Panic

Beep-beep.
That’s funny, I think, why’s the alarm reactivating itself. It usually only does that after a panic button has been hit. I haven’t hit a panic button. Wait, maybe D did when he drove out the gate. I phone D.
“Did you hit the panic button?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
“Not even by accident?”
‘No.”
“Oh, okay.”
Well, I think, if the panic button has been hit, even accidentally, the alarm company will phone to check. But they don’t. Oh well, I think, blip on the system.
It’s 06h45, I decide to go back to bed for a bit to gather my thoughts for the day. I lie back against the pillows and close my eyes. I’ve a lot on my mind, there’s too much to ponder about. I tell myself to relax, to be in the moment.
But in the moment something doesn’t feel right. I can’t hear anything untoward but my sixth sense is twitching.
Then I hear a whistling call. It may be someone whistling for their dog. Only it sounds like it might be in the garden, or just beyond the perimeter wall.
I push myself up, listening carefully.
The chime on the alarm sounds.
Which zone? The patio.
There’s something or someone out there.
I tell myself it’s probably a guinea fowl, a dove or a cat.
The chime is going crazy – bee-bee-beep, bee-bee-beep.
That’s not an animal out there. It doesn’t feel like an animal.
I start to sneak down the passage. I glance through the spare bedroom window. I can’t see anything in the garden – not even a dove or a guinea fowl.
I edge forward, towards the family room and the patio doors. I still can’t see anything. I’m glancing left and right.
There’s a rush of wings past my study window. Something, or someone, has startled a guinea fowl – really startled – they don’t usually fly off so fast.
A shadow appears at the edge of the window and the next second a huge shape fills the window.
A man - big, black, peering in.
All I feel is heat. The most phenomenal heat rising in and around me. Everything goes utterly silent. We stare at each other. I’m paralysed, standing there in only a t-shirt, the man staring at me.
Then he turns, points to the badge on his lapel.
The security guard!
But what’s he doing here.
I fumble with the door key, trusting that he is who he indicates he is. Trusting on my sixth sense that automatically assures me his is ‘okay’.
“The silent alarm was activated,” he tells me.
“But why didn’t you ring the gate bell?”
“We’re not allowed to.”
“Why did no one phone to check, like they usually do?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
“How did you get in?” I ask.
“I came over the wall.”
“You nearly scared me to death,” I say and tell him about the attack on my mother – a month ago, now.
I let him out the gate and thank him, despite scaring the living daylights out of me, for coming so quickly.
Oh be still my beating heart.

Conjoined and separated - the ultimate illusion

I've recently been blessed out of my socks by three young boys who told me they are angels. And I've gone to have three separate conversations with their respective mothers talking about their child's' conversations with God and angels.

Two of the mothers are what I would call "aware". They are open to Spirit and our interconnectedness with all things. They are not what I would call "flakey" - both are grounded and successful in their own right. While both worry how the world will respond to their young sons' divine conversations and recognition that they stem from Source (or God, or whatever you choose to call "It"), they at the same time do not discourage their boys from these conversations. Instead they support and honour them.

The third mother, on the hand, blushed to the roots of her hair when her son told me that he and God and the angels spoke regularly.
"This is so embarrassing," said the mother, "I hope to God he'll grow out of it."
(Ironic choice of language, don't you think?)
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, you know, it's just so childish. It's like believing in Santa Claus. Of course, it's sweet while he's little but he's going to have to stop this nonsense sooner rather than later. People are already beginning to laugh at his funny little ways."
My heart went out to the poor little chap who would, I knew, be torn away from that to which he intrinsically knew he was part - and all because his connectedness would threaten the world's view of how things ought to be - you know, that world that so likes to control and impose rules and order as opposed to just allowing things to Be.

As I pondered these conversations the following struck me:

These children believe - no, they know - that they are sons (or daughters) of God - just as the Christ was. The only difference is this: An archangel supposedly told Mary she would give birth to the son of God and so believing the angel, the Christ was able to grow up supported by his family as indeed being the son of God. The mothers I spoke to had no such messenger visit them even though their sons, like all children, came into the world with the same knowing that the Christ had.

In the case of most children, parents have forgotten their own origins and have conformed to the fears of the world and so do not support their children's knowing that they are sons and daughters of the Divine. In fact, they actively discourage this knowing as "blasphemy".

Man, it seems, may talk or pray to God, but heaven forbid that God should talk to Man. Where, after all, would that leave organised religion... - and world order...

And so we and our children grow up being torn from that which we knew we have sprung. So begins our separation from the Light. And with that separation, and in place of Love, grows the root of fear as we forget the truth of who and what we really are. We spend the rest of our lives trying to remember who we are, trying to determine our purpose and "the meaning of life", feeling threatened, lost, angry, sore and alone, while some small part of us may hope that we'll find our way back to our essence which we somehow, may dimly remember as residing somewhere deep within us... All the while unaware that we have been jinxed by the illusion of fear.


I trust that this post won't cause any offense - it is certainly not my intent. We are all free to follow our own paths, walk whatever journeys we must in order to find our way back to what we perceive to be the Truth. Whatever path you have chosen to walk, may blessings be heaped upon you.

Stop the Clash of Civilizations

A very powerful video from Avaaz.org

What I find deeply disturbing is how the resentment and intolerance reflected in the clip is immediately reflected in the comments on the video. Just as the producers try to show how appalling the things we do to one another are, so the commenters simply continue to play out the same old fearful myopia. As Atyllah would say, "Humans are just insane." She's probably right. It's time to stop the rot and realise we're far more alike than we are different.