I've been asleep, in part "psychically hidden" from those identities which seemed to over-notice me previously, and it was time for me to 'wake up' and I didn't, so he is stepping in to get my attention.

I've been doing the rosary . . . only partly, as I haven't got any rosaries anymore, and am waiting on a very overdue paycheck so I can go buy one. Praying more often. When I listen to music, I feel more of the love and inspirational elements of the song than normal. I suppose I'm about to go on a spiritual binge or something. Haven't done that, what, since 1993-5, the Bewilderness era.

So, talk about timing. Day before yesterday, My little girl said Hilary Duff's song "Fly" was good, and I got her the album from PirateBay (clearly, my sudden slant on spirituality doesn't keep me from stealing MP3s LOL!). She's right--it's a great song--sung by a man with a band arrangement, it might have been 80's glam-rock. I know that if I were really "awake," it'd be buffeting my chakras--during those zones, I can't listen to anything but classical, and I can feel the music in my torso, as if each instrument is a color and they are playing a pattern inside me. Apparently I'm still a psychic brick, since I've been listening to this song overly loud in headphones and loving it. It is a bit inspirational (for pop, haha), and maybe I like it because the lyrics tie into my current feelings:

Any moment, everything can change . . . feel the wind on your shoulder

For a minute, all the world can wait . . . let go of your yesterday

Can you hear it calling? Can you feel it in your soul?

Can you trust this longing? And take control --

Fly ! . . . Open up the part of you that wants to hide away

You can shine . . . forget about the reasons why you cant in life, and start to try

Cause it's your time . . . time to fly

I feel like it's time to come home to the center, to that feeling 'through my middle' that I am tied into the universe, so to speak. I miss Michael... I miss that faith. Maybe it's time to give up the wandering and get back to work.

Truth

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 04 September 2005

Sewing (sowing?) the thread of truth. That's my job if I want to hold the line.

[This section greatly edited/reduced in 1999 because it was trivia that I felt distracted from the worthiness of the rest of the post.] I had cause to wonder at length about people who lie all the time, and the amount of lying involved in the UFOlogy and Remote Viewing fields and especially their media.

Anyway. I went to sleep after that and had a striking, very linear sort of dream.

I was sitting in a room at a table with half a dozen nuns. One was clearly in charge. We were discussing this issue. One of the understandings I got was that the more somebody talked, the more difficult it is for them to (and the more unlikely it is that they can) "hold the feel of truth." In the dream I could feel this like an actual energy that went through the chakras of my body and connected, grounded deep and solidly into the earth. The more one thought before speaking, and "felt inside themselves" to "find the thread of truth" first, the more familiar they got with the feel (of truth). I realized that a couple of the nuns hardly spoke if at all, and that they had some profound understanding of these concepts, as a result of this silent experience.

It was shown me that the more out of balance certain energies are, the more a person will talk, the less 'truth' will be in it, and over time, the less they are able to feel truth and what is not (until, at the more extreme cases, they lose all ability to distinguish). This problem energy is felt in the body, not just some metaphysical plane, though our culture hasn't recognition of it or words for it. This lack of balance causes a great need for the person to 'express'. Not only that, but the more 'attention' they can get from others to take in their energy, the more they can disperse, so they are drawn not only to talking but to as many as possible. It is like they are pulling in a stream of energy that is not good for them, has no resonance with their body or spirit really, and so they subconsciously have a terrible need to vent it, to find a source willing to take it in, to get it through and out of them.

This is done with talk. It can be done in other forms.

I tuned back into the questions that brought the dream on. The nuns and I, like a group lesson/exploration, 'experienced' how people like this are just ... well, they are ill. This... problem is as much a spiritual (and psychological and even slightly physical) illness as a bleeding wound or viral infection would be. In most cases the condition is an accidental thing they themselves gradually brought on over the course of their lives, by never bothering to care much about truth vs. the need for attention. (I felt as a "subthought" that the need for attention was one of the primary causes of untruth, that the truth is a maintaining energy [hard to phrase this; you might say 'it feeds you'], that the more lack-of-truth one has, the more one 'needs' energy from others, and hence needs 'attention' from others [they 'pay' attention, as the Narrator once put it] and hence this became sort of a cycle/spiral.)

