Thank you Chaya Moltz for being the voice...

‎"Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am in a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain. I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush. Of beautiful birds in circling flight, I am the starshine of the night. I am in the flowers that bloom, I am in a quiet room. I am in the birds that sing, I am in each lovely thing. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there. I do not die." - Mary E. Frye
-^-Khan, your spirit brought a new light to this world. Ever so bright and clear. You are a road-map of truth. Period. Within the mourning of your transition, I thank you. I embrace your soaring spirit and thank you for you.-^-

Khans quotes to Valente

LA is a love-hate relationship. We love to hate the concrete jungle. The best relationship is a yogi in mindfulness in the middle of Times Square, embracing the chaos.

Nature's internet is a vast, intelligent network beneath our feet. It has a huge influence on life as we know it. Fungi are parasites, breaking down complex substances into simpler components. A mushroom is the fruit body of the mycelium--the network of thin, cobweblike cells that infuses all soil. Animals and humans eat them and thereby ... See Moreparticipate in spreading the spores through their feces. Fungi are essential for ecological health, they build symbiotic & mutualistic relationships with organisms, producing fertile soil, naturally carrying out the process of carbon capture and with their symbiotic relationships with plants and trees also help lock even more carbon into the plant structure, by helping them grow quicker. "Eat me," they beg. Plants which have mycelium surrounding their root structure when young establish and grow with better vigor because of their symbiotic relationship.

Remember a human being is not just one organism. He is a composite being, unified composite of microbes which live off the host while increasing the host's ability to grow healthier and stronger. The symbiotic relationship reveals life's innate urge to link up with other life forms for mutually beneficial outcomes. In truth, no organism is an island; each organism on Earth depends on many other organisms for survival in a vastly interconnected web. Life follows one principle: "Diversity is stability." Everything is interconnected. Man is the fruit body of Earth.

Symbiosis is harmony. Misconstrued Darwinian competition is politic, the selfish parasite that works against nature's diversity for One World "Order"--Kipling's "white man's burden." Life is chaos but symbosis is acceptance and that embracing of chaos becomes harmony.

Violence is part of nature's way to display dominance. What sets man apart from nature is the killing for pleasure. Heart religion tries to subdue this barbarian savagery.
Nature favors the strong, always has. It's evolution. Domination is symbolic of strength to a certain degree. But killing for the sake of killing is not dominance even though it appears so to the killer. It's really cowardice. The killers lack spiritual dominance (true strength) so they make themselves feel better with physical aggression--bullying... See More. When you meditate into the heart of killing, it's cowardice--the inability to self-destruct, the courage to go beyond the self-preservation of the reptilian brain.
Domination w/o killing (violence) is rated in degrees:

1) Physical 2) Emotional 3) Mental 4) Intellectual 5) Spiritual

...which coincides with the 5 elements of life:... See More

1) Earth 2) Water 3) Fire 4) Air 5) Aether

Animal nature has the first 2 elements--Earth and water. These are within man--physical energy/vitality and creativity/sexual expression. As he evolves into a hu-man "being", he needs mental fire (personal power/fulfillment) and intellectual air (compassion) in order to communicate the self-expression of the aether spirit within--the Word.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

The principle of violent and active dynamism is in Fire.

Initial stage of the intellect needs duality and opposites to define an intuitive understanding unable yet to express. Once mystically experienced the ineffable Mystery of universal Love, the mental mind of fire is no longer needed--any definition is dissolved by the air of compassion, the principle of molecular attraction. This is the energy that shapes the pattern of things to come--direct communication from the source (spirit). Humans are the medium of the Spirit and as Marshall McLuhan reminds us, "The medium is the message."

We are the messengers of God, here to create a heaven on Earth, no "matter" how long it will take. Eternity sees no time in the infinity of potential. Imagine that!!!

The Vision by Kindred Khan

Thursday, March 4, 2010 at 5:00pm

True in the beginning will be true in time.

The timeless valley spirit never dies in the midst of darkness. So dark it is never light.

An armada of hundreds of millions of vigorous foot warriors, without exhaustion and swift like an avalanche, tramps at full throttle along the banks of the Fallop River of the perilous Mummu Jungle towards the misty horizon, over which lies Mt. Pangu in whose high peak dwells the target castle of conquest—the gate of all wonders. The fearsome leaders of the hordes are glistening with steel courage and well-aimed determination as they scream a primal sound to the truculent brigade that follows their advance like the thundering, roaring waters of an ocean. The pumping echoes of their steps ricochet off the great walls of craggy rock like the rumbling of thunder. The air rings with the conch-horns. With weapons in hand, the armed force is responsible to destroy anything foreign that stands in the way of the flowing battalion in its passage onward through the rivers and mountains. Any obstruction of the flow, blood is shed without hesitation, no remorse. The tumult behind them adds a rising crescendo to the collective howling outcry that pierces the stillness within striking distance by the one driven heartbeat of combat. Amidst the clamor of the deafening roar, a call—a sense of fraternity and unity of purpose—in the silence of stillness within leads each warrior motion forward, never yielding. Each warrior wears a cloak over the suit of armor to shield him from the fierce element. The acid headwind pushes against these nameless warriors’ rugged faces of iron. Their flowing capes of black and dark blue trail behind them like flags slicing the wind. Like vessels of empty thoughts, the infantry races diligently to the mysterious darkness of the final battle, never once imperiled to neither defeat nor mortality. The hardship of the wild guards the castle to not allow any straying into its forbidden territory.

The darkness is dark—darkness within darkness. So dark, it seems to come alive.

The environment is extremely hostile. Along the path of carnage, many fall to the indifferent element: acid air that takes away the vital breath, fire rain that burns the ruddy flesh, endless lightning that strikes unscrupulously like electrifying gossamer that fills the cold night sky. Like army ants of the Amazon, ten thousand warriors fall prey to the implacable environment that guards the castle with every step forward across the rugged mountain terrain toward a dark, unattested future. They are fighting to survive the battle, but each recognizes that most will die trying toward the final goal. In the herd instinct, many sacrifice themselves to further the success of advance for their stronger brothers. With detached toughness, the remaining hyperactive warriors, alone and isolated in true courage, continue their struggle forward unflinchingly for they know devouring beasts will soon decompose to crumbling skeletons those fallen behind. Death and emotion are no concerns for these ruthless warriors whose fates lie in the hand of divine will, the blueprint of purpose. Each is following his own primordial nature to storm the castle—a state of complete inner surrender. As instrument of the Divine, they march en masse along the serpentine path of focus but each man journeys along the solitary road of victory, never betraying the great vision. In the silence of their brave hearts, truth speaks to carry their spirit to the heights of the kamikaze mission, the terminal end for many but the glorious victory for their one and only king.

