DAVID’S DESK #151 - THE CALENDAR WITHIN

David's Desk is my opportunity to share thoughts and tools for the spiritual journey. These letters are my personal insights and opinions and do not necessarily reflect the sentiments or thoughts of any other person in Lorian or of Lorian as a whole. If you wish to share this letter with others, please feel free to do so; however, the material is ©2019 by David Spangler. If you no longer wish to receive these letters, please let us know at info@Lorian.org.

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First, I want to wish you a blessed, joyous, and wondrous celebration this month, whatever tradition or holiday you celebrate.

Second, I have a simple thought. Our lives are governed in many ways by our calendars, whether hanging on a wall or displayed on a computer screen. Each month has its particular identity and characteristics, none more so than December when the ancient rituals of acknowledging and celebrating the lengthening of daylight beginning on the winter solstice gave birth to the idea of the “return of the Light.” As if the Light of the Sacred that permeates and upholds all creation could ever go anywhere!

We know in our lives, though, that Light can seem to diminish. We all have periods of darkness, when sadness, depression, loss, despair, and fear seem to rise up within us and all around us. What the winter solstice—and all the celebrations of the birth and return of Light that arise from it—tells us is that this darkness is always temporary. The Light does return. Hope is never vanquished forever. Life and joy can emerge from the most seemingly bleak terrain. Throughout the year, this is what this calendar month reminds us: if the Light seems to go away, it will return. The days will brighten once again.

The calendar speaks to us of cycles, Summer to Winter, Spring to Fall, and back again. We order our lives according to these cycles.

My simple thought, though, is that each of us has an inner calendar, and this calendar has only one day on it: today. This day can be whatever we choose and are able to make of it. We can have a “winter solstice” every day, if we wish, a day in which the Light is reborn anew and afresh each morning. Everyday can be Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or any of the many other celebratory days that mark our various traditions. Our inner calendar says, “This day is yours. Make it what you will.”

The outer and inner calendars—one marking cycles and change, the other intent and creativity—complement each other. To use a quantum physics metaphor, they are the particle and the wave forms of the Light that runs through everything. To have a day that celebrates the birth or the return of Light into the world is a powerful event in its specificity; its vision can touch us in particular ways, focusing our attention and our lives upon the meaning of what that day represents. But to also know that every day is a day when Light is born or Light returns empowers us in each moment with the appreciation that we are co-creators of our lives, shapers of who we are and who we wish to become.

That’s my simple thought. No need to read long dissertations when there are celebrations to be had! Again, have a blessed and wonderful month. I’ll see you again in the New Year

Hearts Shaped Like Rocks

Blog post and photo by Susan Beal

As the saying goes, “Seeing is believing,” but it is equally true that “Believing is seeing.” They are not opposites, and yet they’re often perceived that way, just as a rational, scientific world view is often seen as the opposite of a spiritual, magical world view. So it's good to remember that we shape the world and the world shapes us, and there is magic in that.

My husband, David, and I just returned from a long camping trip, traveling cross country with our camper van from Vermont, through Michigan and the northern states to Washington, down the coast to California, cross the Mojave desert to Santa Fe, and then eastward toward home. We like to collect heart-shaped rocks when we travel, to bring home as a memento of the places we’ve been. We have a large collection of them on our mantlepiece, from many places around the US and the world. On our camping trip, we found heart-shaped rocks on the shores of Great Lakes, on riverbanks in Montana, at ferry docks in Washington, ocean beaches and redwood forests in California, and even in a few parking lots and truck stops along the way.

It usually takes a bit of time to find a good heart shaped rock. Sometimes there are very few candidates and the best we can do is find a rock with only a the vaguest resemblance to a heart. But more often, we can find at least one rock with a definite, if slightly distorted, heart shape—good enough to bring home and add to our collection.

Finding something is as much about filtering out what you don’t want as it is about finding what you do want. You have to set your intention and have a focus, a perceptual lens that filters what you’re seeing in favor of what you’re looking for. We all do this all the time, consciously and unconsciously, as a way of managing the continuous stream of information coming in from the worlds within and around us. Unfortunately, it’s the same feature that sets us up for bias and prejudice and limits what we sense or comprehend. We lose the ability to see things we aren’t looking for or don’t believe in. And even if we do believe, the climate of skepticism that characterizes our world acts like smog in the atmosphere, clouding all but the most confident and acute perception.

