Imperative” 4-28-15

I have written many unpublished essays, and have been given the opportunity to process, but still, things must be said, here, and I want to reacquaint myself with you now.

Funny how it works out. This is the first lull in which I have wanted to write. It was an urgency this morning. Hence, the title. I lucked into an hour and a half of free time just now. Go figure. So, here I am, trying to make sense of my self and my world and this process, here on that page, once again.

I spent a week in California in training, under Professor Enrique Bouron, in Biological Decoding. In essence, it is the study of how emotions, as intoxicant rather than fuel, creates manifestation of “illness” in the body. Basically. I go back in August, and could easily dive head long into the work, I know that now. It is rich, Biological Decoding. It’s home, in a way, and, it’s always nice when I realize I have another home.

Although it is in my nature to explain, to really get in there and get deep and lay it out, I have come to understand that this is not my role with Bouron’s work.

On the last day, after an intense experience I am going to tell you about, and then a two hour lecture on quantum reality, I took the break. I was ravenous. I have had other moments like that. Moments of sheer creature hood. I laugh. You should have seen me. Ravenous.

As I ate, I thought, and then, I was overcome.

I understood in a flash, washing down a huge bite of sandwich, that the week I had just had, well, it many purposes, but, one of them was to help me see how I fit in all of this.

I realized sitting there on the bar stool that I started this out, this blog thing, in an effort simply to understand what in god’s name was happening to me. I didn’t know.

But I had my suspicions.

I took to the pen and I never looked back, and it was, in large part, because of what I understood in those early days, when I was being birthed into this, in 12.

Three years ago. Call it a download. Call it inspiration. Call it my brain just giving me a break for once. But I was told what this writing was, in part.

I was told it will be a genre. Called Reverse Autobiography. It would become quite popular, as things progressed. The idea is, you get a hit of light, and then, everything has changed, and you get to write about your life, reclaim it, examine it, undetonate it, and then realize its beauty and sense and worth. I was told I couldn’t be plagiarized. My voice is a fingerprint, can’t be duplicated. They’ll try, they told me, and they told me to be flattered. They told me never worry about an idea that you have had being developed by someone else. There’s more than enough ideas, and if they get far, it means they were the ones to carry that message. Don’t be greedy, they said. You will never run out of material, or genres, for that matter.

I was told a lot of things, some of which I can no longer access, much of it borne out, and so much of it yet to be revealed. And, you know, because I described it as it was happening, I can review my notes, I can reread Deeply Awake. It’s all in there. The visions, the certainty, the reality of a new wind blowing through.

And now, it’s been three years. On a bar stool in Carlsbad California, on a break from a lecture in quantum medicine. Surrounded by people who I like and many who want to get to know me, and I them.


But, that’s sort of big picture stuff, and stuff I needed to say just to bring you up to speed, really. There is more. There is always more.

Can you feel it?

I want to know.

Can you?

I like to paint with a very broad brush, and I like my synchronicity so dumbed down a mentally challenged individual could look at the thing and say “Jesus, that is so weirdly perfect…” I put that decree in a couple years ago. Make my synchronicity so obvious that I just cannot deny it. Please.

And, they do. I do. We do.

So, I have this reset. Eight days, nine, was it? But, in a completely supportive, nearly womb-like setting, paradise, in fact, I called it, many times. And this was bookmarked with plane rides, so high up that I can’t hear or feel much, untethered, disconnected. Reset.

And I come back, after the culmination of the two eclipses and all that celestial stuff, I come back after the 4-20, which was huge, and everything is so much better. I am so much better.

This is not the effect of mediocre restaurant food and gentle sleep. This is the effect of the equivalent of nuclear bombs going off in my psyche. Or, at the very least, some powerful sandstorms.

I cannot, will not, do much explaining of Biological Decoding here, until I get Mr. Bouron’s permission.

But, Mine is not to teach the stuff, and that is what hit me in the restaurant, you see. That’s the part that is the bridge, between what I have been doing the last three years and what is to come.

I sat there and thought. I ate. Mechanically. Messily. Distractedly. I was thinking.

I realized that all that time, the twenty years I spent walking around with this stuff quiet, just living in 3d, feeling like I was dying, every single day, this ascension and DNA and common sense stuff unspoken, forbidden, but never ever forgotten, it was a blessing to have it with me, and it burned to not have it complete. And there on that bar stool, there was a bend, a curve, and I could see the whole thing. I could see it as a circle, a spiral, a fractal. Finally.

