of über-super-consciousness

Would you believe that every once in a while something happens in our life that was born in another reality and filters through into our present-now?
Unless you experience such a contact from the ‘other’ side you could, like me, be largely ignorant of its existence.

What is another reality, if, as we have been taught, there can only be this one?
All my life I have been puzzled by deeper questions which just like my attempts at Rubik’s Cube, have gone unsolved and unanswered by me. And then, one day, you are presented with an indisputable event.

Reality is where I am conscious. Right? Actually yes.

I have irrefutable proof now that there is more to consciousness than I have ever considered it to be. I know it’s lame and scientifically worthless. However, this illuminating experience has made me a convert.

Being so entrenched and absorbed in our reality, where is there time and the will to think about such ‘far-out’ stuff? It’s hard enough to get through another day.
Well, yes. But, amongst everything we do, our thinking occasionally does venture to the fringes. Often that process is advanced by the consumption of some substance(s). However, just to clarify the situation, this is not the case here. I am not criticizing those who do, but, I cannot be both a pilot of an aircraft and a substance user because I need full control of my faculties.

It was a dream and like all of us, I have had many dreams in my life. You wake up and most of the time the dream is quickly forgotten. Nightmares linger on for a bit. A few dreams stay with us for days because of their profound effect.
This dream, as surreal as it seems, has launched an avalanche of deeper questions. Not that I was suffering from a lack of questions or a void of thought material. No, the opposite, but I am now pushed purposely in a direction which was not highlighted so prominently before.

Here goes:
There is another reality, in parallel, where we are also present and cognitively aware and consciously interacting with other (human) beings who we absolutely do not know in this reality: Names of people we have no connection to in this life; dealing with things we have never considered dealing in, in an environment that is foreign to the one we frequent. (This could explain the sheer exhaustion we sometimes inexplicably feel.)
For instance: In this dream, I was mentioning to someone called Ian that I have a Jaguar engine in my store room for his Jaguar. In the dream, I was on friendly terms with Ian, and Sarah and others.
This dream episode does not fit into my life in any way. I don’t drive Jaguars, never had and don’t have any engines either. And Ian, well, pleased to meet you, and Sarah too.
Wow, I do live a whole other life it seems.

Like with any dream, if you don’t catch that tail-end fast enough it disappears out of memory leaving only the impression that you had a ‘cool’ dream, but can’t remember what it was about.

This dream invigorated my thinking and anchored a notion that there is more that we are involved in than with our five senses only. It brought into perspective a concept in my mind that, as we gain greater consciousness, we also realize that we are in more than one place at once. Extrapolated to the extreme, — to limit the size of this post and cut to the scoop — we could be (are) everywhere. In essence saying, that because we are part of everything, we are also present everywhere. This awakened consciousness confronts us with that broader reality and we now see life from that realties’ perspective. Our enlarged consciousness now dawns on us the whole bigger picture as more awareness is assimilated.

There are so many connotations. Next time you do something bear in mind that you could be inflicting something upon yourself because you are part of everything. You are also part of some stuff you don’t like. I don’t know how that works exactly but the idea certainly comes to mind and the willful force to change it. I think as our consciousness grows it could be like a magnet or a strong current aligning everything in a ‘good’ way. Huh, hopefully.

Consciousness is the totality we are. In our mind, we frequently separate and isolate ourselves from everything and everywhere. Supreme consciousness leads us to become Übermensch (to borrow from Nietzsche) and superman (to borrow from Sri Aurobindo).

I think I think, I think.

Man cannot be final, he is a transitional being; his imperfect life and consciousness must develop itself into the type of the fully conscious being, after man or out of him must be born the superman.
Sri Aurobindo

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Appassionare

Impassioned and dreamy to live,
the one-way lane to bliss

Drudgery and mundanity boredom gives

Failure be a toxic recipe
Mute, the soul seeks therapy

In passion lies life’s ecstasy

But what do you do if your passion doesn’t get you to that bliss?

You’ve immersed yourself in playing music, enjoyed every note, and you clearly don’t have it.
You write, you come alive, and you are mediocre at best, — on an inspired day.
You are painting and your art fulfills you like nothing else, and it doesn’t raise an eyebrow, least of all sell.

You do stuff that captivates and absorbs you, that you love, but never is there a financial reward or even a pat on the back.
You follow your passion constantly but you can’t make a living.

The search for a passionate solution is consuming you.

You are not level headed and will never be, — so help you gee oh dee.

You start doubting passion.
Something has to work, — desperately by now, and intrinsically you know it can only work if passion is present, yet it doesn’t happen.