One morning of our camping trip, we were staying at a campground in Big Sur, California. I ventured down to explore the bank of the Big Sur river, which ran through the campground, and sent out a little request to find a heart shaped rock that might like to come home with us. It wasn’t long before I found a nice one. I pocketed it, delighted with my find. Then I found another, and then several more.

I started getting quite selective, searching for the ever-more perfectly shaped heart rock. As I looked around, I began to see heart-shaped rocks everywhere, in every size, in every color and texture—elongated ones, squat, wide ones, chunky and flattened ones, lumpy ones and smooth. They were grey, white, black and red, speckled, striped and solid. The more I looked, the more there were.

I think our brains are hardwired to feel good when we find things we’re looking for, probably because our hunter gatherer ancestors relied on it to survive. Pleasure centers in the brain light up so we keep searching for roots and berries and rabbits. I felt the same urgent glee on the river bank each time I found another heart shaped rock. I had started out hoping to find one, maybe two, but when more and more appeared, I felt compelled to keep gathering them. Each one I found led to another, like a trail of crumbs that might lead me to the The Perfect Heart-Shaped Rock.

After a while, however, I began to feel odd, a bit disoriented, as if I had slipped into a reality where my intention was having an effect on the material world. It felt, suddenly, as if my desire to find a heart shaped rock was magically affecting the rocks on the beach, as if little nature spirits reading my desire, quickly shaping rocks into hearts and setting them out for me to find.

It felt like manifesting on overdrive, or like being in a semi-lucid dream. I once read about ways to test if you are dreaming or awake. One of them is to jump. If you stay aloft or float gently down, you are probably dreaming. If you don’t, you’re probably awake. I jumped on the beach and landed with the usual thump. But there were still heart shaped rocks appearing everywhere, nestled among the non-heart-shaped rocks like a bumper crop of nuts. And the sense of magic persisted.

My heart opened, my perception widened and everything intensified - the glitter of sun on the river water, the ratchety calls of jays and ravens in the redwoods, the scent of campfire ashes. I fell into a slight trance. I felt suffused with gratitude. Time dropped away.

But after a while my logical brain reasserted itself. Maybe, my inner skeptic rationalized, the endorphin buzz I got when I found a heart shaped rock was prejudicing how I saw things. Maybe I was projecting heart shapes onto what were really just dented triangles and ovals, just to get that little rush.

But no. There really were a lot of rocks shaped like hearts.

Okay, my logical brain argued, there could be a geological or hydrological factor involved in the formation of rocks that looked kind of like hearts. Maybe this spot in Big Sur, on this particular river bank, had just the right conditions.

It’s possible there was some kind of geological explanation. It’s possible my perception was biased. It’s possible a bit of magic was involved. It may well have been a combination of influences. But finally, I realized what mattered was not the explanation—magical, perceptual, geological, or otherwise—for why there were so many heart shaped rocks in one place. What mattered was that I found an abundance of what I was looking for, and it made me happy.

I set aside a few of the best rocks to take home and made a mandala on the river bank of the rest. I kept having to make it bigger as I kept finding more heart shaped rocks. I have no idea if it’s still there, or how many campers may have come upon it, or what they thought. But I like to think it made them happy, maybe even inspired them to look for more heart shaped rocks to add to the mandala. And I imagine the energetic imprint of all of those heart shapes rippling outward, at least for a time, boosting the happiness quotient in that campground and even a bit beyond.

The most primal part of our nervous systems are designed to scan for threats, an instinctive bias that kicks into high gear whenever we’re traumatized or just overly stressed. When it’s activated, we interpret even the most benign things—a stick on the ground, a stranger’s frown, an unusual sound—as dangerous. We live in challenging times and our limbic systems have a rough time of it. The news media is biased toward disaster and if the headlines are to be believed, there’s little good in the world. It’s the rare person whose nervous system is not generating anxiety, seeking something to worry about.

Imagine the effect this has, not only our our own experience of the world, but on the planet, itself: millions of human nervous systems primed to see danger everywhere, interpreting their surroundings as inhospitable, their fellow humans as untrustworthy, the Earth as sick and dying.

Now imagine the effect of millions of people scanning for things that make them happy – heart shaped rocks, or the kindness of strangers, or the verification of hope. We can try to find an explanation that pares wonder down into something mundane and reasonable.