I worked diligently the last three years, slowly rising out of my self imposed amnesia and darkness. The lights came on one by one at first. It was gradual. It was good. With every change, with every little fix in my thinking, my life seemed to get more on track. Not “better” in the classical sense, since I was still poor as a church mouse and fucked up in my emotions, but, I was getting there.

And I wrote about it. I reached conclusions. I began to channel.

And I reached the same conclusions these men have. I did. All on my own. With books, yes, and with the internet, but, no community. No buddy to bounce ideas off of, alone with my thoughts and my net book, at least for those first two years….

We are all like this of course. One does not come to face oneself holding another’s hand. It must be done alone.

I saw it so clearly. My role in this. Although I understand, now, how to heal people, how to effect healing, and I have always understood its inherent responsibilities, in the end, I could just care less, I realized.

I have had thirty years of broken bodies, broken minds, broken lives. I have enough.

If they would let me, I could give people that release, I could. So few want it. So few understand.

And so, I am not interested, in the end, in healing others anymore. Please, please, please… heal yourselves. I want people to heal themselves. And maybe decoding can bring some peace to me as a wounded healer myself.

It is wounding, to be asked to heal those who refuse it, asked to heal with tools that harm. It takes a toll.

Instead, it has been my pleasure, and my endeavor, to figure out just how the fuck one applies this sparkly stuff to daily life, the hand to hand combat each of us are invited to engage in daily with others. It’s what has driven me, fascinated me, kept me nursing, kept me focused, kept me uneasy, kept me going.

This has been my main conundrum. Self and Others. Identity. Meaning.

But, what has mattered the most to me these last three years is getting down to it. Finishing it up. Completion.

I do not believe, as my colleagues do, that people cannot change. That’s the soul cry of someone who feels horribly betrayed. It’s not true, and it makes for bad thinking and bad decisions, I think.

Yesterday, driving home, I was just floored by a couple things, and I want to tell you about them.

I realized, and then tried to articulate it, right then, that I feel there is a cord, some sort of traction, pulling me forward. I can see it, feel it, running though me, to the past, but the past seems not to matter in this model. It is a fact, and there are visuals, but, they are irrelevant.

No. What is alive is what is out in front of me, and I know it is alive because it is pulling me.

All through the day, I could remember that there would be night that night. And usually I couldn’t. I couldn’t ever really believe that I was going to see my loved ones again, once I was on duty. I truly and utterly did not believe, neurologically, that I was going to rest soft in my bed again. I did not have the language for rest or bed, while driving around town fixing others, or on shift late at night, or in any of the other clinical situations I have put myself in over the years. My God, such immediacy.

Before leaving for California, my brain was really fried, and this was causing me, and my patients, some problems. I was fragmented. For several weeks prior to leaving, I found that in consultation with a patient, I would lose my thoughts as I was saying them. Great blanks. I had to abandon whole thought groups, unable to catch them again. I would forget appointments, commitments. I would always remember and fix, but, the effort, and the resultant panic, was absolutely enormous.

I was truly riding one point, by the end of it. Tightly focused. And completely scattered.

So imagine my surprise yesterday. I could remember conversions I had had earlier in the day. I remembered what needed to be said to the other. I remembered promises I’d made two weeks earlier. Still very very scattered, but somehow in better form, in a workable structure.

But yesterday, for the first time in my career, I believed, I understood and knew that I would be home that evening. I felt safe the whole day, not just at 4:59.

It happened in California too. The third or fourth day. I was looking at the projector screen, reading about some horrible disease, and I realized, oh my god, I am going to be back here. In August. It’s real. I’ll be coming back. I wrestled with the doubt. My belief that tomorrow doesn’t exist and that somehow, even if it does, I never get what I want. All of that was gone. Instead, I was filled with buoyancy. Huh. It’ll be warm in here in August, I thought, as I leaned back, put my arm on the back of the chair and listened. Yep. It’ll be nice here in August.

In the classroom, and in my car yesterday, I was flooded with a warmth, and a hope. I don’t fully believe it is true, but I believe more fully now.

Last night I realized while listening to a Kryon tape, he said one phrase and gongs went off, and I realized that, and why, I had to go out there, I had to do something. I had reached the end of my abilities with the consciousness I had developed. I could go no further on some very very key points. I was stuck, my thinking was jammed.

The decoding helped. I saw why my focus gets so laser like. And, away, I understood I have continually put myself in experiences which amount, to me, to be a fairly conflicted activity, when nursing. Loving it, and hating it. Needing, and resenting it. Doing it, and wanting not to.

