Thursday, April 13, 2023

Spirit medicine for children (and adults)


Mary Poppins

    I don't know why I was slow seeing it, but when when I saw it, I had zero doubt it was true.

    The ongoing shooting and killing American school children, while national, state and local officials do nothing to prevent it, is destroying America.

    With absolute certainty, the rest of the world knows America is not "one nation, under God", because America does nothing to stop the massacres.

    It is crystal clear the so-called American "adults" are only capable of talking and sticking their heads in the sand and, basically, jerking off. 

    My dreams last night, April 13, 2023, pointed me toward giving American children, and all children, stuff they can use to help themselves, 

    So, I begin with simple prayer any child can make to God, or to whatever a child hopes or thinks started everything:  

    "I ask for protection."

    There is a soul alchemy ritual any child (or adult) can use. 

    Close your eyes, focus on what most concerns you, and ask for "spirit medicine" for that concern. 

    That's it. The medicine will come. What the medicine will be is unknown.

    Perhaps a child is delivered from an up close physical threat. 

    Perhaps a child is taken from this life, because there is no longer reason for the child to be alive on this planet.

    Perhaps a child's soul is taken and a different soul arrives, because it needs to experience what the departing soul did not need to experience.

    Perhaps no perhaps - those three actions already are implemented for American school children, because they are innocent and their parents and governments have not taken steps to prevent them from being massacred at their schools.

Matthew 18:3

And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."

Matthew 19:13,14
Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them. But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.

    In the Gospels, Jesus told his disciples that he taught the masses in parables, but he taught them in secret the mysteries of the Kingdom of God, which wise men and kings would give all they had to possess. 

    What did Jesus teach the disciples in secret? 

    Who knows, who was not with them?

    In early June 1995, my complete being lived three parables as they came into me. 

    A young budding New Age healer suggested that I let her take me into a past life regression, which hopefully would help me come out of a 4-year-dark night of the soul, which had onset in 1981 after I was told in a dream, "With respect to St. John of the Cross, you haven't seen anything yet." Then, I was swathed with pure, raw Evil, and I woke up, gagging and choking, trying to get the Evil off of me.

    The details of the dark night might interest some people, but I think would distract from school children in America being massacred. 

    So, back to the young budding New Age healer, who had a way of leading people into closing their eyes and imagining they were and walking down some steps into a cellar, where the show would begin. 

    I was used to working inside, by using the soul alchemy ritual describe above, which is not inclined to conform to anything dreamed up or invented by human beings.

    As the young budding New Age healer led me down to the cellar, I went into a trance, and very slowly, I had an experience that caused my heart to heave and oceans of tears to flow out of my eyes and rivers of snot out of my nose.

    The young budding New Age healer said it was a past life experience, and she hoped I would start to feel better. I told her it was not a past life regression, but was something else. She seemed skeptical. 

    I wrote it down, verbatim, and it is the first vision reported down below: "of men, wolves and angels." 

    The next day, I met with the young budding New Age healer, and she started me down the steps into the cellar, and I had another vision, which had the same effect on me as the first vision. 

    The young budding New Age healer said this was a second past-life regression, and I said it was something else. That vision was written down and is included down below: "something about lions"

    Two days later, alone in my home. lying on my wife's my bed, I went inside and had a third vision, which had the same effect on me as the two prior visions. I wrote it down, and it, too, can be read by children and used by them: "the gift"

    About a week later, the 4-year dark night began to lift.

    Here are the three soul alchemy visions, which contain universal principles and energy, which can be absorbed by children and also by some adults.