Or we can see what happens when we start looking for hearts and finding them, everywhere.

"Let New Worlds Grow from Us"

Essay and Photo by Freya Secrest

I was privileged to participate in the recent guided tour to Ireland, co-sponsored by Soren Hauge and Lorian Association, to explore our history and connections with the Sidhe. Our framework for this journey was the work of two 20th century Irish theosophists: poet William Butler Yeats and his colleague, the artist and social activist, George William Russell or AE. Using their work as a historical backdrop we also drew upon more recent expressions of connection with the Sidhe, including the Sidhe books and Card Deck by David Spangler and artist Jeremy Berg, Soren’s book, The Wild Alliance, as well as the wealth of insights from trip participants themselves.

Our travels took us through Ireland’s northwest coast land where we had the opportunity to immerse ourselves in the environment which offered Yeats and AE a doorway for their experiences and insights. Their poetry and art were inspiring, but for me it was the landscape we traveled through that touched my heart and helped to open my own unique doorways to the “People of Peace”. It is easy to feel how AE and Yeats were drawn into magical, underlying Sidhe realms of life and intelligence. I was too.

The wild beauty of the area was deeply uplifting. We hiked rugged cliffs with wide vistas and open peat and heather countryside. We listened to wind and rain and singing streams that emerged magically from the boggy land to tumble and flow, and over time, carve green valleys. My sense of awe and magic was stretched and extended by this week of immersion in the bed-rock essence that underlay green fields and sandy shores. Here the grand forces that work to shape our evolving planetary landscape were evident. We as humans are only one stream among the many forces that impact our world. I was and am humbled by the clear and dancing elements that shape a planet.

In this context, it was easy for me to sense that there are many realms of intelligence engaged with our planet. I could imagine a Faerie troupe emerging from Ben Bulben, the Faerie Fort, to inspire awe through legends shared around the hearth. It was easy to imagine the subtle intelligence of the green natural world at work in misty glen waterfalls and the hill and heather countryside. They sang their songs to me as I walked their paths. The phrase from a New Troubadour song, “Let new worlds grow from us” comes to mind. I could sense the deep power of the land itself in tumbled boulders and wild winds. Come. Stand up, step forward and link in. Join us in shaping wholeness in our world.

This trip drew together a new understanding of partnership for me. I will continue to explore my relationships with nature and my understandings of the subtle half of planetary life but with a new sense of fellowship, of comradery. After spending time with others who acknowledge the Sidhe as allies and partners, I now feel more alert to the notes of a Sidhe connection in my own life. Making a “home visit” so to speak, I have a more direct experience of the qualities that link me to them, a shared love of nature and commitment to our Gaian home, a common draw to creativity and shaping, a mutual home in joy. In all this I am aware of not only my Sidhe connection, but of a three-way interaction of human, Sidhe and nature working together on behalf of our shared Gaian world. This awareness brings more meaning to my idea of partnership - with Nature, with the Sidhe, with other people in my life.

As my friend and colleague, Rue Hass would say in our manifestation work, “That is a BIG bite! Can you break it into smaller ones?” The “how” of all this new awareness is indeed unfolding its possibilities in small steps. Since I have returned home, I am going out to my local parks to be present to my nearby natural world, to share in the breath of wind and wood and soil and water right around me. I am more consciously holding myself and my life with love and honor. I am bringing new attention to the things that bring me joy so I can stay alive in my own acts of whole-making. And I am inviting the idea of Allies: from the Sidhe, from Nature, from my work world and in my human community by staying open to, and welcoming, the diversity around me with a loving touch.

In Ireland the veil between the worlds was thin. It was easier to hear the music of earth and life outside of my everyday rhythms and the values of social/cultural progress in human history. I am grateful to the rock, the hills, the wind, the water and to the People of Peace that welcomed me into their home and shared the beauty of their corner of the earth. They reminded me of the fellowship that I can foster here in my own everyday life. And so, I am called to begin another "guided" tour right here in my own home neighborhood. To quote Walt Whitman, “Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road” - looking to discover and celebrate the beauty and comradery of my own local corner of the earth.

DAVID’S DESK #150 - “WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE WORLD?”