Um, I think I just described an addiction, actually.

Anyhow, what matters is that surely, if it hadn’t had been this conflict with nursing it would have been with fire fighting or cabinetmaking or skydiving. Whatever, I’d still have the conflicts. And now, now that I know what the conflicts are, and what pushed me, and the effect it has, I have begun to change my approach.

I understand now that nursing was a good and apt endeavor. But, it’s old. It triggers that survival shit really good. I understand that my old, mean, rigid, provocative, dumbass behaviors spill out as I’m feeling assaulted with old, mean , rigid, provocative, dumbass behaviors. And I signed up for it. I get why I chose it, and I am proud of the work I did, the path I chose. But, I’m done with it now.

What matters now is this new stuff coming through. It is revolutionary. It is palpable. And it is what is sucking me along, pulling me forward, and it’s this that has been there all along. I just didn’t get it until now.

I know it’s also me job to explain the sparklies, and so I am going to end with how my last day went, but, I have a couple more things to say.

I think my block was worth. I couldn’t really find a justification for the pain I had felt, and I couldn’t find much love in the eyes of others. I just couldn’t feel it. I didn’t believe it. Much like not believing dinner fixings were at home and that my belly wouldn’t burn once my work day was done, I also could never really truly believe that comfort did, that anything did. In the end, I know the core one was feeling like I just didn’t exist at all. It was a puzzle, certainly.

And through this training, and the last three years, to be sure, I think all I have figure out can be summed up by saying, I am really something else. That takes no light from others to say. But, wow, I am something. Huh. I came out ok.

And, I am.

I am here.

What I sense and think and feel, it is valid. It is meaningful. It has worth. And I know this because of others, and because of self. Self and Other. It’s my mystery.

The weird and quite obvious synchronicity that took over a couple days before I took off is still here. It’s still uncanny. It’s still palpable. It’s not going away. It doesn’t hurt to work as a nurse. It felt good to be with my kid. Things are soft. They are gentle now. Everywhere. Everywhere. Everywhere.

And that is what I want to sing and dance and rejoice about.

This thin strain of music from the unknown, this gentleness that would visit me sometimes and calm me when I couldn’t, shouldn’t, would never be calm again, it would steal over me, even as a child. And I could go on then.

So, before I tell you of that morning, I will tell you of this morning.

I was doing my standard poking around the internet. I watched slivers of things, read a lot, and then, I wanted to hear music. I put on a favorite from 1973. David Essex. Rock On.

I remembered, this morning, the context of that song. And although I will not share that here, I will tell you that this is a song that has always done that soothing thing to me. Always. It stops me cold and makes me feel good.

This morning, fingers pushing at the black discs hugging my ears, I grooved and swayed, smiled, and, I remembered.

I was filled with love for that twelve year old who’d stumbled onto this great little ditty. I remembered when I heard it first, how I felt, and where I was. I was in my phase of spending months in the crawl space. I would come home from school and go there. In the summer, it was my room. I liked it there. Away.

And, where do we go from here? Which is the way that’s clear?

So. I listened this morning, and I remembered a few things.

I remembered that music, it is much like smells, only more powerful, in some regards, more of an intoxicant, because it involves the cortex. Even so, it is pure. It is from beyond the veil, music, lyrics, the state. It has power in its purity of expression. It is like a liquid, I thought. A sturdy liquid that can move through time very very easily.

I thought about that in silence. I have done this next before, but, never so intentionally.

I got some more coffee, and put on my headphones again. I decided that this music, and this one chosen song, it’s a time machine, really.

I have thought this with other songs. How 3 Little Birds is my way of being comforted, telling me everything is ok. Other songs that have moved me, like tectonic plates shifting sometimes.

And so, this song, this one that I have been listening to on and off for 42 years, I decided to fill it up, load it up, for myself.

So, I adjusted the headphones, got real intentional, and thought about that girl.

The one in the crawlspace.


I swayed and rocked and sang, but I did for her this time. I have done this with other songs,. I have known that I have visited myself , in moments of extremity, later in meditation I have revisited and made sure that one in trouble knows there is someone protective and loving right there, breathing with her, wanting to touch her hair and coo oh, darling, you are safe, you are loved, you are not broken, you survive this. You survive. You are safe. I have done this for a long time, really, but today felt different.

I told all the selves who’d be checking in on this song, in emotional, soulic terms, that we are together. That none of us are ever alone. That we are tending to each other. That we are safe, and it is all purposeful.

