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Posts Tagged ‘reality’

i escaped the clutches of the lake, or that is the way it feels. Felt it dragging me to its depths at times, to that which lay below and within. At times it shown brightly at me, like the day i watched the sun or something sparkle upon it, in lines and geometric designs and across the shore, lighting up strands of light in the morning sun. I would visit it several times a day and it would reveal its mood to me, at times still and calm in the morning, other times dark and choppy, in the afternoon. Still there was something powerful there, something that left me ill at ease, and unsettled energy, and something revealing its depths. A wierd swirl? A container? A vortex? or just me?

It was an old volcano, and i saw one at the bottom, something down there something waiting, coming up, something more. She, the woman who runs las pirimides meditation centre, had asked us to visit the pyramid at the bottom of the lake, one that exists in another dimension. While i never visited it, in any type of travel, i believe and felt there was something profound there. But as i said in my previous blogs, something about the energy of the place felt out of kilter, and brought up alot in me. Or was it the town of San Marcos, or the centre of Las Pirimides, or my room or me or as i believe a combination of both. And the lake, surrounded by mountains and several volcanos in the mountains itself acted as a container, for the energies above and below and within.

The lake has become polluted, still used for swimming and irrigation and water and more, and the algae bloom that threatened it had died down but it is not clean, the water no longer pure. and it is not just the physical effluent that comes into it front the towns and villages that surround, but also the psychic effluent that comes in, from the history of the place, and from those who come to clear their energy, or party and live hedonistic lives, dumping it into the lake, and it has become magnified. Depending on the day, you can feel both. But there is also something more.

My world shattered as i stayed at the centre one where i feel that the energy has been removed from and the critic in me came out. The place seemed off kilter too, and it ws not just i who was – the garden seemed to lack life, the plants did not seem vibrant through in the main area the foliage was bright. And i felt caged of sorts, the lush plants blocked out the sky – both the sun and the stars – a mini-world from which you did not look out. The energy of the retreat, exploring through yoga, metaphysics and meditation, encouraging one to crawl inside while reaching for the light, and crawl inside i did – at times to my room, a larger dark room, with a single low watt lightbulb, stone floor, wood walls, and windows that faced an outside wall, i would crawl into that world, hiding beneath the covers in my cocoon, creating another container.

At times i would sit on my bed, watching the flame of the candle, making designs, beems of light in star formation, sending the light to me, or angels in the flames or pairs dancing, or a pane of ochre yellow with primitive designs and bubbles – it had its moods, like i and the place.

and i yearned to leave and i wanted to stay – the energy of the lake wierd, at times rough and choppy, dreams intense and my emotions bounce like the lancha on the water in the afternoon swells, other times solidity seemed to vanish as i entered another dimension, or the place did, in san marcos and in other communities – the ground less solid, i sway, all sways, time changes – slows and quickens, i cannot describe it all now. The day i went to san pedro and time stopped, and all became a blur, or the other day when i rode across to pana and the hills glowed in psychedelic brilliance, and i sat still, so still, mesmerized by the beauty and crispness of it all, apart looking on like in a film, a film set, but so much a part of it at the same time.

I went to the lake, down the narrow pathways, and sat to smoke (cigarettes only – despite how wierd this seems no drugs are involved in any of these perceptions) – by the dock in the morning as the sun rose and the sky turned pink or in the evening as darkness descended, and to my other spot, where i once watched light play, and sat in the sun at 9 am. Still, i never entered into the water, never the urge, though occasionally feeling that it was the thing to do.

And i sense the energies – not all clear, not all benign. The clash between the town above where the evangelicals would broadcast the gatherings on loudspeakers, many were annoyed, but i loved the alleluia and the praise to the senor dios, the womans unique voice calmed me even more than the aums (oms) we would sometimes chant. And the dogs in their own world, the barking at night, at nothing or something, the doggie spirits. and we practiced looking at another one day in meditation, staring at the third eye, and then seeing past lives of the other – i was sceptical, but then faces began to flash in front of my eyes, quickly, variations, some not quite human (and this happened to us all) – but taking off my glasses to see energy (as i often do out in nature) i began to see other faces or faces of others transformed, and it was not always wonderful, at times i wonder if i saw the other side, other variations of people or what we came from. Yes, talk of atlantis and angels, and i could see beyond out dimension more than at any time in the past. And where were we going, and was this in the name of god or not?