You have more than one passion, oh definitely yes.
You are an appasionata or an appasionato.

You can’t find the One thing that tops them all.
Maybe you do but for whatever reason, you have to find the next best.
Can there ever be a next best? Will passion tolerate being ordered, sorted, prioritized, delayed?

You think you know what your passion is and where it lies, but, you also think you don’t.
Sometimes you even think: “What is passion? What am I passionate about?”

You back off because your passion is too far fetched. It surpasses even your belief with its imaginative enactment.

You question if passion is maybe the devils trick to lure you into his quarters and then again you think it’s a God given gift.

You ponder the idea that it’s too late to follow your passion.

Disillusion and disappointment mount as passion eludes you. Resigned, life becomes dull and thoughts start flirting with a philosophical question.

You always thought that passion was the only real certainty worth pursuing and now you are the laughing stock of all your ghosts.

Are you the doomed one?
Are you the example that others use to point out the senselessness of trying to follow one’s passion(s) instead of doing something ‘real’?

Should one perhaps pair one’s passion ‘to do something’ with one’s fascination ‘of something’? Could the search then be finally over?

Sometimes,
amongst all the noise we create,
we don’t hear the divine music within.

occurrent zwing-zwang

“It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.”
Duke Ellington & Irving Mills

Live life in the swing. Yeah.
At the end of a swinging session I do come to rest in the middle, in the stability of the equilibrium, to balance things out in my head.
But, to live my life, I believe I have to swing out.

Sometimes my swing goes right around and I’m back where I started, lumbered with some unwanted baggage picked up in the swing. Occasionally I get into these overzealous swings. They make me think, “WTF happened now?” The troublesome thing is: a round swing can last for years, — ouch.

My swings are multi dimensional and move in a zig-zag pattern. It is not a predetermined pendulum 2D swing like the tik-tok kind, but 3D and snaky and veering in motion: up and down, actually in all directions, and still leading forward, somehow. A kind of a pulsating swing invigorated by popping thoughts. Boi-ng, doi-ng, doi-ng, boi-ng…
To me that is a zwing-zwang, a zig-zag with wings. This type of swing experiences dramatic directional changes in motion but illogically stays zwinging until I settle in the middle again.

The more I zwing-zwang from one extreme side to the other edge in this 3D arena in my head, the more I invoke the potential to walk through the next door in my mind. One could call it psychic scouting down unexplored avenues.

Maybe to clear this increasingly confusing picture up: imagine life happening inside a ball, — the universe, your universe, — within which you zwing-zwang around (like a ‘mad’ (wo)man), looking for doors. That ball is also in motion. Balls always go forward. Any directional change of the ball (the life you are in) is forward or at worst forward to where you started. Notice the omission of the misleading word ‘backwards?’ You can’t go back because you are immediately confronted by time if you would try, telling you that travelling back is not in the big plan.

Anyway, behind the next door is a present I don’t fully know yet and another resting place. From there new reason will present itself to zwing-zwang again and find more doors.

When the doors close and the bridges collapse and doom and gloom besets me, I know I have to zwing-zwang more.

My swing becomes a jump without return (not back!), when I’m done. Like jumping from a springboard into a pool. The oscillating, rebounding board stops without me, the pendulum is still.

When I don’t perform the swing motion in zig-zag, i.o.w. when I don’t zwing-zwang, then I miss places in between which could be doors. The swing-less middle has no interesting doors, it consists of latent energy only, but it can swing me towards the potential, the doors.
Some doors exist where no door is required, like a door standing alone on a path in the mountains opening to the same view I already have.
Those doors serve as a pacifying reminder that there always is an entrance and an exit, which is actually a deception because there is no return (as has been clarified), but our belief tells us differently.

Where and when there are no doors, beware, there could be windows, very large ones, deceiving you into believing that you are free under an open sky.
Even an open sky can close in seconds, like a window shutting, and show you that you are always inside something, perhaps even point out how stuck you are there.

Therefore, there is great benefit and importance to vigorously zwing-zwang in life because that lifts you above the ‘inside,’ presenting you with doors and windows you might otherwise not find and enter and explore.
Once you are lifted above the inside you are suddenly presented with a rudder for your ball, like the foot or hand that has the ability to throw a ball in a chosen direction… forward.

“Finding your step in the swing is the purpose of everything.”
Raiden Germain

Parable of Ega and Oge

Ega and Oge were walking down the Avenue la Vie.

Ega, perpetually smiling with red lips, glistening eyes, long dark lashes and golden nails, was dressed young and fashionable, – petit, attractive and light hearted as she indulged in life.
Oge, serious as always, with a frown, wearing the fake cloak of importance with the misleading hat of wealth in the squeezing shoes of worldliness, sunken in thoughtful misery, regretted the journey.