As this happened, I understood this fractal stuff better. The twelve year old cannot know about me, but I know about her. She is listening to that wonderful song for the first time, and knows nothing about herself at 54. But I do.

But I do.

So, like a mother, like a grandmother, like an angel, I could see the sense in her suffering, and I could see the strength in her body, in her mind, in her resolve. I loved her well, celebrated her cleverness and her sheer will, her power and safety, and left a part of myself there. As I did, I understood that there are many older versions of myself leaking in like this and helping me. There is no law against it either.

I realized, my god, to get to the place where I am feeling this much love, this much devotion and care and gentleness and tenderness toward this twelve year old who feels so broken, oh my, loving all of my selves, each of them, this much, this is the way of the masters. No wonder they radiate so much love.

I could see, feel, that central sun, I could feel the cord, the pulling, the line that it made right though me, all the way back, all the way through time. All the times I thought I was alone, all the incarnations, all the expressions, since the first one, the first life, so many lifetimes ago.

And what was guiding it?

It’s so cooperative, so mind boggling, so heart popping. Love. Love does. Love.

Oh my god.

It’s beautiful.

So, I want to finish by telling of sparkles. To do so, you must understand what I was working on.

I understood that this April was a big month. I know that they are all big in their own way, but, no, this was different. And I knew I would be among support, as the plates shifted, as I morphed. I’d be away, in California.

The last day, I was up at 4. Like always. I was with my self, and I read, watched, posted, laughed, talked, read, wrote. Through the morning I contacted every single person I love. I have had other days like that. But, I did it all sort of by accident. It was only when I hung up the phone at 9:10, needing to still take a shower and be seated in the ballroom by 9:30, that I realized what I had done. I ticked off my list. Yep. Everybody.

I got in the shower.

I know I was in there a couple hours. I was told don’t worry, you’ll be there before he starts talking. I said ok, and I went with it.

The water, it was good. Cleansing. I was altered. I knew where to put my feet, how to hold my body. I understood there was a ritual, something I had to get done in the body. I positioned myself, said things I didn’t understand, placed my head on my hands and started to cry, saying over and over again, “I remember what to do. I remember what to do,” feeling so much relief and surprise.

I assumed a posture, and a mudra, and did a meditation about my loved ones. They each came up, one by one, as the water beat down on me. A release. A letting go. A thank you. A return.

And then, with the last one, oh, there was no release.

In the shower, as surely as these keys are tapping out these meanings with my fingertips, I tell you, I turned into flame. My body doubled up. I was alive, burning, consciously aware and grateful for being simultaneously sprayed with soft water. I felt the merging of the two, and could feel something emerge from me, and start to feel good within me. All at once. The masculine, fire, the feminine, water, all the duality, becoming both, and being neither. I was alive, crystalline, aflame.

I said words. I said what needed to be said. To all of them. To each of them. To myself. And none of it was conscious. And all of it was cooperative.

And, then, it was over.

It just was over and it was time to get dressed.

I got up to the ballroom as Dr. Todd was finishing his address to the group on his laser technology. Bouron had not yet begun to speak.

It was 9:35.

I understood that the shower thing was only half of it.

By the last day, I was sitting as close to the teacher as a person could. First row, aisle seat.

And I no longer needed or wanted anything from him but to be healed. He had earned my trust. I knew he was able to. He was able, and I was ready.

I remembered what I had been told at the start of this hip thing. I wouldn’t be able to do it myself. I would need a man. I didn’t know who. Figured it might be my old chiro. But, I understood it was masculine energy that would do the trick, and that I needed to wait, and learn in the meantime. So, I did.

I couldn’t deal with visuals that morning. Too blown open. I needed the teacher to be my grandpa, and I needed to sit at his feet and know I was loved, and honored, because I was important enough for the good stories. I just wanted to hear stories. We were “going quantum” that day, our last day.

Funny. The projector light didn’t work. I didn’t want it to. I knew they’d try to fix it, and I knew it wouldn’t be fixed until the next session, after break. They fiddled a bit, muttered. Then he shrugged, opened his book, and began to tell stories. Of the old country. The oldest country. Home.

As he lectured, I asked him, eyes open, in deep meditation and in great love, student to teacher, teacher to student, neither of us confined to one role or the other, I asked him, would you please help me to heal this?

He agreed.