No conspiracies were necessary, I saw. My wondering about that was misled. Not that there aren't any conspiracies, simply that pathological lying is its own problem aside from that. It was natural that people with such problems would be drawn to the UFO/RV fields and drawn to seek media exposure.

I started talking then. I could feel the shift of energy inside me. I realized (in the dream) that if I conserved my words to only speak the truth, I would feel again---as I have many times before---the clear sense that there is really very little to say.

I think that is why, when being "intuitive," I often have the weird need to pull in lots of sounds I have to find words for. This makes any given sentence impossibly long (and seemingly, more metaphysical and less specific). It is like I am trying to find the right shape. Like I cannot change what I have to begin with, as I am using English. But I can "feel" it isn't right. So I have to add in enough other ingredients (sound-shapes) to change the overall product. So the meaning of the shape of the sound, better matches the meaning of the words in our language.

We practiced back and forth. I found that if I really delved into myself to find the utter-truth, the most profound energy of that, that I became less and less willing to speak at all. It was like, the more attuned I was to truth in a spiritual sense, the more I felt that general conversation did not---could not---touch it.

It had not occurred to me before that maybe this is not a polarity-thing; maybe things are not just 'truth vs. lies'. Apparently there is an entire... 'existence' which is not a 'lie' per se, but is not truth, either. It is more like, "not applicable." As if, our world is illusion, but it floats on the surface of truth and has some points in common. Some things, you can 'dive below' and feel the truth and pull it up 'through' our world. Truth has incredible power here, actually. (If it doesn't seem like it, I suspect it's more a matter of there being so little of it, rather than it not having immense power.) Most the conversations about our world itself (daily conversation) is not a truth. That doesn't make them a lie. It is more like, they are unrelated to real-truth because the logical stuff is entirely based in the floating illusion we live in.

Truth, in this case, is not just an issue of whether the surface-meaning of a word fits a situation in our world. It is almost as if there really should be two different words involved here because there are two very different concepts. Like the eskimos and all their words for snow, we have only one word for 'truth'. That is partly because intellectually we have failed to articulate---perhaps because spiritually, most of us have failed to notice---the profound difference.

There is what we call truth in our surface world, meaning, it is not a deliberate or even accidental inaccuracy about this-world's situations. But there is another thing, an energy which is "of the spirit" I suspect is how the nuns would describe it---it is like the fundamental energy-cloth, the fundamental fabric of our universe, which we can use as part of ourselves, for our constant creation. (It is the energy of Creation itself, with a capital C, I suddenly feel. When we create with truth running through us and our creations, it is a very powerful, primal thing.)

This has literally nothing to do with the surface-chatter about our reality that we live in the soup of most the time. "It is raining," or "I went to the store," these are not lies, but they are not of the energy of 'truth' that is of the spirit, either. They are simply surface discussion that are not intellectually-linearly inaccurate.

It is not that one cannot have casual conversation. It's that one must be aware that this is what it is; one must have sufficient 'truth' energy within them that the constant barrage of "surface trivia" that is not-truth (though it is not-lie, simply not-applicable) doesn't pull one away from intimate familiarity with 'the feel of truth'.

By expressing my energy in a way that was surface and separate from truth (not a lie; just... "idle chatter"), I moved farther and farther from the feel of it; from the thread of it running through me. Throwing in some exaggerations and more, I finally lost it altogether. The more I realized that, and realized the nuns were watching how I learned from this, the more I tried to justify and explain myself---intellectually alas, not by "feel"---to the nuns, especially the woman in charge.

I noticed that when I truly "lost the feel of truth," that I got a lot more intellectual all the sudden, even downright technical, as if this were an overcompensation. I tried ever-harder with "specific LOGICAL detail," like a tool, never alas achieving the feeling of 'truth' with it that subconsciously I was aiming for and felt it would obtain.

Our conscious minds think that accuracy is truth. Accuracy relates to surface-details and our interactions. Truth in a spiritual sense is something that there is no other word to define; it simply IS. There is no.... how do I articulate this... there is no accuracy or inaccuracy concerning real Truth (with a capital T). Truth simply IS in the most profound and fundamental way. Nothing can be said about it at all, because all the words we have are but shallow surface reflections.