They stopped at the Café Devineresse and sat down.

“Monsieur, Madame, what shall it be,” the attentive waiter asked?

“I will have the troubled life with extra problems and the gloomy future,” Oge sniped, “with a glass of bitter memories, – stirred.”
“Oui monsieur, – I see, the usual then, and liberally sprinkled with financial woes and health issues.”

“And you Madame?”

“I will have the hot, rich lover on a bed of laughter, a side dish of extra fun, a few wonderful surprises and a tall cocktail of pleasure and happiness.”
“You have an exquisite taste for our specialties Madame,” the waiter whispered behind his cupped hand, not to enrage Oge.

He hurried away with the order and reported back to the owner of the establishment known by the name of Dieu Gracieux.

“My goodness,“ Dieu ventured to say, “Oge has still not learned to order our specialties, and he has such a beautiful, lovely wife as an example.”

“Oui, Oui Mon Dieu Gracieux,” the waiter replied, ”I presume then that we will serve what he has requested?”

“At the Café Devineresse we will always serve what our esteemed clientele desires,” Dieu Gracieux stated, and proceeded to create the order.

Ega and Oge are anagrams of age and ego
Avenue la Vie is the avenue of life
Café Devineresse is the Soothsayer’s (foretell the future) cafe
Dieu Gracieux is God Graceful

Scripted or scripting?


Of course, emphatically, most of us will state that we are the scribe of our script.
A scribe in this sense being this omniscient piece of us that ‘sees all and knows all’ and can, therefore, script the play of our life.
Undoubtedly, this scribe is in charge of direction, events, goals and ultimately results.
Being so all-everything takes a lot of pressure away from the ordinary human being who makes up the rest of that big piece that we are.
I suppose this scribe within us also has to be fed. I imagine the food is the reward of success it achieves through the script.
“Creation feeding the creator.”

Dare I allude to a God-like core within us?
Well, I have decided to dare.
Where there is God you also find Anti-God.
Am I now going too far in my script sketch?
Is this Anti-God just the figment of a split mind?
No!
That belief of the Anti-God comes from much simpler, other examples, like for instance: where there is light there is a shadow. And, has the brightest light not also got the darkest shadow?
Definitely, this world is composed of contrast and opposites, so we all know who or what the contrast to God is.

Back to the scribing part.
The scribe is in cahoots with DNA, evolution, the ancestry chain, and, in collaboration with the mind affects us with an illuminating, motivating and often automated influence.
Can I seriously have any say over what is happening, never mind exercising a veto right?
Who am I then but a puppet in this predefined process? A quasi-liberated pawn, but one who in addition to being conscious and aware also has the responsibility of a conscience flung upon him.
Pawn or not, I certainly am unable to just heed these embedded forces with blinders. I will question them and attempt to dictate my own destination, — for the better or something different.

Clearly, however, there are original, fundamental, immutable parts or ingredients that are manufactured already and that define my motion in life.
So then there is a script, right? Some cloud walkers say that there is a contract. Or, at least, there is this idea that we have been provided with all the tools to survive this life episode.
We wouldn’t have made it this far if our tribe wouldn’t have survived. But, this is where it gets interesting. If it were a ‘survivor’ game, then surely there wouldn’t be so many of us around and constantly increasing? Although, nobody actually survives in the end. We are subjects relegated to keeping the treadmill of life moving. Does it need a conscience for that? Seems like an overkill to me.

The notion of survival, and surviving under all circumstances, also does not apply anymore. It is 2017, for script’s sake. Dog eats dog is for dogs, and an eye for an eye belongs in the Old Testament. When life becomes survival again then the achievement of humanity has slipped through our hands (like, sadly, in so many parts of this planet, for reasons (obvious) and not to be expanded upon here).

I think the primordial drive within, that combination of all the forces and influences that have brought us here, cannot be changed. We should, however, as early as possible, become acquainted with what drives us before worldly influences shape us. That’s why entrants into this life (babies), because of the ‘gift’ of cognitive awareness, should not be chiseled into this existence but allowed to enter gently. Earliest influences are absorbed into the hungry strains of new life as the stepping stones onto the stage of Life. We don’t need another pawn or survivor, we want another free thinker.

So, looking at all of this, I venture to conclude that we can write our own script and we are actually meant to, because, why would we have been given all these ingredients if everything is pre-determined?
Even further: scripts are generally used in movies and they can go into any detail and include as many actors and events as I, the scriptwriter, can imagine.
And, because as we have heard that so much happens in automated mode, I don’t even have to write the script, I just have to direct the movie.