But for most of my time there i could not see the energies of plants or the mountains, except for the few brilliant flashes, and that bothered me, for i often can when i sit calm, look with my real eyes, and not the lenses that cover them to enable me to see form crisply. But my eyes were clouded much of the time there, as my ears were and at times my heart and soul. But i also had knowings and strange fears and emotions. Something awoke and something broke. Still it did not feel entirely safe, a safe place to explore that which i had been longing to for so long.

An i processed so much energy from within – my body rocking back and forth in meditation a swaying that i was doing – unconsciously – that seemed to take hold of me, and a twitch or loosening in the shoulders, and movements felt in the brain as pathways becoming restructured, and the blinking to clarity that i had only experienced in one other setting after sound healing and the movement of energy within and without. And occasionally a stiffening. My last days i felt sick and i knew it was not just some bad food but all that moved within me.

The day i left i descended to tears – ¨i dont want to go, i dont want to¨ i cried to myself, my bowels gave out so i did not go for a long walk to san pedro with others, i felt heavy and deadened barely able to muster a word, drained in tears, feeling alone, caught in some wierd vortex.

But once i left i felt a release. I did not know where i was going -to pana i thought, but as we crossed the water, i could not go back to noise, so got off in santa cruz where i had stayed before. I felt brighter and lighter. In santa cruz i saw the birds fly around a corn plot, and butterflies in the trees, and more birds singing and the plants and hillsides seemed so much more vibrant and alive and so did i. I was back in a different zone, saw the small gallery and in it some paintings that reflected the energy of nature, and at night i slept in the open dorm, feeling the air upon my face, the life pass through, and a cat crawl in with me,

I pulled myself away from the lake – back to antigua and saw some beauty i had not before.

Was i transformed, was it a wierd vortex, a container of energy? the energy of the place, or me, the interplay between it all.

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I am back in Antigua. Yesterday the walls moved again, the earth shook for a short while, as i stood in the same room where i had been almost a month ago when the shaking was longer and more intense – but this time i did not fear, the movement of the earth, something in perpetual motion, only most of the time we do not feel it, but as of late i have been feeling something, a shifting of sorts, in the air, in the dimensions, is it always something that is going on, is it part of the earth shift they talk about with 2012, is it me. but i have been feeling the solidity unravel beneath me and around me at times, on the lake (Atitlan), or walking down the street where suddenly all seems slightly wavey or ultraclear.

At times in my bed, here, in san marcos, in xela and elsewhere, i have felt a subtle rocking, like on a boat on a calm sea. Wondering if it is the subtle movements that i feel. or if there is a greater change in place. a few weeks ago in San Pedro La Laguna as i sat on the internet (no not on the internet, but on a chair in front of a computer) the time shifted, became slow for a moment, slightly unreal, the power flipped, and it seemed an eternity, but when it was over only a few minutes had passed. I had been at a retreat at las pirimides in san marcos, where discussion of dimensions and more was common, so was more open to feeling this, or more specifically to owning the feeling – for i have sensed it before – but been afraid to voice or type or write it.

And the earth moves, and there are so many dimensions of existence, which we are not trained to see, and actively deny, but i cannot not write about them any more. Are we shifting to a new dimension? How does the energy shift and move, become contained and flow.

One day on the lake i saw all crystal clear, glowing, enhanced 3-d and then on another all seemed less solid –
more questions than answers but i have so many posts not written from the past month, that i will send this one now.

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The air hangs heavy today though the sky is blue. The day is warm, too warm for the season, for a November day.  I rake the last of the now krinkled brown leaves beneath barren  trees and cut down the frost hit plants for their winter sleep. But it feels like summer of something. The flies and wasps have awakened once again but i feel stifled. The air has a  heaviness to it, cloying upon my brain and my being. There is a sickness of sorts to it, but i do not know why and cannot explain it.

I walk the dogs along the road and feel that i should rejoice. How blessed are we. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is out. A late “indian summer” is upon us – a brief reprieve  – a break from the rains and the cloudy skies that have held us in for so long, so nice after the morning frosts that have blanketed the grass so it crunches beneath your feet, and the hails that pelted down just a few days ago, briefly covering the ground with white pellets, and the winds have abated. The winds that blew through the other day have left something behind. But still, i feel a sickness of sorts in the air.

 I feel that i must check my perceptions – am i wrong, do others feel the way that i do. Is it just me who does not understand? The temperature reads over 60 degrees. The Air Quality Index says all is fine, we are in the healthy zone. Do i discount my perceptions and go along with the common consensus? But i cannot discount the fog that rose above the pond at sunrise and hung along the road for several hours, nor the brown twinge to the haze as i looked down to where it was beginning to fade. I cannot ignore the cloying that i felt as i walked along, and the heaviness that descends. Nor should i try to.  I am around those who when you ask if  is it warm or cold outside after they have stepped inside, look at the thermometer in order to read me  the answer. But what if is all is an illusion, a mass delusion and everyone is pretending, for we have been told it is a perfect day. What is the reality?

