Accessing The Source…

There’s waking up in a dream and waking up from a dream, and last night it could be argued that I did both…

I’ve been purchasing a lot of secondhand books recently, taking stock for what will soon be my ‘meditation loft’ in the house, contained within it my very own ‘Noetic Nook’, a gallimaufry of works from Anthony Peake, Brian Inglis and J.W Dunne to name but a few.

After all but finishing Anthony Peake’s thought provoking ITLAD, my search for other mysterious tomes took on frenzied vigor and speed; soon books were being delivered at a high rate of un-nautical knots. As much as I am a gadget man, it must be said that I’d much prefer a book than a Kindle. I have dabbled with a Kindle before but for me the novelty soon wears off.

I went to see the rather excellent British psychedelic / space rock band Ozric Tentacles last week and engaged in debate with some friends over the pros and cons over digital versus the printed word. My argument was that as much as one can store ridiculous amount of books on these lightweight and portable variants, for me the digital experience cannot compare to aged or aging book (as detailed in my poem of last week). Coupled with the fact that I am such a slow reader and a soul that can only read one book at a time (and not having the need to carry several tomes around with me at the same time), it was a no-brainer. Books.

I quipped that come the apocalypse, any associated EMP (Electro Magnetic Pulse) from a nuclear blast would render the electric Kindle inoperable, which was met with ‘you can’t exactly read your book when your flesh has been ripped from your skeleton in the aforementioned explosion now can you?’, a good response, and a fair one…

And so to last night’s dream…

I am middle aged, I see my middle aged self in the mirror; a common sight these days. However, as I look in the mirror at my reflection today something is different, a vision or a memory from another “time” is flooding in to my mind. It’s a very odd feeling, a feeling that the memory is not from this lineage. It feels like a long lost time, a connection to another me in a separate lineage to the one I’m living right now. All of a sudden, it is clear to me. I have “lived” or experienced other timelines before, many other timelines.

Call it the eternal return, call it reincarnation, but this is not the first time that I have lived, nor is it the first time that I have seen myself from behind the mirror (even though only now have I recalled this).

That’s it. The mirror. I am looking at a subjective view on a material reality which is right now focusing on my reflection, but behind the mirror is another me. This other “me” has made contact with me, perhaps not for the first time. It has communed a message directly to me, a message which is saying that all is not what it seems.

It is clear; there is something beyond the material universe; there is a source. This source is where our consciousness is stored, not within our brain (our consciousness is not simply an epiphenomenon of an evolved brain, it is something more majestic, more divine), but somewhere else; somewhere non-local.

I leave the house and follow an untrodden path up an unknown hill. The sky is very blue and clouds are wispy, dreamlike. Atop the hill is a glass pyramid, and upon approaching I see some sort of display panel, but a display to what – the source? I approach it and see there is a keypad, which looks like it will require some sort of password to open the glass door. I search deep inside myself and key in the following letters: L A S Z L O…

The panel makes a noise and at once, the screen above the keypad presents an image, an image of an old man who is walking towards me. I recognise the man instantly; it is Dr Jacab Bronowski, creator of the Ascent of Man essays and documentaries.

“Congratulations” he says, “You have found the answer to the question you have been looking for. Welcome to The Source”. And with that the door starts to open, but everything around me starts to fade…

This was a not a lucid dream as I never gained that realisation that I was dreaming, but it felt quite profound as I lay in bed, reflecting. I was experiencing in a dream (or was it), what Anthony Peake refers to as the Eidolon (Lower Self – the “I”) and the Daemon (the Higher Self – the “Immortal Self”); the duality of human consciousness (or unconsciousness in this case) making a connection with each other. I guess the image of Dr Bronowski was my mind throwing me a curve ball, as the man in question believes not of externalism, but of materialism, chance and probability, all very unromantic.

A few days back I looked at the bibliography at the back of ITLAD and ordered some books from there, including Science and the Akashic Field: An Integral Theory of Everything by Ervin Laszlo and there will be a joint effort released next week from Peake and Laszlo entitled “The Immortal Mind: Science and the Continuity of Consciousness Beyond the Brain” so maybe this is where my noggin is getting all of its dream content from (as well as keypad passwords to the other side).

As I was typing this up, the postman has just dropped of my latest book, “The Daemon – a guide to your extraordinary secret self”. Now that is quite peculiar…

I’ll finish on a song, the opening lines from Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody:

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality… Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see…

ADDENDUM:

Imagine my surprise when resuming my reading of ITLAD, and upon turning the first page I come across the following italicised statement, apropos NDE’s and OBE’s:

“…I was faced with an image of my own face (as if looking in a mirror)”…

Furthermore, upon leaving Starbucks (the location of my Friday afternoon read), I looked up to the sky, which was hours earlier very grey and very wet, for it now to reveal an incredible blueness with ethereal wispy clouds. As I approached the Marine Park, my focus turned to the roof of the wooden structure in its epicentre, a building painted dark brown, save the apex which was painted a brilliant white, for all intents and purposes the representation of a pyramid…

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The New Immortality

Silently it slumbers, upon the high shelf,
Contained within it, as yet unread wealth,
Of knowledge, of wisdom, of thoughts and ideas,
Ready for storage, between the two ears.

The sleeve of the book, is yellowed and torn,
Its pages smell ancient, half beaten and worn,
Its spine sewn in place; of cotton from spindle,
An unchartered experience for those with a Kindle.

The book in question, by J.W Dunne,
The New Immortality, with his own slice of fun,
So time is an illusion, produced by the mind,
False Time and Real Time, forever entwined.

We travel through eternal duration, our spiritual path,
Consciousness ne’er to be concluded, by Physics nor Math,
Our two selves live on, one lower, one higher,
Materialsm is dead, now placed on the pyre.

“Existence is matter, coincidence and chance”,
Quite unmajestic and frigid, no love nor romance,
In this life and after, we continue to be,
For life is eternal, you just wait and see…

Life is not the opposite of death. Death is the opposite of birth. Life is eternal…