David's Desk is my opportunity to share thoughts and tools for the spiritual journey. These letters are my personal insights and opinions and do not necessarily reflect the sentiments or thoughts of any other person in Lorian or of Lorian as a whole. If you wish to share this letter with others, please feel free to do so; however, the material is ©2019 by David Spangler. If you no longer wish to receive these letters, please let us know at info@Lorian.org.

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I had an encounter at the hospital this past week that was both interesting and amusing. I had gone in for an annual visit with my doctor, and as part of my exam, I needed to have some blood drawn for testing. I obediently went to the hospital lab, where I told the receptionist my name and birthdate. I then sat down waiting for my name to be called.

There was one other person waiting with me. He was a young man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties. As we sat there together, he suddenly turned to me and said, “Did I hear that you were born in 1945?” There was a distinct note of wonderment in his voice as he said it.

“Yes,” I replied. “I was born about four months before they dropped the atomic bomb on Japan.”

This time the wonderment was even more pronounced as he said, “That’s a long time ago. You must have seen a lot of changes in the world!”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I have.”

He paused a moment, then said, “What do you think of the world now?” The way he looked at me and the way he said it, I felt as if I were some strange curiosity, a time traveler who had suddenly materialized into 2019 instead of someone who’d been living through all those 75 years.

I have a whimsical mind, and I immediately began thinking of all kinds of witty retorts, like, “Well, I do miss my horse and buggy,” but I realized he was sincerely curious, which made me wonder how many older people he ever encountered. So, I answered him seriously, “Well, it’s certainly different from when I was born, but I like it.”

“Do you? That’s great!” And that was the end of the conversation as at that moment the nurse called his name and it was his turn to go into the lab.

It was a simple enough encounter. He wasn’t disrespectful or mocking in any way; he seemed genuinely awed at meeting someone who had been born so long ago. But it was the first time I’d felt like someone saw me as a stranger to the world because of my age rather than as part of it.

And it’s true. There are many aspects of the world nowadays that younger people experience or take for granted that I don’t feel part of. That’s normal. Styles, tastes, fashions, language all change over time, as they should in my opinion. Yet, I’ve never stopped feeling that this is my world. And though I’m part of it in different ways than when I was younger and healthier, I don’t feel a stranger. I definitely don’t feel the world has passed me by.

When the young man asked me, “What do you think of the world,” there were non-whimsical thoughts that flashed through my mind, too. There are a lot of things about the world that I don’t like: the way we treat nature, the way we can distrust and conflict with each other, the proliferation of misinformation and falsehood through the Internet, the rise of trolls, the changes in climate, the development of weapons of mass destruction, the mass shootings in the United States. I could make a long list.

But none of these things stayed in my mind, passing out of my thoughts almost as quickly as my whimsy. What stayed was the realization that after seventy-four years, I love this world as much as ever.

And thinking back, I realized that this is what my young questioner seemed to feel, too. His face lit up when I said I liked the world today. I think he was expecting me to complain about some change or other or tell him how much better things were “when I was a lad.” I’ve certainly had older people say exactly those things to me.

But in that moment before the nurse called him, he and I found a common sentiment. The world is good. I thought so, and I could tell, he thought so, too.

I left the hospital with hope.

Abide In Joy

Blog Post and Sketch by Mary Reddy

Ben Bulben in County Sligo, Ireland, rises approximately 1,700 feet above sea level. Its profile is dramatic—a long plateau of corrugated limestone surrounded by sloping skirts of heather, mosses, and grass. The mountain was the favorite hunting grounds of the Fianna, the mythic warrior bands of the Fenian Cycle. It figures in the legends of the love triangle of Gráinne, Diarmuid and Fionn. St. Columba is also associated with Ben Bulben. In a dispute with Abbott Finian over the ownership rights of a copied psalter, Columba raised an army and fought a great battle on the slopes of Ben Bulben. Many thousands of men died. In remorse, St. Columba vowed to convert to Christianity as many souls as had died on the battle field. He went on to establish a number of monasteries in Ireland and Scotland, including the renowned one on Iona.

But what drew us to Ben Bulben on a sunny, breezy autumn day was its association with the Sidhe (the Irish name for the People of Peace, humanity’s cousins). Two dozen of us had responded to an invitation from Soren Hauge and Jeremy Berg to tour Yeats country, connect with the land, and deepen our relationship with the Sidhe. Our route traced locations where the poet, W. B. Yeats and his artist friend, George AE William Russell had communed with the Sidhe a century before. Yeats wrote about Ben Bulben in his Mythologies:

“A little north of the town of Sligo, on the southern side of Ben Bulben, some hundreds of feet above the plain, is a small white square in the limestone. No mortal has ever touched it with his hand; no sheep or goat has ever browsed grass beside it. There is no more inaccessible place upon the earth, and to anxious consideration few more encircled by terror. It is the door of Faeryland. In the middle of night it swings open, and the unearthly troop rushes out."