Those who have obtained synergetic unity with life know only eternal life. The life of the spirit is in the heart that knows no bounds.

Innumerable ravenous vultures and other cruel predatory birds are wheeling, hovering high above, waiting to eviscerate their fallen victims once the crowd rolls out. Diabolical hyenas, ferocious wolves, and unnamed mutated wild beasts are waiting on lurk for a chance to satisfy their hunger. The big feast for the hungry is but a few moments away.

Once the hordes start to ascend Mt. Pangu, archers hidden in the montane crevices and shadowy fissures release flaming arrows by the thousands to stave off the approaching army. The arrows whistle through the air. Many inevitably fall to the onslaught. As the army dwindles, a platoon of fierce warriors defeats all the odds and forge ahead past the range of the archers. Only several hundred thousands warriors remain from the heap of dead bodies behind them. They shed their weapons and armor and start to climb the vertical faces with magnificent feat of upward agility towards the sky, where it seemed to melt into the misty air. Dog-sized green lizard-men from the chasms throw glass spheres at the climbers. Once the spheres shattered onto the rocks, a slippery oily substance is released to the surface removing any grip support. Many climbers fall to their doom at the vertiginous slopes. Those remain ascend with speed and agility either by luck of the draw or destiny of the call.

At last one outstanding warrior, the sole survivor of the whole army, surpasses all others to reach the heavenly peak perched above the thick blanket of clouds. The mass slaughter leaves behind only one sign of hope that dares to be alone. It is always lonely at the top. The sky amidst the high snowy solitudes of the range is now heavenly blue, blissful and cloudless. However, the artic temperature of the frosty plateau can easily freeze the blood for any living thing inactive. The warrior must move vigorously to stay warm or else being frozen to death becomes his fate. Pacing himself he runs across the deep snow, without a thought of backing off—treading the path of sheer madness and never a single thought of giving up. He keeps going. The snow is now so thick and abundant; it drowns everything below its body of cottoned whitewater. All white is the only color from the pure land and light blue the lucid sky. As he advances with the confident air of a conqueror, the sky loses its azure color and becomes “clear.” Not clear white but rather transparently limpid like blank air without anything in the background to contrast it. Like looking at air without any background interference. The odic light in the sky is clear like sunlight in empty space, not a speck of blue in the endless sky. So clear that the brilliant sunshine appears invisible, as if the sky has been removed completely from sight. The warrior is the only contrast between white earth and clear sky in this no-man’s forsaken land.

It is so cold here, colder than cold. It is desolate here in absolute zero, more desolate than any desert. The open field here is so vast beyond mortal imagination—boundless, infinite and potential, pure and perfect. Ground zero point, beyond the horizon of comprehension. Immense. The wickedly high icy winds here can freeze the bone of anything alive. Nothing thrives here in this shell of coldness, this extreme environment—the hidden recesses of the silent and unexplored nature. Except a sole rebel. A lone predator who rules this lifeless, hostile place by wielding the cosmic sword and staring at imminent death with passionate attention. He is always one step forward trying to keep ahead of the unforgiven weather. In this cryogenic nothingness, only is he something. Infinite potential. A being so alive by everlasting life itself.

The extreme cold is unbearable as the warrior runs across the frozen lake, teeth chattering. As his breath becomes shorter and faster, he is panting almost uncontrollably. Without losing heart, he keeps moving to stay warm until the flatness surrounds him and nothing can be seen in all directions except clear invisible sky, void of any description, and a white horizon of the shining frozen sea. Taking delight he persistently marches on until the shining sea of frozen surface reflects the clear sky; the separation is no longer discernible; the two fabrics unite as they merge into invisibility. A sense of vertigo overcomes him for he no longer knows what direction is forward—the true north of purpose. He is caught in a limbo right here, in this very moment, fresh and unexpected, taking over completely by the element of surprise. He dares not stop struggling for long—resting a few moments is frozen dinner. Then he sees something out of the ordinary and he goes forth to it, seizing the moment. Action is his only respite.

It is a giant emperor penguin, slightly bigger than the warrior. It has human long thin arms and short stubby legs. It is wearing a fishskin coat and fishbone crown and holding a polar bear bone-staff in its right fin-hand. The penguin stands motionless with curious eyes staring dead-gazed at the warrior. They both look at each other in stalemate curiosity, mesmerized by the strangeness of each other’s appearance. Breaking the spell of the deadlock, the emperor starts to dance in a sunwise motion. Every heavy step it takes, the ground reverberates back like a beating of the drum. The frozen ground becomes one giant drum head of goatskin. After every fourth step, the emperor strikes the ground with its staff producing a sharper beat. The pattern remains the same: four steps, one tap. It dances with the same repetitive beat in a wide circle—four steps, one tap. After the seventh circumvention, the ice breaks by the trail of the danced path. The emperor stands inside the broken circle near its edge. The ice tips down from the weight of the emperor penguin and it begins to walk in perfect balance up the remaining ice slab as its other end sinks behind him into the dark water below. The emperor stands unmoved at the tip of the ice slab as it starts to descend into the murky water.

The emperor penguin utters out one word before final descent: “Come.”

The shivering warrior watches the emperor disappear into the water in perfect poise and equanimity.

The trembling warrior now moves closer to the opening of the black hole. Darkness is upon the face of the deep. Steam rises from the featureless dark water, some kind of continuous incompressible fluid—a mysterious medium beyond the sentient capacity to analyze. So dark the hot plasma looks like thick oil, visibly opaque—an inchoate, amorphous mass. No reflection can be seen from the dark oil-water, the great void of empty space. The lone warrior is left to two choices: die to the freezing cold looking for the castle or follow the emperor by diving into the hot firewater. Without hesitation, he confidently leaps headfirst of faith into the dark firewater of the plenum.

Every situation demands an action proper to it.

He slowly sinks downward into the pool of continuing flux and the opening of the oubliette immediately fills up by the cold light; the dark firewater slowly consumes his body stripping away his skin suit. With fever brewing to a boil, his head is about to explode from the sealing heat—an unbearable primal pain from the immersion. His body is undulating and jackknifing, shaking wildly with tension and discomfort. Silently the warrior accepts his fate: death by drowning in liquid fire. In that moment of no return, he passively remains calm to savor his last breath of life before he meets his final destiny. He relaxes into the moment, no longer pushing himself with goals about where he is going or forcing progress according to some unnecessary schedule ingrained in his determination. He feels a deep inner peace filled with profound stillness—a state of total involvement without center or fringe. Then he hears an echoed whisper: “Come Home.”