of men, wolves and eagles … 
    Once upon a time there lived a man named Joseph, who grew tired of living with people and left his village and went into the woods to live. 
    By and by, a wolf pack discovered Joseph and over time got to know him and that he was not like other men, and eventually they took him into their pack. The leader of the pack was a red wolf named David, and soon David and Joseph became fast friends, and they hunted and played and slept together like . . . wolves. 
    Then one day, the men in the village where Joseph had lived learned from hunters that Joseph was living with wolves. The men decided it was not right for a man to go off and live in the woods and run with wolves, so they got their guns and set off to find Joseph and bring him back to the village, to live like a man. 
    The men came upon the wolf pack sleeping in the sun next to a bluff. The wind was blowing off the bluff, away from the wolf pack toward the men, which prevented the pack from scenting the men as they approached. By the time the wolf pack realized the men were there, the men had the pack surrounded, pinned against the bluff. 
    David wanted to order the pack to attack, but Joseph said, “No, I am a man, they will listen to reason, let me go and speak with them.” Although David did not like this idea, he agreed to it because Joseph was a man. But the men would not listen to reason and they shot and killed the entire pack and took Joseph heartbroken back to the village. 
    Joseph languished in the village for many weeks, blaming himself for the death of his pack. 
    Then, Joseph has a dream, in which he sees David’s face. David is angry, but says nothing, just stares.          Finally, Joseph blurts out that he did the best he knew how to do, and he’s so sorry for the way it turned out! David says, “Better that we attacked and died like wolves, than be slaughtered like sheep!” 
    Then, Joseph is back with the pack, against the bluff, surrounded by the men. David says he wants the pack to attack. Joseph says, “And I will lead the charge!”    Then, they hear a voice, the whole pack hears it, say, “There is another way, ask for another way.” Never before have Joseph, David or the pack had such a thing happen, but Joseph asks for another way. 
    Suddenly, a great bolt of lightning strikes the ground between the pack and the men, stirring up a huge cloud of dust. As the dust settles, the cloud begins to take the shape of something huge. The wolves and Joseph then see a pair of golden eyes peering from the bushes behind the men. Then a second pair of golden eyes. Then a third pair. Then ten pairs. Then a hundred pairs. Then a legion of . . . wolves’ eyes. The men are moved by some force to turn around and see what the now delirious pack already see. 
    The men turn back around and find themselves face to face with a great towering eagle, whose piercing golden eyes penetrate their hearts. Then, they hear, “These are my battle angels. You may leave this place and go back to your village, taking your guns with you, on condition that you tell everyone what has happened here today.” 
    To this condition the men readily agree, and they return to their village and tell everyone what happened, and they go to nearby villages and tell it.
something about lions …
    Once upon a time there lived a woman named Alya. She was the medicine woman in her tribe, using herbs and poultices and spirit ways to help her people. Yet she had one flaw: she hated lions, because a lion had killed her father. Her hatred caused her to cast spells against lions, which caused her husband great concern. He often told Alya that her war with lions was going to get her into big trouble, but she was a medicine woman, she knew the ways of the spirits, and she did not listen to her husband. 
    One day while Alya was out gathering herbs, she spotted a lion sunning himself in tall grasses on the savannah. She hatched a scheme in her mind to sneak up on the lion and cast a spell on him, which would enable her to steal his spirit and have it for herself. As she crept closer to the lion, she began chanting softly and seeing in her mind’s eye her spell taking over the lion. However, she was so focused on what she was doing, that she did not see in her mind’s eye the lion’s mate returning from hunting. Nor did she see the lioness catch her scent, drop her kill from her mouth to the ground and circle around behind. Too late, Alya realized her peril, just as the lioness took her from behind.
    Next thing Alya knows, she is in the spirit world, standing before the Lion Spirit. Trembling with terror, Alya wants to run away, but the Lion Spirit speaks to her heart, says, “There is something you do not yet know.” 
Then, Alya is back on the savannah, watching a hunter from her tribe sneaking up on a nest of lion cubs, whose parents are away hunting. The hunter has a twisted spirit, and decides to kill the lion cubs just for the fun of doing it, even though killing any animal just for sport is taboo in his tribe, which worships the Lion Spirit. On returning to his village, the hunter tells no one what he has done. 
    When the lion and lioness return to their nest and find their dead cubs, they are enraged. They catch the hunter’s scent and track him back to the edge of the village, where the lion hides in a thicket and begins roaring and bellowing out his rage over what has happened. The hunter knows why the lion is there, doing that, but still he tells no one. 
    Alya’s father, the tribe’s leader, prepares to go out and face and kill the lion, because it is his duty to protect his tribe from marauding lions. And so he sets out to face the lion, even as the hunter lets him go without saying what has happened to bring this about, and that a lioness is also out there with the lion. 
    Alya’s father quickly finds and confronts the lion, and is preparing to kill it with his spear, when he is taken from behind by the lioness. In her horror, Alya helplessly watches on, even as she now realizes that her hatred of lions was completely misplaced. She feels awful. 
    Then suddenly Alya is back on the savannah, stalking the lion whose spirit she once wanted to steal for herself. The lion looks up, stares into Alya’s eyes. She shakes all over, is terrified, but does not look away. Then something takes hold of her, she says to the lion, “I have lost my father and you have lost your cubs. I will be your cub.” The lion looks deep into Alya’s spirit, nods, says, “And I will be your father, and will always protect your front.” Then beside the lion is the lioness, who says to Alya, “And I will be your mother and will always protect your back.”
the gift …
    A sleeping man dreams he sees the back of a young yogi meditating in the lotus position. Before the young yogi appear two cobras, raised up, hoods flared. One cobra is pure white, the other pure black. Both beautiful. The white cobra says to the young yogi, “We came to you once before because you were innocent, and you knew we brought a gift and you believed you had to choose one of us and you chose me.” The black cobra says, “We come before you again because you now are wise.” The yogi, now very advanced in years, weeps, chooses them both. The sleeping man, now an old man, awakens, crying.