That reminds me of something. Wonder if it's related. O Nuit, continuous one of Heaven, let it be ever thus; that men speak not of Thee as One but as None; and let them speak not of thee at all, since thou art continuous! -- Liber al vel Legis

At a slight signal from her they all got up from the table, and quietly walked away from me. I followed them as we went down a hallway, with them continuing away from me. I sort of understood at that point, that it was my conscious wondering about truth that brought us into contact. They are, you might say, experts on this subject. Many in their order do not speak at all.

The dream changed. I found myself with two individuals I used to work with, both of whom were extremely untruthful as personalities, though I liked them. They were going to give me a ride home. I realized this was the real lesson: if I could not "hold the line" of truth well enough, those within that energy would not associate with me, as they would quite literally have nothing in common with me. Those who were themselves living in some rebound, refractive non-truth, would be drawn to me like kindred spirits. I remembered the "birds of a feather" saying and how it has always seemed quite valid to me.

I considered how many people I cannot associate with because there simply is no 'connect' between us; I feel they have no connection to whatever truth I hold. It is as if they are "not applicable" to my reality. Then I considered how often I feel the issue with J, almost from the other side; he seems to have a... maybe a larger experience of truth, much of which I have no comprehension of. He couldn't tell me about it if he wanted to; words can't convey this. People either have it running through them, and understand because it is part of them, or they don't. All education is internal in this regard and can't be given on the surface to others.

I realized that I need to pay more attention in my daily life to talking less, and thinking more. To pause before answering. To FEEL inside myself: "What is the truth, and the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" before speaking, or writing.

Interesting, the part about the nuns. Do they actually do that "vow of silence" thing in today's day and age?

I'm not catholic. The closest I've ever come to any nuns is perhaps passing them in a shopping mall or something.

Dynamics vs. Objects

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 28 August 2005

Everything you see is faking you out. But what you don't see is faking you out even more.

I was inattentive just now. I was reading through PhP code, attempting to figure out how I could clone and hack a cool blog plugin someone else made, to make another thing out of it. In the back of my brain while I wasn't paying much attention, I was thinking of an Aikido master I once met, who in an introduction of his art to our Judo class, showed us how our ability to lift him ranged from physically impossible (the man was unmoveable stone) to easy (he was a little guy and light as a feather). This was running vaguely through my brain sponsored by a Swann quote (mentioning "Ahkido" as I think he wrote it) that had just flashed by earlier on the blog. The man had said if we were interested we might consider pursuing Aikido at some point. I never did learn much about that except one could 'imagine' themselves as lighter or heavier.

So as I was reading through code I was half-daydreaming, and then all the sudden I wasn't daydreaming any more; it wasn't "mine". It was more like a real dream except rather first-person. I was sitting on the ground, on a sort of mat which had sticks on each side, like in 3rd world countries or the old days, people might be carried on. Two young men were on each side of me, with others looking on, and I showed them this 'trick' of changing 'how heavy I was' to them picking up the thing I sat upon. I would have them go away for a few minutes between each attempt. Someone asked me, "Can you put it into simple words, to explain what you are doing with your mind? How do you change your body?"

And the me-in-the-daydream-that-I-was-not-running (go figure. Who was running it?!) was thinking to myself, "That is the wrong assumption. I did not really change my body. I changed their experience of my body. But how do I explain that?" And finally I settled on something, and heard myself saying (to translate),

We think of 'things' in our world. We think of objects, which have... properties. The floor is flat and solid; the body is heavy and weighs a certain number of pounds. We think of this as if they are all "things," standing alone without regard to all the other things in our reality. We think of their attributes as indisputable.

Yet the dynamics of how reality works are about relationships, not about things. It is not so important what I weigh. What changed was not the weight of my body, but my body's relationship to the ground, and to you, and to your attempt to lift me. All three of those relationships are involved in the process of your lifting me.

Just as that ended, my mind kicked in and realized all this had taken place like "someone else's life that I was sitting in on." I thought to myself, "What a wonderful insight!"

After this morning's meditations I was hoping that I might be more open to perceptions such as psi throughout my day. I suspect I was consciously thinking of precog for the most part. I wonder if "sudden insights" qualify.

