The dark waters beckon, let me jump in.
But before I do I must bring to light as witness some serious caveats. I have hesitated to share my tale for several reasons that are the conclusion of a serious analysis of observable behaviors in human beings.
Most people don’t read carefully and they hardly ever reflect on the totality of what they read; the overall message, (that could be the fault of the writer too, of course.) Many tend to pick out key phrases to either agree with or as the case may be disagree with, then use those pieces to challenge the writer, at times valuable, often not. This also holds true for the spoken language in any given discourse. Thankfully there are exceptions to this rule, there are deep listeners, those who ponder.
Disclosure; she has been guilty of the above, she still catches moments when she drifts to old habits … though more often than not she will re-read with focused attention or if truly uninterested desist all together. She can do better still.
The number two reason, the most disagreeable for myself, the writer as it is potentially damaging, is the large degree the reader or listener unconsciously starts projecting of his/ her reality into the story. There are four main reasons for this that I can detect.
One is that what is being said is outside of the readers experiential data, there are too many gaps and so the reader injects something from their known reality to fill in. In many cases this will so completely distort the original intent as to render the writer's message null and void.
Another reason is that the subject matter provokes discomfort, the reader will recall a similar or painful incident he has suffered, so he will defend himself by using the same justifications, arguments, explanations or whatever that he/ she used to diffuse the energy in their own experience. This distorts the intent and leaves the writer unsatisfied.
She feels she can do better with practice. She honestly doesn’t think most people are aware of just how unconscious and reactive their responses can be. She listens to herself meticulously.
A third and sadly common filter is that many people don’t really care about you, they act like they do but in some back recess of their mind they are gauging how they can benefit and or debunk your story in some way.
This she knows too because she has caught herself in such a mind set. It is easy for her to say now because this habitual and barely detectable response is now disengaged. She detects it in others, no judgment, just is.
The fourth caveat the most serious, some people will use her words against her. She has learned and is still learning to let go of caring, seeing how they hurt themselves if they do.
This she has seldom done, when she did she learned the hard way.
She can barely wake up, the air around her is hot, stuck to her skin, the pressure on her body abnormal, she can’t move, so she surrenders back to the space she struggled to wake from. She is floating upright in a dark ocean, it is a pitch dark night and she is absolutely and terrifyingly alone. She can’t see anything. Terror evaporates but fear lingers until somehow she relaxes enough to let go. Then she senses without seeing, that Alejandro, his wife and those she calls family, her brothers and sisters are on a cliff edge looking down. She tries to call out, no sound escapes, only a drenched darkness. Straining to be heard, will someone rescue her, she knows they see her. No movement, an awareness that they are laughing… soundless laughter and she awakes.
I am fortunate, actually I am fortunate beyond the statistics of normal luck. A sidewalk gypsy fortune teller told me I have a lucky face. This is something I ponder often. Even my misfortunes and apparent mistakes have been the harbingers of good fortune. Perhaps in disclosing what I endeavor to share it will become evident as the reason this is so, perhaps not.
My years in the Mandato were exhilarating, trying, tiring, and frightening, a potent mix. Once the ride started it was like being on an endless toboggan with twists and blind turns, all I could do was try and keep my balance.
She is clearly seeing a similarity with the present moments Now.
If you asked me if I would change anything, I would say no. Just as in my dream I am aware that there is a part of me that has always known, a part that isn’t afraid, a part that can see in the dark and is intimately a full participant in the design my life has taken. Albeit an unconscious participant becoming conscious in good measure.
I have been eluding to my story through all of my writings for some time now, not but a hand full of dear friends are able to hear. And this we share, I too have been privileged to their stories, together we are a greater whole.
This is a great challenge for me to confront, this telling.
So lets start with layers, everything peels away in layers, a route to Self knowledge. Who am I? The question that opened Pandora’s box.
When I entered the Mandato, I was happy, financially well off, recently divorced and felt freer than I had in years. Basically I was full to overflowing and literally bubbling with energy, enthusiastic and affirmative of my life.
There was a layer though, just about to get ripped off.
My essential self wasn’t satisfied, it knew there was more than the surface I had learned to skim on so easily now. (Brief aside, nothing was actually easy, the ease felt was after years of struggle.) I wanted to Know … so finding this secretive group with such a mysterious ambiance was frankly irresistible. I entered as I do with most things, full force.
Almost immediately the supranormal world started showing its underside. Not new to me, I had already had several encounters with the flip side.
She sits crouched, alert as awareness extends. Feels her ears move ever so silently, tail twitches, appendages extend and then retract. One eye views in, one eye looks out, the third pure awareness. Something moves in the dark, she waits.
to be continued…