But maybe my general perceptions of the place  guide my interpretations of the moment – and i know that is true. The sluggishness that i have felt since i arrived, is now guiding me, and defining my reality. And how much of it is just me, the energies i bring in and how much of it is the here and now, what comes into me. Though the air differs each day, and throughout the day, it generally has a qualitatively different feel than the dry mountain air i breathed for months before i came here, or the thick ocean air i swam in before that.  And i know that the air is life and breath is life. Layers upon layers of it. Invisible. We cannot hold it in our hands or in ourselves, in and out, in and out, take a deep breath, can’t hold it too long. It circulates through us and the world and by it we are all connected.

 What is  carried on the wind, what is blown through and away? What is cleansed and what is sullied? What is it that gathers here and lingers in place?  While the air circulates the planet, it differs, not only from moment to moment but from place to place. Each breath we take contains parts of the breath of so many others – humans, animals, the respiration of plants – and the exhaust of so many man-made things – car exhaust, the smells and particles of industry, agriculture, forestry and so much more. Still the air gathers, at times hangs over and stagnates, other times just blows through, a force of emotions and feelings upon the wind. Where has it been before, and before, and before? How long did it spend there, and what joined it, and where will it go. I want to breathe in, but do not, it cloys and i am resisting life.

I wrote this yesterday, and today the air has changed, still but is still unstable. A cool refreshing breeze this morning, but by afternoon, something electric came in – a sense of unease, a feeling that something is about to happen, a shift to come. The glow of the sun is seen through a thin bank of clouds or something, The place is the same, much is the same, but it differs. Something has been carried in, for a moment, something lingers on for a while. The place that i am as i walk out the door won’t be exactly the same as it was when i did this morning. but then again neither will I. I will breathe the air, in and out, circulate the life force – and with each breath i inhale i am ever so slightly altered, and by each breath i exhale, i modify the collective life force. The air inside is stale, and i do not know what it will be as i walk out the door.

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I walk along the Avenue under colourful trees on a sunny day. I stroll past old mansions, but i do not really see. I am involved in a story of my own making, an imaginary conversation with someone who i will probably not see. In my daydream i create another world, and am no longer in the physical place where i stand.

How often do we do that? Get so caught in our own minds and chatter, that we ‘re no longer “here” in this physical place. We daydream, rehash old stories in our minds, go over what we need to do and where we need to go, missing not only the now but the here. At times we notice when we have missed our turn or stumble over a crack in the sidewalk, but how often do we fail to notice at all?

But if we are not “here” on the physical plane, in this material place, then where are we? And then, what is meant by place? Is it merely an illusion of our own making, of our collective minds? The “places” we go in our minds are often as real to us, or even more real, than where we sit or stand. Is “the world” merely a creation of our consciousness as some will say, or one of many planes of existence? Still, even when we are not fully here or there, we often are effected by, and affect what is around us.

As I am about to embark on another journey, of the next phase of the journey we call life, setting off to distant, unfamiliar lands, I seek to write about what energies exist in the different places i go. To share my perceptions with others.  To bring myself into the here and now, those marvelous moments when “I Am”, Being and connected. And that is so much easier to do when all is new.  But in the act of writing, instead of just being, do i draw back from the spirit of the place, remove myself from what is there?

And when I write about one place while sitting in another, drawing together my recollections on the screen, i often lose momentum – the brilliant insights that i had fade away and all is but a blur. I write this entry on a break from editing another one based on a place where i had been just the other day – it is difficult for it seems so far away.

 Thus, is any writing we have about a place, in any genre, really about a place or about memories instead? The notes at the time in order to write, to jog those memories, may be clear or not. They may bring us back to where we were, or we may look at them and wonder where that was  or what we now envision and what we had written on the page or typed on the screen do not mesh at all.  We may be unable to envision where we had been at all, even though at the moment we were there we felt connected and alive.

I turn away now, as my mind drifts from the place of this screen, to go back to writing about a physical place – neither truly here or there. I sit in a chair, stare at a screen and the clutter on the desk, lift my head to look at the bare tree outside the window and the pond and woods that lay beyond. I am chilly and my fingers are cold. I listen to the hum of the fridge, the breathing of the dog, the clawing of a cat, and the clicks of the keys as i type. The air is still and i turn my focus not only to the screen, but to the place i had been.

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