Time seems to flow frame by frame in slow, rhythmic motion. The warrior is falling slowly to the depth of the pool of energy on his back, corpse posture, while looking at the white ceiling of the pervading ice lake above. The flat ceiling spreads like a sheet of paper extending to infinity in all directions. The light above, in its inflexible forward propulsion, tries to penetrate into the depths of darkness. Blind light, whose movement forward is always a perfectly straight line, bends itself upon any obstacles in its path. True light is free of mass, the coagulation of light energy that condenses around itself due to light being traveled in a circular movement to the gravitation center of the trap—the law of attraction of the Living Power. The sinking into the hotbed of continuity stops as the wave takes the calm warrior and he seems to float suspendedly above the visible spectrum; he is in a sort of limbo of a natural calming where nothing is changed. No differentiation, only unity—an unbroken ecstasy of unity. His body is a hollow bamboo of endless energy. No tension. Below him is the glutinous abyss in which no light can enter. The blackness is alive with impalpable models in the wild-eyed gaze of the thinnest perception.

With enlivened wisdom of transcendental knowledge in that moment of truth, the warrior finally sees the radiant light of life in the fearsome flash of energy circulating before him at breakneck speed. Qualified by emptiness, clear perception of the phenomenal world—working in such incomprehensible way—washes over him. The pregnant present is revealed to his naked awareness the breathtaking panorama.

The visible white ceiling is the threshold of the collision, a violent clash, between the two kissing surfaces, one of extreme cold clear light and the other superhot dark liquid in endless evolving possibilities—the eternal battle of opposites. The flat threshold provides frozen solid matter, condensed energy—a kind of dimensional bridged surface, for the two parallel forces. In relative to the immense volume of the two forces, the threshold is merely a thin membrane that separates them and unites them--a paradox. The radiating ceiling of the membrane has a popcorn texture unlike the smoothness of its rooftop, the other side touched and waxed by the cold light. The popcorn texture—a seething froth of light particles—is actually little icicles being melted by the hot plasmic liquid to become unstoppable immutable energies, thus freeing themselves from the bridge of entanglement. As they are dissolving, they expand into less denser concentric layers of coolness producing motion in the particles. Within these layers is the spectrum of interrelated magnificent colors—a vast web of existence constantly expanding and evolving, birthing forms. Countless ice balls fall buoyantly like tropical rain into the thin firewater, which strangely is light as vacuous air, causing tiny ripples as they fall in an amazing blaze of fireworks—a display of exquisite detail—in the nothingness of the void. As these homogeneous ice balls sink and accelerate downward into the infinite darkness, concealed by it from the primordial light above, they spin like marbles rolling downhill—circles of light rotating in the vast darkness, like the sprinkling of stars in the clear night sky. Kinetic heat from the dark energy penetrates into the core of each sphere of light in a swirling motion of the spin rotation until the sphere expands and splinters, by the immense pressure of the dark radiation, into billions and billions of ice particles, which become isolated from their neighbors by the space in between. Each fractured particle holds and retains the superhot liquid core that oscillates faster than the surface solid. The fast inner rotation causes the solid surface to shift and move around, causing the original radiation to diminish, resulting in a cooling off to take place in the course of its nature. The extreme heat of the elliptically rotating fluid core creates a molten pasty mass below the solid surface of icy light.

Although broken up and peppered by the kindling, the clusters of ice particles, remaining luminous and clear without cooling off, try to coalesce back together by revolving around the larger particles, but the molten firewater separates them by creating some considerable distance in between, causing a deposit to be precipitated. The separation of the ice particles is variantly depending on the size of the broken pieces and these are moving away from one another at speeds proportional to their distance. The clump of scattered ice particles spirals around the liquid center in harmony and it sinks deeper into the depth. The particles coming into the center break into more pieces like minute iridescent bubbles. The particles near the vortex of the unmoving center are absorbed and eventually become unstable. They lose their water and dissipate into vapor clouds that rise back to the ceiling in a timeless cycle of rebirths without end. On the ascension, freely through the sea of space, the radiating vapor swirls and waves not only vertically, but also horizontally and diagonally in beautiful webs of beautiful radiant light, like gossamer of falling rain. The angelic vortices latch themselves onto other falling ice particles and yoke them to strengthen their constitution of light and guide them to transmutation. The flexible vapor forms a halo around the particles creating an intense field of pulsating colored energy. By the unenlightened nature of penetrating light, the particles try to resist the meltdown to remain solid. But the resistance is futile as all descending light particles meet the same fate: return to its original nature—a wave of light energy. The rising wave endlessly attaches itself to descending particles' downward spiral and its experienced energy and gained knowledge supports the inexperience particles, which vibrate precipitously with panic. The particles are guided by the lubricating vapor energy to remain calm within its atmospheric protection. Waves of energy know that dissolving particle is only transmuting into a wave when it winks out. Coherent light waves gain inexhaustible knowledge from the dark firewater as it releases from solidarity.

Clear unified light spreads in all directions and it travels until it comes into contact with something other than light, which is anything denser than it. Ice is mere non-light substance trapped in light. Supernal light of possibility naturally separates itself from all denser substances of actuality, which only appear dark because they do not reflect light; it swallows the light whole and encapsulates it creating atmospheric space. Ice is the bridge between light and all other non-light substances, which paradoxically are clear as light, but because of its fathomless depth, no strong light can penetrate. Darkness is the same as light, only denser and its depthless reach appears dark to the light of perception. Light has a desire, a desire to find the depth of its projectile, and this desire takes it into different forms of energy through various transmutations in order to penetrate further into the mysterious darkness of the abyss.

The warrior watches in awe at the wonder of this simple harmony, in perfect supersymmetry, within the unified zero field of consciousness. Ice spheres fall like rain and break apart into infinite galaxies of icy particles. Galaxies of icy particles scatter into of billions of stellar particles that spiral around the center of each galaxy as cosmic eggs. He realizes that he is witnessing the superverse at work in perfect beauty and harmony between two energies: one light and the other darkness. The colliding union of these two meshing energies at the threshold stirs the superverse to action, an action only possible by the surrendering and resurrecting of energy to create countless numbers of universes. Everything is singing—a silent celestial sound that hums like the sweetest music never been heard to the countless worlds that interpenetrate one another in simultaneity. The origin of all things lies still in the beyond in the form of the suprasensible world of ideas that have yet to become real.

Life is consciousness through the perception of light as it penetrates into the heart of darkness, the guiding dark light of deeper silent knowledge.