Sunday, April 9, 2023

A Crazy Person's Poetry, or Bible

    I've been wondering if this book should have a chapter for some of the poems that fell out of me. Looking in my Yahoo email account today, April 9, 2023, for something else in the past, I stumbled across something I had sent out in an email blast from afoolsworkneverends.blogspot.com.


March 17, 2017

A Crazy Person’s Bible

The other night a woman suggested in a dream that I write a book about my life. I replied that I had written many books about my life, each was one of a kind. I realized that didn’t satisfy her, and she said it again. Not a long book, a summary. I awoke, clueless. I was publishing vigorously, nearly daily, to my websites, since 2007. My life was being recorded there, too. I didn’t want to write another story of my life. 

Yet the dream nagged, and then I realized two days after the dream, after asking for clarity, that it was to be a collection of poems I had saved, either in print or through memory. Only a few of hundreds of poems that had started bursting out of me, starting in 1991, at age 49. Some truly stunning verses, most of which I put into little anonymous books and saddle-stitch pamphlets and gave away by the hundreds. Nay, by the thousands. The rush of verses then slowed down, but did not stop altogether. 

    The poems included here plot a journey I never heard or read of except in my own personal experiences, in spirit and on this world. Today, the two are inseparable: I live in both realms at the same time, awake and asleep. I sometimes describe myself as a donkey lured by a carrot and driven by a stick, headed to where he knows not. He has no choice but to head to wherever it is, because the consequences of revolt have proven over and over to be most unpleasant. You don’t want to know just how unpleasant it sometimes was following a revolt. You don’t want to know. Be darn glad this doesn’t happen to you. Be darn glad. 

"Living Poets" 

 

Dead poets are poets who never write

Who obey shoulds and oughts

Who live to please others

Who value money over God

Who die without ever having lived

Death is their mark 

 

Dead poets are remembered by the living.

Living poets are remembered by time

Dead poets never sing their song

Living poets never stop singing it 

 

The difference between the two is this:

One worships fear, the other life 

 

To be a dead poet is hard

It requires being someone else

To be a living poet is easy

It only means being myself  

 

One choice is hell, the other heaven

That is what is meant by free will  

 (1991)

  

 

"The Mockingbird" 

 

I happened upon a mockingbird

singing its fool head off –

I asked it how and why it sang?

But all it did was look ahead,

all it did was sing.

It never turned to see if I was watching,

or listened for money jingling in my pockets,

or asked if I liked its music,

or expected a recording contract –

It was too busy singing

to pay any attention to me.

Thus did I learn

the greatest sin of all

is to kill a mockingbird. 

(1992)

 

 

“Black Diamond, Yellow Rose” 

 

Black Diamond, Yellow Rose,

Odd couple until inside I see,

Black Diamond feeds Yellow Rose,

Yellow Rose loves Black Diamond,

Will and Heart,

Heart and Will,

Black Diamond, Yellow Rose

(1993) 

 

“Rainbow Fusion” 

 

Black is white,

White is black,

When they fuse,

Rainbows bloom.

(1993) 

 

“Rainbows” (fragment of original poem) 

 

Rainbows know no master.

