Wednesday, September 17, 2014

A New Divination Procedure Inspires Love

As most of us realize, having somebody to love is a precious commodity, especially in today’s world which so resembles the Matrix.  And, as we also know, finding that special someone is no easy task…unless perhaps, you have the help of Spirit.  Recently, Spirit helped me find Love via a new divination procedure I discovered, involving, of all things, an iPod.

It was the Spring of 2014, and softball season had just begun.  I was feeling like I did not belong on the field anymore.  For years I had been competing against players half my age, and most recently the competition had all too often seemed to be about a third of my age, which was bothersome conceptually.  Had I retained my abilities to pitch, field, hit, and/or run, this would hot have been such an issue.  But my skills were fading, and aching parts of my body were telling me to hang up my spikes, and save myself for other activities, Argentine tango primarily.

I was resisting the messages from my body.  I knew deep down that I…was still the best third-base coach the team had, could deliver a hit in the clutch, could cash in on intangibles, and was quite adept at helping Dave—the manager of the team and a close friend—do his job.  Thus, my logic continued to prevail.   But my spirit helpers, and/or guides, and/or higher self (collectively and individually, “Spirit” herein) were joined in disagreement with my conscious self.

I had gone to the first (and only) softball team practice and did very well.  On opening day, I did alright as a designated hitter, while not hitting with any authority, but netting one gift-hit in three at bats, ably running the bases, and scoring a run. 

A key personal moment in that opening-day contest occurred when a fellow teammate chided me (not the first time) over how I had circled the bases, station to station—right after I had scored a run!  His “good-natured teasing” brought out in me feelings that I thought I had left behind after abandoning the dubious goal of becoming a street fighting man, so many years before. I literally had an urge to punch him in the mouth.  Fortunately, the urge was easy to resist.  Nevertheless, there was no denying that the urge was there, serving as another prompt to leave the team (who wants/needs those impulses?).  

Still, in true baseball fashion, I was “hanging in there.”

Then came the moment on the job when Spirit really began to go to work, apparently because I wasn’t getting the message. I had an interaction with Dave that, long story short, became the impetus for me to quit the team.  A couple of days later, I walked into Dave’s office, handed in my uniform, and told him that I was resigning from the Pubs.  I offered no explanation and he, in shock, didn’t ask for one, until at the end of the day when he came into my office and asked, “Is everything alright? You quit the team so suddenly.”  I didn’t want to get into the specifics and so I replied, “Yeah, everything is fine.”

Problem was, Dave is a great friend, and it was gnawing at me that I had not been completely forthright with him.  And so a couple of days later, I went into his office and offered him an explanation of my take on what had occurred. Dave responded with an apology for words and an attitude he never meant to (and likely didn’t) convey.  A long discussion followed, and we ended up telling each other “I love you,” something I have never before said to a man who wasn’t my father or brother. 

During that conversation with Dave came a key moment of Truth.  I was mentioning to him how Spirit had used him to bring me to two key facets of my life—my connection to, and relationship with, world-class medium Suzane Northrop; and my delving into 9/11 Truth, the specifics of which I have written about in my book Into the Mystic… and here on this blog, respectively).  What I got during that discussion with Dave was that Spirit had (in a decidedly unique but highly effective and personalized way (they know me too well)) used Dave by getting me to wrongly perceive what he was conveying, and do what my path demanded:  quit the team.  When I stated as much to Dave, a powerful wave of emotion overcame me, and brought me to tears.  In that moment, I knew I had nailed it (tears, in certain contexts, as here, often serve as a validation)—Spirit wanted me to leave the team.  But why?  I went on alert to watch for the reason.

The answer came a few weeks later.  As part of my usual morning exercise routine, I was riding my stationary recumbent exercise bike and about to listen to my iPod on shuffle play.  I had some time ago discovered a personal divination procedure involving the iPod: I would (1) mentally focus on a question or topic, (2) ask Spirit to come and provide some guidance, (3) hit “Shuffle Songs” on the iPod, (4) see and hear what songs came up, and (5) receive whatever message was attached to the songs.  I would often gain insight using this procedure, and used it that Friday morning. 