In gentleness and purity, the warrior comes to a realization that death itself is an illusion of only human ignorance whose stubbornness creates an independent identity of panic in order to maintain a sense of unshakable security during its allotted time in mortal existence. Life continually transmutes and knows no permanent death. This fearless warrior now knows that his fate is met but his undefeated destiny is still in the depthless horizon of light. In that intense moment of sublime satisfaction, he no longer has to fight the inevitable for his chosen identity and lost life as he experiences eternal existence in emptiness. With the tactile sense, he now stands terminally impotent before the crux of changes.

The warrior king lets go to become the wave—the solution. Everything and nothing. Nothing is everything. Nothing whatsoever to do. What “is” has always been there and always will be. Everything was, be, or to be will be as it naturally is. Naturally settling into the self-contained situation of the effortless thought-free state, he becomes the Path and knows the Way to the castle. He doesn’t have to storm the castle, he walks into Life.

Nothing exists that is not a part of the whole.

He is the one, always has been but forgotten—lost and now found. Life is just a story being lived.

The warrior opens his eye to this new blinding light of truth and he cries both in pain of realized recognition and overjoyed sensation of ignored oblivion.

He utters his last words, “I am a c'ode of song.”

Those beloved words of self-realized liberation at the overwhelming beauty of it all echo in the depths of emptiness in vibrating harmony of bliss.

He is awakened. “I am an energy force from nothing.”

No more becoming.

Just being.

I.

Am.

Nothing.

2012 and the Mayan Calendar

Wednesday, February 24, 2010 at 1:33pm

One of the most significant years in numerology is the year 2012 A.D., Year of the Black Water Dragon (the symbol of the dragon represents spiraling DNA, the path into greater enlightenment; it is the ultimate representation of the forces of Mother Nature, the greatest divine force on Earth). This is the date that the Mayans predicted that the world would end. The Mayans, along with the Sumerians, Tibetans, and Egyptians believe that this is the coming of a new world. Large monuments were left to forewarn society and prepare them for the transition.

Even people who do not know a lot about Mayan astrology have heard this theory that the year 2012 will bring the apocalypse. It is supposed to end on December 21st at 11:11 am, aligned with the Winter Solstice. This is a date that has always significant to theorists, physicists, astrologers, historians and numerologists as the year signifies the end of the thirteen cycles that make up what is known as the Mayan Long Count Calendar.

The Mayan Calendar contains both components of astrology and numerology. The people that belonged to this ancient civilization of Central America were adept pampers and trackers of the heavens. The massive temples that were built by this early civilization were not just tombs or places to worship the Gods. They were also built to be giant observatories of the heavens.

These temples were architecturally designed so that the movements of the planets, the sun, the moon and the stars could be tracked.

The majestic structures that the ancient Mayans built were not just places of worship. They were centers of astronomic studies that also did dual duty as temples of worship. Some temples even had cut-outs in their stones in the shapes of snakes. As the sun would raise, these cut out shapes would cast lengthening shadows in the shape of snakes down the temple steps. From a distance it would seem that a real snake was slithering down the steps. When the snake shadow lengthened so that it reached the bottom of the steps it marked a day. One whole day in the Mayan calendar was called a Kin.

Many ancient civilizations in Africa and the Far East developed calendars based on a 20 unit mathematical system and coincidentally so did the Mayan civilization.

In essence the Long Count system nested cycles of days based on the number 20. Every unit of time in the calendar was based somehow out of that unit of 20.

Twenty days was called a Uinal. 7200 days was called a Katun and 144,000 days was called a Baktun. The Mayan year consisted of 360 days and was called a Tun. This calendar was a little shorter than ours in terms of year length because it was only 360 days. Those 360 days were in turn divided into units of twenty days.

The reason that ancient Mayan year was a little bit shorter than our current calendar of 365 years is that it was based on the astral cycles of Venus. The ancient Mayans knew that whenever this shining celestial body was close to the earth that it seemed to bring good times. Of course today we would note this knowing that the planet Venus is associated in astrology with love and blessings. The planet Venus also has cycles that are the equivalent in length to the number twenty.

This Long Count system of measuring time was first put into practice by the Mayans around 32 B.C. The reason that it was called The Long Count is because the Mayans, who were quite dark spiritually, believed that the end of the world must happen. In fact it was something to look forward to, because life was believed to be easier after that.

In essence the Mayan Long Count is the countdown to the eventual and unavoidable apocalypse that would bring the end of the world. The high priests and shamans in the Mayan culture figured out that the Long Count which is supposed to equal 5125.36 days.

This number of days is also known as the Mayan Great Cycle. This passage of time ends exactly on the winter solstice. Amazingly the Mayan mathematicians were able to pinpoint the exact day and time that the world will end in the future and that is on December 21st 2012. Just as a matter of interest they also believed that the world was conceived on August 13th.

There is actual astrological and astronomical data to back up the theory of the Mayan Long Count, and there are things happening in the sky that day that could potentially bring the end of the world!

Astrologically this date is important as this marks the date when the Sun is going to cross what is astronomically known as the Milky Way Equator. The Mayans were absolutely incredible mathematicians and they could predict centuries into the future when it came to predicting the trajectory of the Sun.

Further here is a lot of imagery representing the Milky Way in works of art done by the Mayans. The sea of stars of the Milky Way is essential to the Mayan myth of the Sacred Tree.

In many of these drawings the sun is symbolized as a canoe that carries Mayan deities across the sky. In many drawings on temple walls there is a progressive series of images that shows the end of the world as symbolized by the canoe sinking into the Milky Way. Astrologically the crossing of the sun over the Milky Way equator scheduled to happen at exactly 11:11 a.m GMT on December 21st in the year 2012.

This type of astrological event is unheard of as the sun will technically be in what is known as the "dark rift" of the Milky Way and oddly will also be in conjunction with the exact center of the universe. The Mayas believe the Dark Rift is the cosmic womb: the place of dead, transformation, regeneration and rebirth. (Think of our Sun, which travels 600,000 mph through space like a salmon entering the mouth of a river to swim upstream to spawn, as that one chosen sperm who has made the arduous trip up to the fallopian tube to reach the released Egg from the follicle in the ovary...)

Many visionaries and metaphysicians have noted how important this date is to the end of the world. One famous analysis called "The Mayan Prophecies" (authored by Adrian Gilbert & Maurice Cotterill) have put forth the theory that the sun will reverse its magnetic field that day. This would be a development that would result in weather changes and seismic shifts that could cause the end of the world. (Is it really the end? If we take the sun sperm and fuse it with the cosmic egg, both dissolve and transform into an embryo--one of Nature's miracles.)