I Miss Alex

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 25 August 2005

He says the 500 mile walk across Europe was too easy. Of course, he's only 73, and as he explained, he overtrained a bit with the daily gym and weekend hikes. Yeah . . . that happens to me all the time.

A White Russian; child of the generation of escape. An observer once said that meeting Alexander made him suddenly aware that he was from the lineage of nobility: tall and graceful, with a 'class' and honor that imprints anybody with half a wit. Born in France, schooled around Europe, as a teen he left to Argentina when his mother agreed to marry a man there. While he and his mother were on the ship crossing the sea, the man died, leaving them to land with nothing and nobody in a strange country. He lived there 14 years. Got a college degree in journalism. "Played football (soccer) and chased women," is what he says of his youth. Eventually, he immigrated to the USA, with essentially nothing. His wife once told me that he'd walked miles each way to work hellishly hard for pittance on the longshoreman docks of New York.

It's hard to imagine. When I met him, he was entrepreneur of a tiny company: a perfect idea ahead of its very imperfectly-timed market. Before that he'd been CEO of a successful publishing corp. (college textbooks for math and statistics, Duxbury). A white collar executive in the San Francisco area; a long way from the longshoreman life. He sold his firm to a larger company eventually, which in turn sold to a bigger fish. Not a bureaucrat, being a number didn't appeal to him at all, though.

He believed internet and "interactive" education was the wave of the future, and hiring his favorite statistics author to help develop "online education" he left to try it out. It was early 1990's when his idea began; the mid-90's before it began in the physical. It was late 1999 when Dr. Jessica Utts, the Managing Editor, sent me an email. Many years prior, I'd laboriously HTML'd some papers for her, which in 1996 had to use teeeny little graphics for every special character and they were statistics research papers no less. I did it for free when I was temporarily very poor, in exchange for getting the article, one of the most worthwhile scientific reviews of remote viewing in print. She asked me if I'd help, I was in a good space to do so, and so by Christmas, I was buried in thousands of FrontPage coded frameset files, every page and nav with its own unique javascript. (There is a special hell awaiting their former webmaster for my suffering, if life is fair at all.)

Alex handed me autonomy and left me to finish and open his company alone -- on Y2K. He was going to be in Cambodia. He'd waited all his life to take some vacations, wasn't getting any younger, had planned it long in advance, and wasn't going to put it off merely because after years of work, he was opening his computer-based company on the most frightening computer day of all time.

I suppose at a certain age, hindsight gives you foresight, too. I worked through Christmas, the world didn't melt down, and Alex came home and sent me a huge pot of flowers and some postcards from the far side of the world.

I've grown up a lot the last 5 years. Much of it is thanks to him, who helped reparent me in the ways of patience, a quality I'd not been much exposed to. He put up with the worst of me and encouraged the best. He tried without success to tame my emails into mere novelettes. Like my previous most-favorite boss, the incorrigible Dan McGee (last I heard he'd founded a firm called Oregon Rain), he knows creativity and brains when he sees them, knows competence when he finds it, and never had even a shred of the "you don't have a formal degree" attitude. They both totally overworked me, yet gave me sincere respect and positive encouragement, and treated me far better than they treated themselves. I'd probably have happily worked to the grave for either of them.

Last year Alex sold the online statistics course (the CMS tech of which I built in SQL/CFML) to the company he'd founded and led all those years before. He worked hard to do it in a way that would keep me employed. That nearly fell through, but I managed to slide into a job which has turned out to be an incredibly good thing.

But damn. I sure do miss Alex.

Reality and Time

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 23 August 2005

If I aged as fast as I live I'd be a mummy, not a mommy. I wish that meant I have an exciting life. Not quite. I'm thinking tonight how weird it is that my primary communications are in an IM box. My job and a good percentage of my personal life interests (or at least, my masochistic desire to share my real interests with the world via web), are virtual. All of which has resulted in my sense of time being completely scr--er, skewed.

If my job or my kids' school are not specifically "requiring and reminding" about the day, date, week, or even month, I am oblivious. Has it been 3 hours or 12? Was that 2 days ago or 2 weeks ago? How would I know? I am beginning to think that the sense of "time" we have is based on nothing more than a "practiced, acculturated subconscious metronome" constantly re-set and re-wound by exposure to the larger clock of culture and environment ticking around us.