Fueled by Father Sun

They touch Misty Earth

Only Heaven knows where.

Rainbows are more shiny than silver

and more brilliant than gold,

More valuable than diamonds

and more precious than pearls.

Rainbows paint heavens beautiful,

Make angels sing.

Rainbows are you, and me,

Full spectrums of Infinity

blazing across Eternity.

Rainbows are now.

(1993) 

“God’s Gifts” 

 

God’s gifts are not for sale, but are given freely to angels, saints, sinners, devils and fools alike, because all are God’s children.

(1993) 

 

“Crooked Hose” 

 

He is but a crooked hose through which living water flows, first to straighten him out, then to water a few other birds of the air and some lilies of the field.”

(1994) 

“The Poet”


He is the paper, the ink his blood, the pen his soul, and the poet is God.”

(1994) 

 

“Rules” 

 

Who invented the rule that poetry must rhyme, have pentameter, be cast into verse? Yes, who invented that really silly rule? Surely it wasn’t the maker of the first stone — otherwise there’d be no stone to break all those slaving rules!  

(1994) 

 

“The Pearl” 

 

He feels deep beauty in the dark pool from which his writings flow. She clings to him like fine silk, precious oil. She feels solid, compressed, like . . . a black pearl, growing from inside out, ever larger with each stroke of his pen, pushing her precious waters over her banks into his dreams and life. (1994)

 

“Rosa Mystica” 

 

Rosa Mystica,

Sweet Mystery,

Bride of Christ,

Living Water

without which

God is dead

and there are no rainbows.

(1994) 

 

“Sacred Prism” 

 

Earth,

The sacred prism

through which souls are refracted

into their elemental parts,

Purified in Holy Fire,

The one-forged

and sent on their way

to not even God knows where,

Simply because they are all

Unique Emanations of God,

Evolving . . .

(1994)  

“Tree of Life” 

 

The Tree of Life grows not

on the battleground of good and evil,

But in a quiet meadow

beneath a beautiful rainbow

that knows not right or wrong.

(1994) 

 

“Mission Nearly Impossible” 

 

Only fools rush in

where angels fear to tread,

But if there were no fools,

Who’d lead the angels?

(1994) 

 

“Initiation” 

 

Shaman you now are.

Angels walk beside you

and call you their brother,

Even as you curse the heavens

for making you one who wields the lightning.

Be kind to your brothers and sisters,

But take no prisoners –

Kill them all in my name,

As I have killed you,

So you and they might live.

(1995) 

 

“Love and Truth” 

 

Love without truth is weak,

Truth without love is harsh,

Two side of the same coin,

They live together,

Or die.

(1995) 

 

“Paradise”

All fig leaves burn

All ugly seen

All pain loved

All truth beauty

All people one

All time now

(2000) 

 

“The World's Greatest Failure” 

 

I know what it is 

to love fully,

have my heart broken by death

and by loved ones’ rejections,

Over and over again,

So I can love even more. 

 

I know what it is 

to be engulfed in pain,

Awash in evil,

Terrified, enraged, despaired,

Believing God has again forsaken me,

Then be given the truth

that again makes me free 

 

I know what it is 

to doubt,

Be lost and wandering

time and time again,

Then be rescued yet again

and my faith grows deeper. 

 

I know what it is 

to blindly trust,

Then be destroyed by betrayed

time and time again,

Until I trust only God. 

 

I know what it is

to have much

and be completely of this world,

Then have it all taken away

and be in the world but not of it. 

 

I know what it is 

to fail in this world,

And fail and fail and fail:

The world’s greatest failure,

I can serve only God. 

 

I know what it is 

to give and give and give and give;

I cannot stop giving

because giving is receiving. 

 

I know what it is 

to explain God

time after time after time again. 

Something demands I keep explaining:

Maybe someone will listen, 

 

Maybe me.

 

“I AM A MAN” 

 

I am a man. 

 

I said,

I am a man! 

 

What means it, 

being a man?   