Had I remained on the softball team, there would have been a game to attend that Friday night.  But since I had left the team, the only activity options were the usual tango parties, and the monthly journeying event at the New York Shamanic Circle (NYSC).  I hadn’t been to the Circle in some time, I knew, and was wondering if I should go.  That was the issue I had in mind when I asked for an answer to come from Spirit, via my iPod.

After I hit “Shuffle Songs,” the first two songs to play on the iPod were Cherokee Nation (by Paul Revere and the Raiders) and Indian Giver (by the 1910 Fruitgum company). Both songs are American Indian based.  Of course, American Indians are associated with shamanism, and so I easily got that I was to attend the NYSC that evening. I checked the NYSC website for their (then-current) location, where I had never been.  The Circle was to be held at the American Indian Community House.  A spirituality trifecta!  No doubt about it, I was being prompted to attend the Circle, and would do so—despite the fact that I would have to take a strange elevator for the first time (usually a deterrent. I’m elevator-shy, to put it kindly).

{Note: I have over 2,200 songs on my iPods.   Only four songs involve Indians: the two mentioned above and two others.  The odds of one Indian song playing at any given moment are 4 in 2,200.  The odds of two Indian songs playing back-to-back are (4 in 2,200) x (3 in 2,200) =  12/4,840,000 = or about 2.4 chances in a million.}

To the Circle I went, after a stop-off at a nearby wine bar for a glass of cabernet sauvignon. (It’s not really advisable to drink alcohol when you are about to embark on a shamanic journey, but old and new habits die hard, and it worked out great here, as indicated below.) 

Upon my arrival, Kathy (not her real name), a lovely member of the Circle with whom I had been acquainted intermittently since 2001, wished me a “Happy New Year.”  I thought ‘What?  Happy New Year? I was here three months ago, in February.’  Later I checked my notes.  As it turned out, I hadn’t been to the Circle since February 2013, some fifteen months before!  And so the “Happy New Year” comment from Kathy was actually appropriate.  As was the observation she made after hugging me hello: “You’re damp.”  I was indeed a tad soggy; it had been drizzling outside. 

I took off my shoes and settled in, as the actual circle of participants began to form. There were about 25 of us, most of whom were new to me.  I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Where have all the regulars gone?

During one of the journeys (with a partner who was new to shamanism), the red wine I had consumed earlier began to make me sleepy.  As I was lying down and closing my eyes, Kathy came by, barefooted, and stepped on my feet. “No sleeping on the job,” she directed good-naturedly before quickly moving on. 

‘Hmmmm,” I thought, ‘Is she flirting?’ because that seemed a bit too familiar an act for a relationship that had been nothing more than an acquaintanceship previously.  From that moment on, Kathy was on my mind for the rest of the evening. 

The three journeys that evening were mostly mother-oriented, as Mother’s Day was approaching.  For me the journeys went well, including the partner-with-a-stranger journey which always triggers performance anxiety (needlessly, as it usually turns out). 
At the end of the evening, as the Circle was wrapping up, Kathy was speaking to someone nearby and I heard her mention “my fiancé.”  Reflecting on the attraction I had felt toward Kathy since 2001, I figured, ‘Oh well, strike her off the list [of potential love interests].’ I approached and teased Kathy about being “violent” in her manner of ordering me to not sleep.  She laughed, and we hugged goodbye.

On the drive home, I remained focused on Kathy and our exchanges earlier in the evening. We were distant friends on Facebook, and I decided to message her there.

I wrote: “great seeing you tonight.  i re-checked my notebook.  the last time i was at the nysc was february alright, but of 2013, not this year!  i had no idea that it had been that long.  so right... happy new year!  and thanks for all the hugs and even the step-on.  love your energy and touch.  if i don't see you before you leave, safe travels out west!”