Just as a side note: My written material is never meant to offend and my disclaimer always applies.

While some of the lines in my script are certainly my creation, where did the rest come from that I can’t figure?
My script has run out prematurely, no arguing here.
Could there perhaps be more than one script?
And what if the movie director(Moi) is a flop?
Well, fire him. The imbecile. Get Moi the 2nd.

Here comes a new script:

FADE IN:

EXT. A LONELY GREEN PARK BENCH UNDERNEATH A MASSIVE, ANCIENT OAK TREE – EARLY EVENING.

A handsome, scraggly bearded, shock-headed alternate is holding a brown paper packet, wiping his mustache with his dirty coats’ cuffs, stretching his feet like in rigor mortis.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. A FLOAT PLANE OFF AN ISLAND IN TAHITI BOBBING UP AND DOWN IN THE GENTLE SWELL WITH THE SILHOUETTE OF TWO OCCUPANTS INSIDE AGAINST THE AZURE BACKGROUND OF THE SEA – EARLY MORNING

INT. INSIDE THE COCKPIT OF THE FLOAT PLANE, SUN RAYS ENTERING FROM THE FAR LEFT – EARLY MORNING

A lean looking, brown, sophisticated adventurer, resembling the park bench occupant, starts the radial engine of the float plane. His beautiful woman beside him looks on.
He looks at her, their eyes meet and seconds later he switches the plane’s engine off and leans over to her.

FADE OUT.

SaveSave

line-jumper

When did I become a line-jumper and what is a line?

A line in this sense is a border that we shouldn’t cross.

Shouldn’t, – as defined by society, ethics, manners, conscience…mom and dad…
But nobody said “mustn’t” cross, except Grandma, because she knew stuff nobody else did.
That borderline is not an Iron Curtain or a DMC Zone with armed police patrols and watchtowers and minefields physically preventing me.
Although, when I think about it, it actually is, because if you cross such a line in public, boy you know about it.

In the privacy and seclusion of my thought world, however, I don’t jump the line, I use it as a venerable starting point for my imaginary excursions into ‘forbidden’ territory.
The world that opens up there is beyond description in intensity, pleasure, horror, reward, naughtiness, audacity…
If mind police would exist they would have squad cars lined up on my line: in gear, engines revving, foot on clutch, ready to pounce, because he is a serial offender.
And, if judgment day considers any line-jumping, I am in for a terrible surprise, like a ton of bricks as a ball and chain, forever suspended over a bunsen burner up my tenderness.
Not one soul will want to help me in that situation.

I became an lj as soon as I recognized that there was this “shouldn’t” side to a line. Initially cautiously, circumspectly, even fearfully, but driven to explore and quick in learning to return to the line as if nothing happened, lest you wanted a lecture.

Of course, because I am a line-jumper I think everyone else is too. We just don’t flaunt our line-jumping prowess like a gold chain. Despite the intention not to wear the line-jumper brand, and remain incognito, I have the feeling line-jumpers somehow know about others. I am also careful and skeptical of those who are line-jumping judges. They must have exemplary mind control or are just liars.

There is one side of line-jumping where you want to light an atom bomb in someone’s face or be stupidly daring.
There is another side too.
It’s not bad, but it is nevertheless also beyond the line. If ‘they’ make a strong enough case against you, you might end up in a place that really exists, but is so far from the line for most of us, it might as well be called Bedlam’s Cuckoo’s nest.
This other side of line-jumping I want to refer to carries the unenviable baggage of being branded delusional. The mere mention of the adjective has the sirens of the cuckoo’s nest proclaim an emergency upon me. So I have to tone down the delusion and call it an illusion born from a vivid imagination and now I’ll just skirt the gates of admission. Close call though. Where was the line now? That rigid line had flexible inserts. Much like having a bulldog-shrewd lawyer on your side that finds those inserts and turns delusional into inventive, ingenious and now suddenly judge and jury jubilate and acquit me.

I don’t walk the line.
On a good day, meaning when I have that acceptable (pre)disposition to the world, I might slalom over that line, hitherto and fro, like an inebriated driver attempting to follow the white line, but that is only because the world is watching me with a magnifying glass. As soon as I feel unobserved I flatten the pedal and pull back on the stick and dodge even my own surprises.

Somehow it always happens that I return to the line though, as if without it there wouldn’t be a reason to do anything. There is comfort, safety and sobriety around the line because it can get pretty rough out there. The line is like my bed, it is not where I spend my life, but only about a third of it.

Are you a line-jumper?
I’d love to know, – for my own sanity.