Of course the end of the world has been predicted many times in history and it is more likely that the Long Count will signify the end of one era and a new beginning of consciousness. However it is quite odd that the number 11:11 -- which is apocalyptic in other religions and cultures -- is the same in this system. What does 11:11 really mean? It's a wake-up call--a call to pay attention to what may be happening beneath the surface of reality--on what we might call a "spiritual" level. A wake up to what we really are. We are not some accident of animal evolution, but a spiritual being that needs to pay attention to its own spiritual evolution. It's a call to start thinking more deeply about life, and to become more aware of ourselves as spiritual beings. It is designed to lead us to question the nature of "reality," and grow conscious of the higher goals we set for ourselves before we incarnated. This waking up may be a subtle change, but more often, it's a major paradigm "shift" in one's whole thinking and life direction. Shift happens! It's an opportunity to walk into the gateway of manifestation--the bridge to ascension, our doorway Home. We must cross the bridge from duality to the other shore into the unknown for Oneness, moving from the shadows to the light.

Humanity is in a mess, and not heading in the right direction. Folks are needed to change that, and it happens one person at a time. Starting with you, that's me talking to my self as you should do same to your self. Take responsibility for who you are, and most of all, who you are turning into. It's time to stir the water. As physical beings it's important that we speak up against injustices and use our voices to stop the proliferation of evil (the only evil is the obstruction of evolution) and help heal planet Earth as we believe we are here to restore her back to full health and pave the way for a brighter future for ourselves and our children. We must have greater respect for the land, every living thing and for the cycle of life.

We have free will. We can do as we choose. But the universe works best when we all do what we should do instead of what we were told to do. The specific path we choose to follow in light will be up to us. We have to all change our attitudes to many things--see what is real and what is illusory. We need to learn more spiritual Truth, and we must live in love. Awakening is an inward personal journey stripping away fears and emotional baggage that no longer serve us, so we can become more of who we truly are. In this state of clarity, we are able view the illusion of consensus reality that has been projected onto us by those seeking to crush man's spirit and then take personal responsibility and action through peaceful spiritual activism. We shouldn't wait to be saved or upgraded as Action should be in the NOW not tomorrow.

It is an art to see things differently and interconnect them with each other to create a global community of equality. That is also called synchronicity in a way. Man’s ultimate purpose on earth is to discover the invisible realm of which he is a part. A direct channel opens up between him and the Invisible. Then man can lead the way into a new way of green living, into greater love, into a universal hu-man being of the 4th green heart chakra. Earth is 3rd rock from the sun. So including the sun, the Earth is the Heart!

The only method to prepare for this is to focus on our spiritual development so that if we are forced to leave our bodies we are well prepared, without fear or regret. The only thing that stays with us forever is not our money, material wealth and material possessions, but our inner wealth. We should not be wasting our energy on pursuing material wealth but for enriching ourselves by finding inner peace, happiness and evolving in a spiritual sense.

The time of completion is near. We are the embryo of life yo! Oye, open your eyes and see the Beauty of it all--Oneness. Even the cynics will come around when the glorious dawn breaks the duality doubt of shadow.

What Will Matter Most in the Afterlife? by Julia Melges-Brenner

Wednesday, March 31, 2010 at 2:34pm

Dear Julia:

I would love to hear your views on what will be considered most important in the afterlife. Thank you!

- Dale

Dear Dale:

Thanks for this fantastic question!

There is a tremendous amount of writing on this subject, and all the sources I personally trust and respect are in accord. These sources include the accounts of near death experiencers, astral projectors like Robert Monroe who explore the realms of the afterlife while living, and the wisdom of spiritual masters such as Jesus Christ, Edgar Cayce, Emanuel Swedenborg, Helen Blavatsky and many more.

These sources all agree that the most important thing in the Universe is love. As was written in Corinthians 1:13, "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing." The more divine love we embody while living, the greater our experience will be both here AND beyond.

There are places on this Earth that are rife with violence, ugliness, hatred, poverty and suffering, and the same is true in the afterlife. There are also places on Earth that are rich with peace, beauty, love, abundance and joy, and this is also true in the afterlife.

The inner state of being we have attained at the end of our lives is what we take with us when we die and what determines the quality of our afterlife experience. The truth that like attracts like is direct and obvious in the astral because when we cross over, we can no longer hide our true thoughts and feelings. If we are rich with inner beauty, then we will enter a beautiful realm inhabited by lovely spirits.

By contrast, those souls who are "heaviest" or lowest in vibration may become earthbound spirits. They may not even realize they have died as they hover close to this dimension in a state of endless yearning or confusion. (This is probably where our ideas about hell come from.) If we pass on with strong physical addictions to things like drugs, alcohol, food, sex and so on, we may continue to pursue gratification vicariously through the living. If we cross over with a great deal of fear or confusion, we may also end up lost in the lower astral. There is much help ever available to such spirits, and eventually, they do wake up, turn toward the light and move on.

Many souls skip over the lower astral and enter what some call "the void" when they cross over. This void is actually within us, and throughout our lives we are filling it with all the love, anger, joy, sorrow, faith, fear, wisdom, knowledge (etc.) we experience. (We are forming our own afterlife experience right now!) When we depart this life for the afterlife, many of us go into this void where we begin to purify ourselves of our lowest, heaviest energies first.

During this time, if we have a habit of being self-centered, cynical or unforgiving, we will find ourselves surrounded by other souls who are similar. As we experience our own true self reflected back to us, we will gain the desire and awareness we need to change, and naturally gravitate toward souls that reflect our new and "improved" nature. This is why the greatest spiritual teachers throughout history have advised us above all to "know thyself."

If we are basically good at heart, we can skip right past the dark corners of the astral and go directly toward vibrationally higher worlds via something that appears to be a tunnel of light. This is when our spiritual knowledge and beliefs become paramount, for our expectations about death, heaven, hell, etc., largely determine where we will end up in the heavens. (There are religious communities in the afterlife just like there are religious communities here on Earth.)

These are illusionary realms where we only see and hear what we believe to be true. Just as ignorance and close-mindedness limit our potential while living, they limit our freedom and power in the afterlife. To set ourselves free of these limitations, we must question everything and search for deeper truths. This is why a key component of spiritual growth is the pursuit of spiritual knowledge and wisdom.

Think about it: people who accept religious dogma without question end up following a bunch of rules that may or may not have any true spiritual value. They may spend entire lifetimes trying to be spiritually "good" and never realize that they're way off track. For example, the September 11 terrorists sincerely believed that they were attacking "evil" and would be rewarded in heaven. To transcend religious blindness, we must make a habit of questioning everything and keep our minds and hearts open to the divine knowing that can only be found within and through direct personal experience.

In addition to love and wisdom, there is a quality I believe is very important at a spiritual level that is often overlooked, and that is the quality of inner strength or persistence. We tend to view persistence as essential to worldly success, and fail to see how it is also essential to what we might call spiritual success. Perhaps this is because Christianity has made us feel like passive recipients of divine grace instead of the agents of our own healing, "saving" and evolution.