Kathy replied the next morning: “Dennis, I was so glad to see you last night and squeeze you. You bring such a great &clean energy to the circle. I am sorry if my teasing and stepping on your toes hurt your feelings (& toes).  I know you are in your mastery and don't need to even close your eyes to journey. Most times my best info comes while sleeping through a journey. I hope it won't be so long until I see you again--at least before I leave in July. Xo”

I laughed and decided to chance bringing up Kathy’s mention of her “fiance’” in my next reply. “Thanks so much…You are a joy to hold and behold.  You did not hurt my feelings or toes, I enjoyed it!  I just turned it back into a tease of you when you brought up the violence thing. Did I hear you right when you seemingly mentioned having a fiancé?”

“A fiancé, not yet! Do you know something/someone I should know?” Kathy wrote back, while following up her reply with a picture of a joyous Snoopy simply walking and smiling.

Not really getting what the Snoopy image was all about, I thought, ‘No fiance’?  That’s good news,’ while wondering whether Spirit had been at work getting me to hear something that was not said (as had happened with Dave); and if Kathy were the reason Spirit had gotten me to give up softball and go to the Circle on a night that I would have been playing in a game had I not left the team.

Feeling my suspicions were correct, I replied to Kathy: “hmmm...i guess i mis-heard.  i do know that i would like to take you out to dinner sometime.  interested?”

“Would love that!” was Kathy’s response. 

“Great! Would this coming Friday work for you?...”

 “Friday is good…”

We made arrangements for that Friday but as fate would have it, ran into each other two nights before at a Susana Tapia Leon event at the Subud Center, one evening after the full moon.  The setting seemed so magical (as is always is the case at Susana events) with Kathy arriving late and sitting down right next to me at the only open seat left in the circle.  I flashed on the fact that  Susana had played such a pivotal role in my becoming a 9/11 Truth activist, back in September 2008 (as discussed here).  

After the Susana event, I offered Kathy a ride home, and she accepted.  We enjoyed each others company and got to know each other a little better on the ride back to Brooklyn, which made our dinner engagement two nights later go that much more smoothly.

As of this writing, four months later [but see my update in the comment below], Kathy and I are a couple.  All thanks to Spirit who, thru Dave, had gotten me to resign from the softball team at a crucial moment (by getting me to misinterpret Dave's communications), led me to the New York Shamanic Circle for the first time in 15 months (via the iPod divination process) so I could meet Kathy on a night that I would otherwise have been playing softball, got me to mis-hear Kathy say “my fiancé’” which in turn triggered a Facebook message exchange that led to a date, romance and ultimately Love.  Along the way there was the “chance encounter” of meeting Kathy at Susana’s Subud Center event (which leads me to theorize that by getting me to connect with Kathy, Spirit (here including the spirits whom I have encountered at the New York Shamanic Circle)  was rewarding me for all of the extra 9/11 Truth work I had done, with Susana’s encouragement)—all  which paved the way for a fabulous first date.

Or so it seems.

Thank you, Spirit.

And thank you, readers, for getting to THE END of this article.

Special thanks to Kathy and Dave for contributing to this article.

Thursday, March 13, 2014

A Screaming Synchronicity

A week ago, a tango friend with whom I feel a positive connection invited me to an unveiling of her rock band’s video at a bar on the Bowery, in Soho.  It was a Facebook invitation and there I declared myself to be a “Maybe” attendee, as I was unsure whether or not I should go. 

The day of the event began as a tough one.  My early morning head was blown by my own caretaker impatience, and maniacal screaming.  Then, when I got to work, the negativity was further exacerbated by the voice mail revelation that one of my key reports had suffered a fall and “a few fractures” in her elbow, and would be out for days, if not weeks.  Meaning we had to improvise throughout the workday to meet the newsletter deadlines, which we did.  But it was a long and arduous day.  

Came the evening and I was still unsure about attending the rock video unveiling.  I left work around 7:45PM.  On my way to the parking garage, I picked up a bottle of Malbec in the event that I was to head directly home and wine and dine with moi. 

My Prius took me onto the FDR, and I realized that I was heading to the Bowery.  I wondered what parking would be like in that part of town (unfamiliar territory for me) at that hour.  As it turned out, parking was not a problem.  I got a spot right on the Bowery itself, famous for its bums.  There was an alternate side of the street parking restriction that kicked in at midnight, before which I would be long gone, but after which locals would have to move their cars.  Hence, the available parking spaces.