As he talked and as I listened, I knew he and I were working on a different level. I listened. I cried. A lot. So innately moved, by the thinking, by the experience of being there. So moved, to realize I got none of it wrong. I had done everything right. Everything.

And yet, in those two hours, I didn’t have the emotional bang of having gotten it right, not yet. I would enjoy that over a sandwich in a little bit. No, what I was aware of was this null place. I couldn’t hang on to his words. I couldn’t see what we were doing. So I just sat there and smiled and spaced out.

Then, in my head, he and I were back. He was so cheeky and he laughed, dancing, in my head, so joyful and full of celebration. He was having such fun, as I came to in my meditation. I asked him, you know, healing, it comes from those aha’s. From things becoming conscious. From me understanding in my brainpan. How am I going to heal if all the aha’s were done in my head without my conscious knowledge?

He smiled and laughed and danced some more, and threw one arm up to the sky. There were packages up there, suspended. Lots of them. Big and small. All the way down the line, for this next bit. Then I saw them come down, saw their purpose. He explained, you will have many aha moments. They will be there for you. Oh, he was so happy about that. So was I.

He finished the lecture. I went and ate food. Thought it out. Came to the conclusion I am clever and have a place in the pantheon of great thinkers. Went back up for more. Got healed by a fellow who reached out to me. Finished out my day, said good bye to my friends, and realized, that night, good god, now I go home.

This immediacy, the stuff that locks me to the present moment so tight I lose my grip with myself, it was already beginning to loosen. I understand now that it’s a fear response, that breathlessly tight focus, and a very very helpful one, when I dreamed it up, all that time ago. Made sense. But, it really is just getting in the way, anymore.

So many things like that have fallen away already.

But what I notice the most is mindfulness.

I have talked so much about everything being so highly coded here, everything is metaphor and that life got good when I started to realize physical life was all abut assigning meaning, significance, to things, to events. How we encode and decode events, it’s the crux of it all. The difference between suffering and peace, in many ways.

Now I can see that others are doing this also.

This self and others thing, even that got dented, and it’s what I want to leave you with.

During those eight days, I saw many family trees, and really, all of it was just a litany of the shit we do to ourselves when we are shitty to others, or they are shitty to us. Basically.

I saw detailed, multigenerational charts of inhumanity. Of violence and disregard and hatred and sublimated fear. Incest. Murder. Rape. Abandonment. Accidents. Reversals of fortune. All of it. Day after day it played, and then we learned the biological consequences of being confronted with something you have no good explanation for. The core stuff that knocks you flat and squishes you dead. That kind of stuff.

And I realized that this was a way for me to finally be able to have compassion.

Because I didn’t, couldn’t assimilate my own history, my own biological madness and inhumanity, I know now I did not believe anyone else had any. I truly believed that I was alone in this.

And I understand that is so not true. The evidence, the physical proof, is in your bad knee, his cancer, her dementia, his car accident. We are all of us in lesson, we are of us just now coming out of this tar of survival thinking.

No one is immune. And those who become immune, well, they have something to teach.

But, none of us, not one of us is immune from the scars of the limits of this experiment in consciousness we did. This great experiment into such vast separation.

And it’s over. At least for me. It’s over.

Yesterday I returned to my patients. Yesterday, finally, I saw my son.

Yesterday I was filled, from dawn until sleep, with love. With compassion. With humor. With tolerance.

How could I not be?

How could I not?

I think this is right on time. I think that this is synchronized. I think I am not the only one going through this shift. I think I am far from alone in my joy and optimism.

Because I think the thing that is sucking me forward, pulling me on, the thing that I see evidence of all through my life, this thing, it no longer is just a hint of music coming in with the evening breeze, lost when I turn my head toward it. No. This stuff is like tractor beam now, and really, all I need do is sit back and let it guide me.

And I know I am not the only one.

Further, I know, I just know, that there are bigger and bigger, older and wiser, parts of myself, sitting, swaying, smiling, rocking, infusing songs, situations, sunrises, smiles, with this love, with this awareness, that it’s never been anything but purposeful, it’s never been more than I could cope with, and suffering was never, ever meant to be permanent.

Such are the thoughts of a random nurse, sitting on her bed, her little kitty snuggled close, her son still asleep. A simple person. A complex person. A person finally more at home in her skin.

I’ll let this unknown, sturdy, solid structure come into focus more and more, today, every day. I’m relaxed now. I’m not afraid now, not as much anyway. And far more tolerant of my fears than in times past. Of course, I think to myself, of course I’d have trepidation. This is all new.

Let’s proceed.

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