We approached the mountain on the more accessible northeastern side and gathered in a circle to attune to the land and the Sidhe. I had heard that the veil is thin in Donegal but I was not prepared for how swiftly the world of the Sidhe opened up. I realized later the Irish Sidhe were waiting to welcome us. The land I stood on felt like it was growing thin. I could see through it to a realm within. I began to sink into the interior. But I yanked myself back—I did not like the passivity of the movement. Dissolving into subtle worlds has been all too easy for me in the past but I frequently felt a loss of identity in the process. I wanted to meet the Sidhe confidently, not passively. So I waited until we dispersed from our circle, each of us moving across the land to wherever we wanted to commune. I walked carefully, navigating across stiff clumps of grass to avoid the boggy spots, until I reached an area covered with small wild rhododendron clinging to the edge of a short cliff overlooking a rushing mountain stream.

I sat on a rock and quickly but conscientiously touched into my sovereignty and self light. Once fortified with a sense of self and agency, I presented myself to the Sidhe as a joyous and shiny human. The opening was just as swift as before. I can only describe some of the experience in words. Communication with the Sidhe takes place telepathically for me. It flows in images and emotions and sometimes I feel that what I remember afterward is less than actually took place. Here is what I can put into words. I sank into the mountain. A number of Sidhe greeted me. I sensed I was inside a dwelling with tall elegant cathedral-like arches. I had an impression of lovely colors and light. True to my wish to avoid passivity, I began to describe to the Sidhe what it’s like to be human on our side, so immersed are we in matter. I wanted to convey how difficult our lives can be, how hard I’ve worked during my life to rise out of trauma and pain. How precious to me are the strengths, insights, and compassionate love that have emerged in me from this struggle.

When I was finished with my description, I handed them a rolled-up sheaf of parchment papers. And I told them “These are maps of the human hearts of all of us who have come to visit you today.” I wanted them to know us better. In return, they asked me to hold my hands out. They placed in my right hand a golden apple and in the left, a silver apple. I recognized these from a Yeats poem, “The Song of Wandering Aengus,” where an old man seeks out his youthful vision of a “glimmering girl” and imagines walking with her in long dappled grass, plucking “… till time and times are done, the silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun.”

Satisfied with this communication, I left the rock, drawn by the musical sound of the water below, weaving and splashing its way around curving banks and great midstream rocks. Down to Luke’s Bridge, over to the other side, then carefully again across boggy ground, I came to another rock seat at the very edge of the stream. I took off my hiking boots and thick socks and plunged my feet into the cold water. Then the Sidhe and I resumed our conversation. I was not surprised to learn they worked closely with the spirits of the water, the rocks, and plants. After enjoying the activity for some time, I asked them “What is your concern here? What is your science?” In response, they showed me a fish that looked like a large salmon. It rose halfway out of the water, its mouth gaping open. I realized with shock that it was dead. As my rational mind began to race over thoughts of poisoned waters and species extinction, the Sidhe pulled me back. They immediately flooded my being with joy, the utter beauty of the water dancing over the rocks, the richness of the different shades of green across the land, the brightness of the blue sky and white clouds, the wind drying my wet feet. My worries ceased, my heart lifted.

This felt important to me—my return to joy, their abiding in joy. All of the images and impressions I receive from the Sidhe contain a mystery. I focus more on how the communication makes me feel in my body than on how to interpret it in words. But this last message that day on Ben Bulben carries a weight that I can tentatively verbalize, as though we humans have a magic power in our ability to return to joy. It does not mean we ignore the pain, loss, and dangers in our world. But perhaps we lessen their impact or alchemically alter the course of events by returning to joy. It’s magic. Abide in joy.

Become a Gaianeer and Plant the Seeds of Hope for a New Tomorrow

By Jeremy Berg

When I coined the term Gaianeering, obviously Gaia was on my mind. Ever since James Lovelock used the title The Gaia Hypothesis to describe his theory that the world was indeed a whole, living system, the term has been growing in use. For many the word Gaia now coveys the sense of a conscious, sentient planetary being that hearkens back to the primordial deity the ancient Greeks revered, the ancestral primal Mother Earth goddess.