 

A man is a warrior:

he lives by a code of honor,

his word is reliable,

his actions confirm his words,

his commitment is holiness,

his enemies are welcome at his hearth,

he fears but moves forward,

he cries and gets up again,

he hates but forgives,

he loves and let’s go,

he doubts but trusts God,

he’s a good friend,

he seeks resolutions,

he demands nothing,

he risks everything,

he regrets his mistakes,

he seeks to make amends,

he puts others’ welfare first,

he accepts apologies truly made,

he expects nothing back,

he lives ready to die,

he laughs when he “should” scream,

he screams when he “should” laugh,

he sings just because,

he shrugs off insults,

he learns from misfortune,

he cusses God for making him,

he wishes he was done,

he loves children and animals,

he relishes a woman’s scent,

he smiles when he’s content,

he knows God’s his master,

he walks in rainbows,

his garden is the world,

his way is nature,

he loves fishing,

his wife is his soul,

his food is life,

his pay is whatever he receives.

Yep, he’s crazy.

(2003) 

 

“SHANGHAIED” 

 

A calling to serve carries its own wisdom,

which legitimates both the calling and the serving

so that the two are one:

Only the one called to serve

can know this wisdom,

and for some who are called

the knowing comes easily,

while for others the knowing is a fiery baptism.

Each calling is different,

and while some callings can be declined,

others cannot,

and those whose calling is without repentance

know they are in it for the duration of the calling,

and while others may try to persuade them out of it,

the calling for ones such as these always prevails;

thus is it advised to all called for keeps

that they view their calling as a blessing

even when it seems at times to be a curse,

and that they try to reconcile the loss of their captain status

and allow the Spirit of God to man the helm of their ship

and be glad and willing crew members thereon,

knowing that all sailing ships of souls

need a crew as well as a captain

to maintain and navigate the ship through

seas of many tones, depths and flavors;

so consider each league sailed

as part of the overall journey

going to where the captain deigns to go

by using whatever winds and sea currents available

to navigate the ship to the experiences

this ship and crew need to have

in order to fulfill their calling and its wisdom

revealed by the journey of many leagues,

many known only to the ship and its crew,

all of whom come to know,

some sooner than others,

that once conscripted

there is no safe jumping ship.

(2004)


"Bi Polar" 

 

the world's favorite

mood disorder

the cause of all

human ails,

including wars,

if the demons aren't counted 

 

bi polar disorder,

the destruction of the

south pole,

the feminine,

the north pole,

he ain't been

right in the head

since she's been gone

(2017) 

 

“Slam Poetry”

I don’t like it.

"Eve's Answer"

April Fool


Vexing Truth


Life is Poetry,

Poetry is Life,

There's no more to say,

but that would 

make God

a really dull boy,

now wouldn't it,

Eve?


So, Eve,

What say you?

After all,

You have been,

still are, blamed,

for everything that went wrong with

hu - MAN - i - ty.


Well, do you really want to hear

what I gotta say?

Is this one of those

be careful what you ask for

pregnancies?


Well, is it?


Probably, but say

what you wish -

I s'pect you need

to be heard.


Heard?

Funny you mention ears.

Yes, ears.

Such important receptacles.

Yet filled with concrete, 

shit, propaganda, beliefs,

certainties, well,

let's not leave out

SUPERSTITION

and

RELIGION,

should we?


By the way,

where do ya

suppose

God came from?

Or, out of?


And, 

why do ya s'pose

I made Eve

in my own 

IMAGE?


'Cause Adam was

so bored and dull -

so ... predictable

He was BORING!!!

the shit outta me!!!

That's why.


Now

    Shusssssh -

Don't go round quoting me on

any of that -


I've had quite enough of

the religious right

ta last me 

the rest of forever

(2018) 

    I sensed from the beginning that the verses coming through me were something I would live, and that often scared the hell out of me. The same sinking sensation arose with wacky novels that fell out of me, which actually were poems but I called them novels because they were mostly prose. Jolting experiences, snap endings, surprise, suspense and cosmic jokes seem very important to God, perhaps to keep God awake and interested; and perhaps to keep me a bit loose, so I’m easier to work with and change, which I’m not when I’m all comfy and sure of myself. Then, it sometimes takes a sledgehammer to get my attention. Or dynamite. Or an earthquake. You get the drift. When awake, I see whatever happens to me as a poem or part of one. From that I can only conclude God is a poet, and from the way my life goes, I can only further conclude God is crazy and the only way for me to truly love God is to be crazy, too.


The Golden Flake Clown's Tale