I got to the bar a few minutes after the scheduled start time, 8pm.  Recorded music was coming from the area in the back.  The volume was reasonable.  I felt an urge to head to the back but resisted the impulse, and decided to check in properly with the bartenders.  Mistake.

The lovely female African American bartender told me that the event would start at 9 (which turned out to be inaccurate; the event actually started at 8:15 in the back, I would learn the next day).  I figured I'd hang out as the music in the back wasn't excessively loud. Suddenly one of the other bartenders turned on different music up front, BLASTING!!!!! It was absolutely awful music (in this man’s opinion) that clashed horribly with the music coming from the back, to the limited extent that you could still hear the music coming from the back.

Ear-splitting cacophonies are not my cup of tea.  It was time for me to go.  Even with my custom musicians earplugs and 25 decibel reduction capacity, this event would be undoable for me. 

I got in my car and started driving, and reconsidering, wondering whether I should just putter around Soho for a bit and return to the bar at 9, or just head home.  As I was stuck in traffic on Houston Street, around Chrystie, I heard my rear door open.  I turned and saw a big burly Bowery bum , in a hooded sweatshirt, getting into my car. Horrified, truly fucking horrified, I screamed, “What the fuck are you doing? Get out! Get out! Get out!...” And the Bowery bum is just standing there, hunched over, half in, half out, with a “What’s your problem?” attitude being transmitted from behind the hooded sweatshirt that concealed most of his face.  Finally my relentless screaming like a Banshee got him to turn slowly and leave, casually closing the door behind him as he did.  I watched him walk off, ever so slowly, and begin to rummage through some construction paraphernalia along the side of the Houston Street.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and locked my doors with the manual door controls on my left (the doors on my 2008 Prius do not lock automatically).  Traffic started to move.  I wondered where to go.  Should I return to the bar and the video unveiling, or head home? 

I drove along the path of least resistance and ended up on the Bowery northbound, in the lane that takes you to the Manhattan Bridge, and back to Brooklyn.  I followed that path.  Soon I would be home.

One of the freakier aspects of this experience was hearing the register of my own voice when I was screaming at the burly intruder, whose presence reminded me of the figure of Death, only meatier. My screams of horror, I must confess, sounded borderline female.

Once home, I decided to tell no one about the incident mainly because I was embarrassed by the overtly female screams that projected out of my horrified male body when the Bowery bum was making his way into my car.  That at some level, the idea that I was anticipating being murdered, was of little consolation to this alleged street fighting man.

The next morning I was to take my mother to the hearing doctor.  Came 8AM and I picked up Mom and her nursing attendant at my mother’s apartment.   Spontaneously I revealed what had happened the night before, leaving out the part about my horrific “Get out!” screams sounding female. 

In the car, on the way to the doctor’s office, my mother (a very psychic person) revealed that she was following a murder case, and that the defendant was banking on a “screams like a woman” defense. Specifically, in that case, Oscar (“Blade Runner”) Pistorius, a leading South African runner with partially amputated legs who competed in the Olympicsis on trial for murdering his beautiful girlfriend and model, Reeva Steenkamp.  

As my mother—who has been following the trial—told the story, Pistorius says that he thought his girlfriend was an intruder.  He admits that he shot her, but claims that it was a terrible mistake. Here's a key: Neighbors testified that they had heard screams, and that they were screams of a woman.  Pistorius says that the screams were his own screams of horror, upon realizing his mistake!  Expert testimony is to be presented stating that when a man is truly horrified, his screams can sound female. 

I had never heard of the proposition that when a man is truly horrified, his screams can sound female, but my own “Invasion of the Bowery Bum” experience proved quite convincingly to me that a horrified man’s screams can sound female.  If I were the judge trying the Pistorius case (there is no jury, as I understand it, the case being tried in South Africa)I’d have to consider, along with all the other evidence, whether or not the “screams like a woman” defense, being ridiculed in the wholly untrustworthy mass media, is in fact legitimate, and whether or not Pistorius is actually telling the truth. 