But Gaianeering has echoes of engineering, a human activity. I had this also in mind. We are now seeing the negative consequences of human technology uncoupled from natural ecologies and unfettered by ethical concerns for the environment. It is now time to change that approach and put our creative energy towards a loving collaboration with the life and lives of our world.

Organizations like the “Bioneers” and many others are promoting new and ancient ways that move us towards ecological sustainability. But life extends well beyond biology. Countless other conscious beings occupy niches of size, scale and dimension. These beings: angels, fairies, post-mortems, elementals, nature forces, animal powers, gods and goddesses and many other “spiritual entities” appear regularly throughout humanity’s many religious and cultural systems. All are evolving with new potentials constantly emerging. Over the centuries, a lineage of seers have kept communication flowing between the various streams of earthly life — seen and unseen.

We tend to think of these unseen “otherworlds” if we acknowledge them at all as completely separate realms. But of course, as we have learned from ecological science, this is one intertwined world. It may not be possible for a new wholesome culture to emerge without engaging other dimensions of life that are being affected by our careless, world-altering actions.

In the distant past, we are told, there was a conscious connection between the life of nature, the evolving species of humanity and a parallel race of humanity, the Sidhe (or Faerie). We are now entering an era when it is imperative that these “pathways of peace” be widened for new planetary partnerships to once again blossom. In addition, we now bring our emerging technologies to this gathering of life-streams which must be incorporated into a whole new system.

So Gaianeering to me is the attempt to reweave the matrix of our world at a new turn of the spiral. It assumes that the Sidhe and other subtle beings have something vital to offer humanity as we evolve towards a new understanding of our role as caretakers of Gaian life. And it assumes that we have something to offer in our exploration and manipulation of matter. Working in concert with the Intelligences of Nature and Planetary Beings, we plant the seeds of hope for a new tomorrow.

For the Lorian Association, “Gaianeering” is an exploration of these potentials. As David Spangler puts it:

“Now we enter a time when understanding Gaia and, more importantly, learning to live in collaboration and harmony with this planetary life, becomes more essential than ever. In the face of climate change, it may even be a key to our survival as a civilization. We need to know the Gaian life in which we are immersed. We need to become Gaianeers.”

Editor's note: This material is adapted from a Gaianeering booklet shared at our 2017 Conference.

Farewell to the Hobbit House

By Soren Hauge

Editor's Note: The following essay is excerpted from Soren's book The Wild Alliance, published by Lorian Press.

It is time for you to say goodbye to your habitual surroundings and begin the journey. Your daily life unfolds in comfortable and well-known surroundings where you follow rules and routines appropriate for your personal life. It is important that things function in a healthy, daily cycle so you can concentrate on your responsibilities and tasks and your relationships with family, friends, colleagues and networks.

However, when greater adventures await you have to prepare. This implies that you have to consider what you need, and what you have to leave behind you. This journey you will embark on does not have any outer equipment or preparations. In truth, you do not need anything besides yourself. Therefore you must be willing to do almost the opposite of what you know when you go on a trip to well-known destinations. On this journey, you need as little as possible in regards to cultural baggage, religious conceptions, national or ethnic habits, as well as patterns from your upbringing and education. In the widest possible way, you are asked to be as independent as possible and free from luggage, suitcases and trunks.

It is no easy thing to let go of most of what you have been raised to believe, trained to conceptualize and socialized to take for granted. It is very difficult. Again and again you may discover that you drag along with you heavy bags of all shapes and sizes. “That’s how I’m used to doing it”. “This is part of our tradition and heritage.” “My parents taught me so.” “This is the way we do it in my hood.” “This is central to my values.” On and on it goes. The question remains: How willing are you to let go? Do you think that minor adjustments will do for a great adventure? On the other hand, are you prepared for a completely different and much deeper process?

If you have to do something extraordinary, you must be willing to dig deeper, make yourself more inclusive and step out of your comfort zone. The Hobbit House is a warm cave full of lovely, recognizable stuff, merry tunes and cozy corners – all so intimately well known. Perhaps there is also occasional boredom there, but at least it is comfortable. So you think. Now the time has come to turn your head in a new direction and prepare for a real adventure that will be able to change things for good. Nobody can do it for you. You have to give yourself the green light. Are you ready?