Depression, for example, has come to be viewed as a medical illness, and while it does have physical aspects, it is at its roots a spiritual illness. I used to suffer from depression and I know how "disabling" this state of mind can be. While I believe that modern lifestyles may breed depression, I have learned that it is fueled by self-absorption, which is antagonistic to selfless love.

More and more people are suffering from depression because on the whole, humanity has become less community-focused and more self-absorbed. When we are grateful and loving, we naturally extend our light out into the world and try to uplift others. When we're depressed, we curl up inside ourselves and become indifferent to others' needs. It is wise and powerful to be profoundly grateful for life itself, and depression is at the opposite end of the spectrum from gratitude. Feeling sorry for ourselves or viewing ourselves as weak victims of bad luck, biochemistry, or other outer circumstances may thus be as bad for us spiritually as lashing out in anger toward others.

Each of us could come up with reasons why we could be depressed, but people who are wise choose to look on the bright side. When we get down and discouraged we must discipline our minds to think in ways that leave us grateful. When we are frustrated, we must squeeze out a bit more patience. When we are tired and feel like giving up, we must find the strength to keep on trying. When we think we have reached the limits of our capacity to love, we must dig deeper into our hearts for the strength and courage to go on loving. There is no one watching over our shoulders, mind you; only we know if we are doing our bests, and only we will experience the repercussions of our choices. So long as we are honestly doing our bests, we will be happy with ourselves in the end.

We can make tremendous spiritual progress here on Earth, for all we may think we have learned is truly put to the test here. It is wise to simply live in awareness that when we feel dull, lazy, depressed, angry, vengeful or sorry for ourselves, we are creating more darkness for ourselves in the future. When we radiate love, joy, kindness, gratitude and peace, we are creating more light for ourselves in the future. By stretching our hearts to love more, our minds to know and understand more, and our spirits to radiate more peace and light, we raise our own vibration and improve our lives both here and Beyond.

- Julia

Enigmas by Pablo Neruda

Tuesday, February 2, 2010 at 11:10am

You've asked me what the lobster is weaving down there with

his golden feet?

I reply, the ocean knows this.

You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent

bell? What is it waiting for?

I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.

You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?

Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.

You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,

and I reply by describing

how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in, it dies.

You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,

which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?

Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on

the crystal architecture

of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?

You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean

spines?

The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?

The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out

in the deep places like a thread in the water?

I want to tell you the ocean knows this, that life in its

jewel boxes

is endless as the sand, impossible to count, pure,

and among the blood-colored grapes, time has made the

petal

hard and shiny, made the jellyfish full of light

and untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall

from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother-of-pearl.

I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead

of human eyes, dead in those darknesses,

of fingers accustomed to the triangle, longitudes

on the timid globe of an orange.

I walked around as you do, investigating

the endless star,

and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked,

the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.

What really is Thanksgiving?

Tuesday, November 24, 2009 at 5:22pm

We celebrate Thanksgiving to express thanks for the many blessings the Creator has bestowed upon us, gathering with family and friends and sharing a meal. Thanksgiving offers an opportunity to reflect on what we’re grateful for each year. Whether it's for something we often take for granted, like good health, or for a new blessing in our lives, the act of thanksgiving grounds us, reassures us, and reminds us and our loved ones how much there truly is to celebrate. The most important thing is to be surrounded by the ones we love most; it’s a monumental time to know what is truly important in our lives. Thanksgiving is also a time for learning to be kind to your fellow man and those less fortunate and be thankful for the little things in life that we have been blessed with—thankful for just being alive.

However, we Americans need to acknowledge the true origin of this holiday, and remember the pain, loss, and agony of the Indigenous people who suffered at the hands of the so-called “pilgrims.” We need to face the truths of the past, and give thanks that we are learning to love one another for the rich human diversity we share. November 26 will be Thanksgiving Day. This national holiday was not initially created in the way most Americans have come to know it. Many people blindly celebrate holidays and have no clue of their history. To many Americans, their sole historical source of celebrating Thanksgiving is about the hearty Pilgrims, whose search for freedom took them from England to Massachusetts. The portrait is painted of the friendly Indians and the openhearted pilgrims coming together to feast after a long winter is accepted by many Americans. But the truth is often stranger than fiction. It is a holiday which history had set aside to actually celebrate the genocide of the Indigenous people of North America (Turtle Island). The Native American Indian community calls this day—The National Day of Mourning. They have their reasons just as the Jews had theirs for the Holocaust. The survival of early settlers in a European invasion culminated in the death of an estimated 30 million native people. The Native people died so that the colony could flourish. For the Native community, it’s a day of sorrow and shame—sorrow for the fallen and shame for living in a country where people used religion and self-righteousness to condone murder, treachery and slavery. Thanksgiving serves as a remembrance of how their ancestors were mistreated, annihilated, ousted from their land and consigned to reservations, eradicating every trace of their pre-existing life.

Let’s take a walk down memory lane and piecemeal the untold version to know our root at the tree of knowledge. Prior to European settlers, North America consisted of over 10 million Native Americans. These natives, who used to live in a harmonious society, had harvest celebrations for centuries to give respect to “Mother Earth” for the abundance she provided for them—bountiful crops, the bounties of the land, the oceans, the streams, and those things that make life wonderful—peace and health. What many of us eat today comes from the harvest crop initially cultivated by the Natives. Nearly 70 percent of all crop, including corn, potatoes, tomatoes, come from Native Americans. The tomato and potato are native to Peru, growing wild in the Andes Mountains. What did Europeans eat prior to conquering the “New World”: Spaghetti without tomatoes? Meat and potatoes without potatoes? Indigenous people all over the planet have given thanks for bountiful harvests for thousands of years. The native inhabitants of “Turtle Island” were no different than other cultures. While the tributary ceremonies differed, a common thread weaves all mankind together—a belief that some superior force exists that is responsible for satisfying the need for sustenance and the perpetuation of the cyclical order of nature. This spiritual force or being had blessed them with life and longevity.