When younger I used to have a difficult time remembering if a memory was real or was from a dream. Most people think this means real vs. not-real. To me it means, 'reality A' vs. 'realities B-through-infinite', which feel the same as this one while in them, but have to be tagged like a museum curiosity for reference when we return 'home' to 'here', lest we forget that this reality doesn't share certain things. Or as I sometimes say, I don't share a reality with others, I share an apparent agreement about reality with others. I can have whatever reality I do without complaint from others, as long as I appear to share an agreement about what 'reality' contains, or what can be perceived. Which is really not much different than "acting normal" in a new social situation or when mildly stoned. If one's mental database of 'not-this-reality' tagging is up to date, it is seldom a problem interacting with the world and keeping track of it.

Keeping track of time is harder though. I can pick up ideas I dropped and utterly forgot--they ceased to exist for me--for weeks, even months, and the lack of continuity doesn't matter. I have wondered if programming is partly to blame for that: one must hold everything in the head simultaneously, as everything impacts everything else, like playing chess... 8 moves in advance. And so the attention required for whatever one is doing that moment is absolute. The house is burning down? Someone had better break my line-of-sight to the code, or I may sit obliviously through it until my screen melts. But when I drop the attention, it is gone. Like a dream you forget, whatever-it-was just vanished from my reality. It's hard to be responsible with this kind of selective attention; "out of sight, out of mind" becomes so literal that little besides alarms and notes can compensate.

I wouldn't have made the computer connection except for a book my step-grandmother bought me. I could swear it was called TIME WARS but I can find no trace of it. Late 80's or early 90's. The book was based on research the authors had did into the 'time perception' of computer programmers. It was extremely distorted and odd, the way they could drop something (say, a conversation in the lunch line at work) in the middle of it, and pick it up 10 days later like no time had passed at all. Many other things I don't recall. I didn't do programming then so it was only of peripheral interest, mostly because of my interest in hypnosis at the time and subjective time perception.

I find, though, that nobody understands what I mean by "living on internet time" except other people who, like me, spend a good 70%+ of their waking hours on the internet. The very concept that time is so distorted seems surreal to everybody else I guess. Like the state of my reality and what I am paying attention to acknowledging the existence of at any given moment, I just try to fake the time-thing. With the Outlook Exchange scheduling combo that my job makes me use, I am finally starting to seem "in sync" with everybody else. Finally, Microsoft is good for something.

CIA's StarGate Files

Archived from the former firedocs blog. 21 August 2005.

Who'd be stupid enough to trust the CIA? I'm a conservative patriot and even I'm not that dense. The release of nearly 100,000 pages of "STAR GATE" program files is just another example of why. (They'll all be available soon at www.dojopsi.info.) The joke's on us, as usual.

This is the unimportant dregs of nearly 20 years, of a selected (read: "already known, so why not admit to them") number of projects, which the CIA compiled under one umbrella they call The STAR GATE program. This so anybody looking for stuff under any project name will find only "stargate" stuff and not stuff that might have been in other projects we don't know about and they aren't admitting to if they exist. The records are the equivalent of all the crap you would throw away if you were condensing your files into what mattered. I can't count how many are literally blank. Or have nothing worth seeing. Sessions with no feedback. Stuff that actually will mislead people clueless about who was involved in the viewing in the program, when, and what really went on, and more.

So, Daz has been the diehard going through all this stuff looking for things of interest. There is not a helluva lot. Ironically one of the most interesting things was a session McMoneagle did at TMI, on some Mars Anomalies RV'd--it wasn't even done in the unit, someone essentially had to steal it and put it IN the unit records in order for it to be there. (Well that's ok really given the sessions didn't belong to Skip Atwater either, but he put them on his website and in his book.) And let's not start on all the BS that went on while the unit was in progress anyway; but certainly, 20 years after the fact, releasing a very creative compilation of unimportant crap that accounts for perhaps 5%, and making it seem like you did the world a big favor -- what nonsense.

It's sad people were naive enough to think the CIA would do anything to clarify rather than to obscurate (my word. Obscurify, maybe?) the situation. It's sad to see them disappointed but worse when they think they can actually conclude anything based on this stuff.