Just putting it out there, to the Universe, as I’m feeling compelled to do, the synchronicity of my horrific experience with the Bowery bum dovetailing curiously with Pistorius’  “screams like a woman” defense.

Submitted for what it’s worth.  Thanks for reading.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Where Was I?

Five months before this writing, I had gotten a fantastic Akashic Records reading from Joanna Salerno. Not knowing my background or connection to shamanism, Joanna began the reading with the revelation of a past life I had as a wizard within a Seventh Century shamanic community in Scotland. As she explained, the Records indicated that “the unseen” had formed me and framed me from that point forward, which totally resonated.

A few months later, I got an email from Garry Gewanta friend whose spirituality-based events I had attended from time to time, over the years, in various parts of New Jersey.  I hadn’t seen Garry in a while and was feeling drawn to the past life regression workshop he had scheduled for Saturday January 18, 2014.  My inclination was to determine if I could connect with that Seventh Century existence Joanna had mentioned, and learn what I could learn.  So I registered for Garry’s full-day event. 

On the day of the event, the weather wasn’t all that cooperative.  It was snowing and the roads were slippery.  Still, a dozen of us past life regression seekers did make it to Garry’s venue. 

The morning session involved Garry’s leading a discussion of past life regression in general, and in the afternoon, after some preliminary exercises, he was to guide us to wherever it was we would be going while in a hypnotized state he would induce.  This being a group-session and not a one-on-one event, Garry’s guidance could only be general, and there would be no interacting between him and any members of the group during the regression. 

We all closed our eyes and relaxed, as Garry began guiding us into a trance state. 

The vision came quickly for me.  Entranced, I was transported back to what I took to be Seventh Century Scotland, and saw a ghostly version of myself there.  I was indeed part of a shamanic community.  We were gathered in a clearing in a forest.  The community appeared to be nomadic, and it registered that we were from the future somehow, time travelers of a sort—at least that was the information coming to me as I envisioned.  I did not see any children there, nor any living quarters.

While inside the vision, I was walking among the gathering and became very consciously aware that I had absolutely no fear or concern of the men around methis in stark contrast to how it was on the streets of Brooklyn of my youth where I was always on guard.  (Why the streets of Brooklyn of my youth were my frame of reference, I can only surmise.)  I wondered why I had no fear and looked down at my body.  It was then that I realized that I was a woman (as Joanna had noted in the reading), seemingly in her twenties.  At that point my consciousness (such as it was) was thrust out of the vision itself, and I became more of a third-party observer. 

I watched as the woman I was came further into focus.  As she walked, it was as tho she were gliding thru the grounds.  “A very light body,” I thought.  (For ease of reference here, I will at times refer to the woman in the vision as “Rhona,” a name I selected from the list here.  

On a prompt from Garry to look around for someone we knew, I found a version of my internet friend Cindy (who, in this life, had recommended Joanna to me initially).  In the vision, Cindy was male (as Joanna had mentioned during my Akashic Record reading), young and handsome.  He was pursuing Rhona, but she perceived him only as a friend.  Finally she gave in, almost as a favor.  They made love only once.  There was no vision of the act, only a realization.

Rhona knew, and I sensed that the entire community was aware, that their souls had incarnated knowing that they would be slaughtered one day.  That was their destiny.  It was what they had signed up for.  And that's exactly what happened in the vision.  

When an invading horde entered the village, Rhona walked up boldly but peaceably to confront the horrifying bearded hairy monster who was the leader of the gang of blood-thirsty warriors.  She stared him in the eyes, fearlessly, and said nothing.  In one sudden swipe with his huge heavy sword, the horde leader cut off Rhona’s head.  It came to me that she was actually happy about the quick death because she did not want to be raped.  And because, as the shamans say, “It's important how you die.”

The horde leader reached down to the ground and grabbed Rhona’s bleeding head by the hair.  He held it up and mockingly yelled to the community now gathered around, “Here’s your great mystic.”  Then he and the rest of the horde proceeded to slaughter everyone in the village.  