In December of 1620, a splinter group of England’s Puritan movement set anchor on the North American coast near the deserted ruins of the Indian village of Pawtuxet, a land already inhabited by the Wampanoag natives. The original Native people of this stretch of shoreline had already been killed off. In 1614 a British expedition had landed there. When they left they took 24 Indians as slaves and left smallpox behind. Three years of the plague wiped out between 90 and 96 percent of the inhabitants of the coast, destroying most villages completely. The Wampanoag already had a long history with the white man—European fishermen and slave traders. They had witnessed communities being raided and their people stolen to be sold into slavery. Needless to say, they did not trust the newcomers. These Pilgrims were not simple refugees from England fighting against oppression and religious discrimination. They were political revolutionaries who were considered objectionable and subversives by the King of the Church of England because they had plotted to take over the government. They were outcasts in their own country and some were fugitives. These Puritan Pilgrims saw themselves as the “chosen elect,” from the Bible’s Book of Revelations and traveled to America to build “the Kingdom of God. They were Calvinists who believed that the vast majority of humanity was predestined to damnation. To the exiled Pilgrims, and most European peoples, the Wampanoags were unkempt heathens, and of the Devil. The Pilgrims saw the Natives as wild savages requiring the civilized salvation of Christianity. The Natives’ spiritual nature and their bond with the gods of nature were viewed as paganism or animism, something that needed to be eradicated.

When the Pilgrims came to Plymouth Rock in 1620, they were poor and starving—half of the 102 settlers died within a few months that first winter from disease and hunger. They were unprepared for the bitter cold weather and arrived too late to grow an adequate food supply. They survived eating from abandoned cornfields grown wild. The Pilgrims were not adept at farming in their new homeland. Prior to the Pilgrims’ arrival, the natives in the eastern shore of the North American continent had encountered other English and Spanish explorers and slave traders raiding their villages. The European visitors inadvertently introduced smallpox which came from the domesticated animals that were imported to the new land. Cowpox from cows led to smallpox which decimated nearly half of the Native Americans succumbing to the virulent disease. The natives did not trust the whites and they were not “friendly” as the myth perpetuates. Nonetheless, they were wary of their new neighbors' intentions. However, the Natives did take pity on the settlers. It was a custom of their culture and religion to help those who were in need. It was their way to give freely to those who had nothing. It was believed that by giving there would be enough for all—the exact opposite of the system we live in now, which is based on selling, not giving. The day following Turkey Day, the day of self-indulgent feasting, is Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year.

On March 16, 1621, a native named Samoset and Squanto, who served as an interpreter because he spoke excellent English, met the English settlers for the first time. Squanto had previously been captured and sold as a slave on an earlier sailing vessel. A British explorer named John Weymouth treated him like a son and taught him the language and the culture. Squanto had a deep fondness for the Europeans living abroad. He eventually got Christian-baptized. It was Squanto who moved to the English colony and taught them to hunt, trap, fish and to cultivate their own crops. He educated them on natural medicine and living off the land. If it wasn’t for him, the Pilgrims would not have survived. Several months later, after learning the native knowledge, the Pilgrims decided to meet again with the Wampanoags to discuss land rights—the settlers wanted to negotiate a land treaty hoping to secure land to build the Plymouth Plantation for the Pilgrims. As part of the Wampanoag custom, out of a sense of charity towards the host, the Native community agreed to bring most of the food for the event—like a potluck. The peace and land negotiations were successful and the Pilgrims acquired the rights of land for their people. Thanks to the good will of the Wampanoag, the settlers not only survived their first year but had an alliance with the Wampanoags that would give them almost two decades of peace. The first Virginia settlement had been wiped out before they could establish themselves. The Pilgrims were very fortunate to establish their roots.

One generation later, what once few in number, the Pilgrims had grown to well over 40,000 while the Native strength had weakened to less than 3,000. The settlers wanted more land for their expansion of colonization, forcing the Natives farther and farther west—expelled “out into the wilderness.” The Puritans and other religious sects discussed “who legally owns all this land.” They had to decide this, not just because of Anglo-Saxon traditions, but because their particular way of farming was based on individual—not communal or tribal-ownership. The real truth was that the colonies were fundamentally controlled by the most powerful merchants. The new ideas of the Puritans served the needs of merchant capitalist accumulation. This meant that while they were firm in fighting for their own capitalist right to accumulate and prosper. In short, the Puritan movement developed as an early revolutionary challenge to the old feudal order in England. They were the soul of primitive capitalist accumulation. And transferred to the shores of North America, they immediately revealed how heartless and oppressive that capitalist soul is. The slave trade, first in captured Indians and soon in kidnapped Africans, quickly became a backbone of New England merchant capitalism. The descendants of these Native peoples are found wherever the Puritan merchant capitalists found markets for slaves: the West Indies, the Azures, Algiers, Bermuda, Spain and England.

The Native American leaders, proud men of their word, became angered by the rudeness and the act of bad faith of the Pilgrims to fulfill their side of the bargain—broken promises. (It’s interesting to know that the American Government signed 370 treaties with the Native Indians but violated provisions in every one of these treaties.) Tempers flared over infringement of colonists on Native lands and the violation the Natives’ sacred beliefs and burial sites, and, in time, open hostilities broke out—massacres, seizure of lands, relocations, formation of reservations. All resulted from the heart of generosity that gave the early settlers a kickstart. The colonists bit the very hand that fed them. They even erected an 11 foot high wall around the entire Plymouth settlement for the very purpose of keeping the natives out.

Officially, the holiday we know as “Thanksgiving” actually came into existence in the year 1637. Governor John Winthrop of the Massachusetts Bay Colony proclaimed this first official day of Thanksgiving and feasting to celebrate the return of the colony's men who had arrived safely from what is now Mystic, Connecticut. They had gone there to participate in the massacre of over 700 Pequot men, women and children, and Mr. Winthrop decided to dedicate an official day of thanksgiving complete with a feast to “give thanks” for their great “victory.” He encouraged other colonies to do likewise—in other words, every autumn the crops are in, go kill Indians and celebrate your murders with a feast. The Pilgrims stuffed themselves and drank all they could and went on murderous raids of the Indigenous villages. They raped, scalped and cut Native peoples' heads off. He also considered this wave of illness and death to smallpox to be a divine miracle. He wrote to a friend in England, “But for the natives in these parts, God hath so pursued them, as for 300 miles space the greatest part of them are swept away by smallpox which still continues among them. So as God hath thereby cleared our title to this place, those who remain in these parts, being in all not 50, have put themselves under our protection.” He declared the Indians had not “subdued” the land, and therefore all uncultivated lands should, according to English Common Law, be considered “public domain.” This meant they belonged to the king. In short, the colonists decided they did not need to consult the Indians when they seized new lands, they only had to consult the representative of the crown (meaning the local governor). A few years later, the Dutch governor Kieft of Manhattan ordered the massacre of the Wappingers, a friendly tribe. Eighty were killed and their severed heads were kicked like soccer balls down the streets of Manhattan. One captive was castrated, skinned alive and forced to eat his own flesh while the Dutch governor watched and laughed. Then Kieft hired the notorious Underhill who had commanded in the Pequot war to carry out a similar massacre near Stamford, Connecticut. The village was set fire, and 500 Indian residents were put to the sword. A day of thanksgiving was proclaimed in the churches of Manhattan to celebrate mass murder more often than they did for harvest and friendship.

Certain people have a way of taking one thing and changing it to suit their own purpose rewriting history to censor truth and plant propaganda in the American psyche. As we know, the victors write history to their flavor of propagation—racism, deceit, slaughter and imperialism. The roots of intolerance. The Thanksgiving story was a useful myth in efforts at U.S. nation-building. It celebrates the “bounty of the American way of life,” while covering up the brutal nature of this society in its ruthless ways of capitalism. The Thanksgiving story is an absolution of the Pilgrims, whose brutal quest for absolute power in the New World is made to seem both religiously motivated and eminently human. History must be twisted and tortured to serve the purposes of the powerful. History does matter, which is why people in power put so much energy into controlling it.

This reflection of truth is not to inflame hostility over what had happened or sulk in the past that can’t be changed, but it is designed to bring the light of truth to the darkness of misinformation—the reluctance to acknowledge our original sin, the genocide of indigenous people. America was stolen by force. The Native Americans have been fighting terrorism since 1492. What are the U.S. intentions in colonizing Iraq?

The truth won't set us free, but the telling of truth at least opens the possibility of freedom. As we gobble our feast this Thursday, take a moment to chew the truth—it is always blood and tears that bring the freedom we come to take for granted. There is native intelligence in every one of us. It's the freedom of the unbound spirit. Know your rights and never lose heart to fear and any terror tactic of misapplied power. Thank God, Love is blind.

Proust's "Petites Madeleines" Wednesday, September 2, 2009 at 12:03am Many years had elapsed during which nothing of Combray, save what was comprised

Wednesday, September 2, 2009 at 12:03am

Many years had elapsed during which nothing of Combray, save what was comprised in the theatre and the drama of my going to bed there, had any existence for me, when one day in winter, on my return home, my mother, seeing that I was cold, offered me some tea, a thing I did not ordinarily take. I declined at first, and then, for no particular reason, changed my mind. She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called "petites madeleines," which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell. And soon, mechanically, dispirited after a dreary day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the CRUMBS touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory - this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it WAS me. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I sensed that it was connected with the taste of the tea and the cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could, no, indeed, be of the same nature. Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it?

I drink a second mouthful, in which I find nothing more than in the first, then a third, which gives me rather less than the second. It is time to stop; the potion is losing it magic. It is plain that the truth I am seeking lies NOT in the cup but in myself. The drink has called it into being, but does not know it, and can only repeat indefinitely, with a progressive diminution of strength, the same message which I cannot interpret, though I hope at least to be able to call it forth again and to find it there presently, intact and at my disposal, for my final enlightenment. I put down the cup and examine my own mind. It alone can discover the truth. But how: What an abyss of uncertainty, whenever the mind feels overtaken by itself; when it, the seeker, is at the same time the dark region through which it must go seeking and where all its equipment will avail it nothing. Seek? More than that: create. It is face to face with something which does not yet exist, to which it alone can give reality and substance, which it alone can bring into the light of day.

And I begin to ask myself what it could have been, this unremembered state which brought with it no logical proof, but the indisputable evidence, of its felicity, its reality, and in whose presence other states of consciousness melted and vanished. I decide to attempt to make it reappear. I retrace my thoughts to the moment at which I drank the first spoonful of tea. I rediscover the same state, illuminated by no fresh light. I ask my mind to make one further effort, to bring back once more the fleeting sensation. And so that nothing may interrupt it in its course I shut out every obstacle, every extraneous idea, I stop my ears and inhibit all attention against the sound from the next room. And then, feeling that my mind is tiring itself without having any success to report, I compel it for a change to enjoy the distraction which I have just denied it, to think of other things, to rest refresh itself before making a final effort. And then for the second time I clear an empty space in front of it; I place in position before my mind's eye the still recent taste of that first mouthful, and I feel something start within me, something that leaves its resting-place and attempts to rise, something that has been embedded like an anchor at a great depth; I do not know yet what it is, but I can feel it mounting slowly; I can measure the resistance, I can hear the echo of great spaces traversed.

Undoubtedly what is thus palpitating in the depths of my being must be the image, the visual memory which, being linked to that taste, is trying to follow it into my conscious mind. But its struggles are too far off, too confused and chaotic; scarcely can I perceive the neutral glow into which the elusive whirling medley of stirred-up colours is fused, and I cannot distinguish its form, cannot invite it, as the one possible interpreter, to translate for me the evidence of its contemporary, its inseparable paramour, the taste, cannot ask it to inform me what special circumstance is in question, from what period in my past life.

Will it ultimately reach the clear surface of my consciousness, this memory, this old, dead moment which the magnetism of an identical moment has traveled so far to importune, to disturb, to raise up out of the very depths of my being? I cannot tell. Now I feel nothing; it has stopped, has perhaps sunk back into its darkness, from which who can say whether it will ever rise again? Ten times over I must essay the task, must lean down over the abyss. And each time the cowardice that deters us from every difficult task, every important enterprise, has urged me to leave the thing alone, to drink my tea and to think merely of the worries of to-day and my hopes for to-morrow, which can be brooded over painlessly.

And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom , my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the meantime, without tasting them, on the trays in pastry-cooks' windows, that their image had dissociated itself from those Combray days to take its place among others more recent; perhaps because of those memories, so long abandoned and put out of mind, nothing now survived, everything was scattered; the shapes of things, including that of the little scallop-shell of pastry, so richly sensual under its severe, religious folds, were either obliterated or had been so long dormant as to have lost the power of expansion which would have allowed them to resume their place in my consciousness. But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

And as soon as I had recognized the taste of the piece of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy) immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage set to attach itself to the little pavilion opening on to the garden which had been built out behind it for my parents (the isolated segment which until that moment had been all that I could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the Square where I used to be sent before lunch, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine. And as in the game wherein the Japanese amuse themselves by filling a porcelain bowl with water and steeping in it little pieces of paper which until then are without character or form, but, the moment they become wet, stretch and twist and take on colour and distinctive shape, become flowers or houses or people, solid and recognizable, so in that moment all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann's park, and the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and its surroundings, taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.

This renowned passage is an interpersonal journal into a mystical experience of an extra-temporal being who is enjoying a reverie as he channels an entire world of sensations. It is the "mindfulness" of a collapsing mind in a transcendental reality that focuses only in the felicity of the "cloud of unknowing." This "unremembered state" is the unnamed Tao, a slow meditation into the beauty of emptiness. One has to be the catcher in rye of experience to truly understand this deep reflection of the essence.