I saw Rhona’s spirit/soul exit her body peacefully.  In spirit as in life, she was beautiful.  As a spirit walking away from the horror, she would not turn around to witness the atrocity being committed; but she knew what was happening.  Nor was I permitted to watch, as a third-person observer, which was okay by me.  However, I did at one point see wild dogs eating at Rhona’s body.  

It came to me that somehow as a result of this horror, when the souls of the community were outside their slaughtered bodies, their energies spread out, and seeds of spirituality began to be sown far and wide.  That was apparently the goal they had, as souls, before agreeing to incarnate and be slaughtered.  That is, they were there to die as they did, and as a result (somehow) spread spirituality for the overall betterment of mankind.  Why they had to go thru such a horrible death in order to accomplish this result was not revealed.  Nor could I help but wonder if there were not a better way.

Once the vision was over, I meditated on how that life of mine as Rhona was impacting me now in this life—which was the reason for doing the past life regression to begin with.  In the main, the answer was twofold.

First, in this life, I am into spirituality, and help to spread spirituality via my book, website, participation at circles, seminars, mediumship and spirituality events, meeting people of a like-mind, and sharing stories; all of which tends to strengthen our connections, and reinforce our beliefs.

Second, I have undertaken my 9/11 truth efforts to help bring about justice for innocent victims ruthlessly slaughtered.  

On a macro level, my take is that energies (known as archons***) possessed the horde back in the Seventh Century, and that these are the same energies (or family of energies) that inhabited those who massacred the nearly three thousand people in the false flag atrocity known as 9/11, and millions later in the name of the bogus and endless “War on Terror”  (which would be more appropriately named, the “War of Terror”).   I did not get that the same souls were involved.  

A third impact on my current life from that life of mine in Seventh Century Scotland, is the death wish I seem to have at times (but never take too seriously) in this life.

So, where was I, in actuality, during this past life regression?  Was the vision I experienced an accurate portrayal of a slice of my soul's personal history?  Or just a dream.

In short, I am not sure.  For all the paranormal experiences I’ve had throughout my life, I am still somewhat of a skeptic.  It seemed at times that this vision was too pat, fed by prior references and revelations, and that i might have been “making it up.”  

But then again, I was in a fairly deep hypnotic state which (for me at least) is usually a trustworthy environment.  Also, the vision was very vivid and independently directed, thereby providing authenticity, in my view.  

At the end of the group past life regression session, Garry brought us back into our current selves.  I shared my vision with the group.  There was no feedback, except a pat on the back from Garry. 

Later, I asked Cindy for her take and she said, “I feel it probably happened as you saw it.”  

I would say that the vision is true in some symbolic sense, and maybe historically as well.

I had also asked Garry in an email, “with regard to the experience i had/shared at your workshop—what was your take on what i experienced, as shared?  [did it] seem valid to you, or [was it just] me ‘imagining things?’”

Garry responded, “That question is in all of our thoughts after a PLR [past life regression].  There is only one person who can answer that and that’s you. If it felt real to you, it was. If you think it was your imagination, I would ask: is it possible that what you interpret as imagination could really be your subconscious access to a past life experience that you perceive as imagination?  More food for thought.”

Yes, and that is the bottom line.  I have indeed thought about the experience and decided to blog about it.  And so that’s where I am,  at the moment of this writing.

Thanks for reading.  As always, comments welcome.

***For more on the archons, see my Amazon review of Hank Wesselman's The Bowl of Light here  where I point out a. . . 
. . . somewhat disturbing discussion of a "the deceivers" (called "archons" by the early Gnostics, as Hank observes in a footnote on page 250). Makua [the great Hawaiian mystic] describes the deceivers as those 'free-ranging psychic entities, invisible beings [not spirits] who function as mind parasites...they especially attach themselves to our political, economic, and religious leaders--to all the major players in the game.' During Makua's discussion of the deceivers, Hank pointedly interjects, "I thought furiously and responded, 'The Christian massacre of the pagans...the Dark Ages...the Thirty Years' War...the Inquisition...the witch hunts...the Holocaust...9/11...' Makua smiled sadly and simply nodded in agreement" (page 226).