The Wind Blows

“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” (John 3: 8.) The winds of the spirit blow and they are free and not under any human control. Spirit, our deepest reality and inner being, is untamable. It cannot be subdued, bent or adapted to anything. It cannot be trained and made domestic and toothless. The conventional life we know so well is constructed in many ways upon compromises, adaptations and comfort securing survival, functionality, comfortable recognition and controlled growth. It is all reasonable and fair, seen from the mundane, ordinary life perspective. Nevertheless, the wild winds of the spirit often blow in the opposite direction of customs, habits, tradition, law and order. The security mechanisms, rules and regulations of civilization aim at securing and unfolding the well-known, daily rhythm with a certain calm and foreseeable functionality. Up against the daily waves of repetition, with only minor variations, the winds of spirit seek to stir, animate, vitalize and make possible new unfoldments and entirely new pathways. It easily provides occasions for collisions between daily common sense and the stormy renewals of the great forces. Conservative cautiousness collides with unfettered, propelling currents of pure spirit.

Spirit, the heart of sacredness, does not bother with strategy or political maneuvering, it does not compromise. It is unbound in its pure, raw nature. Love is not just being nice, just like kindness is so much more than the socalled civilized politeness. In a similar way, deep creativity is much more than, and very different from, the skillfulness of being handy. There is quite a distance between having clever wit and embodying compassionate wisdom just as there is a distinguished difference between moderate tolerance and deep acceptance. It is important that we fully recognize the rhythm of daily life and the practical values of numerable, splendid routines. However, behind, above, below and through this dimension something else is on the move. Into the stream of predictability moves something immense, which is high as a tower and deep as an abyss. This vast river of life is liberating, and paves the way to continents and sceneries never contacted or heard before by any human being.

We are One People

By Ron Hays

It was September 2018. I had spent the summer preparing for an October workshop, Crafting with the Sidhe. Actually, most of the year I’d been working with my Sidhe colleagues pondering, writing, and consulting with them on the workshop content. They were quite willing to assist, for it was a mutual experiment. As often is the case as I work with the Sidhe, they stimulated my train of thought as I conceptualized the details. Our mutual idea was for workshop participants to connect directly with the Sidhe while engaging in a tangible activity. We would assemble the parts of a Desktop Portal while working energetically with the wood and metal parts that comprise it.

How did I learn to connect with the Sidhe? About nine years ago, I sensed a tentative nudge from them while I was at the seashore. There was no conversation, no “person”, nothing other than a faint sense of a presence that left me with a mild curiosity. I had heard of them through John Matthew’s book The Sidhe, but had no particular interest in them.

For a couple of years afterward, I sometimes sensed the Sidhe in the background and had a couple of brief, almost imperceptible, contacts with them. That gradually changed as I began to collaborate with them making large outdoor portals. As I designed and built the portals, I asked them about various details regarding the flow of subtle energy through the structure. They became my go-to consultants regarding subtle energy and the wooden gateways. I wouldn’t really call these conversations, and I didn’t have a sense of working with any individual Sidhe. I would just pose a question and sometimes receive an answer.

My connection deepened when I started working with David Spangler and Jeremy Berg’s Card Deck of the Sidhe. Using the Sidhe cards, I discovered a subtle bridge between my physical self and the Sidhe realm. The cards invoke a stone circle. Its four cardinal points are gateways to the Earth, Stars, Sun, and Moon. By invoking the energies inherent in the images of these cards I have, after much practice over a number of years, been able to create and sustain connections with the Sidhe. As that connection has grown, I have learned to distinguish a few individuals whom I call my Sidhe colleagues. I frequently visit with these folks now.

So, back to September 2018. Amidst preparations for the workshop, my Sidhe colleagues asked if I was open to meeting someone. (They always ask before introducing new Sidhe beings to me and naturally I always say yes.) I understood that this being was a “historian” in their terms. This surprised me a bit, since such an introduction seemed unrelated to the project at hand - but I was intrigued. A presence came into our conversation. Questions overwhelmed my thoughts - what was this being's history with the native people; what could they tell me about the Sidhe history in the Northwest, and so forth. These questions were immediately brushed aside. Unlike a human historian, this person did not deal with facts and dates. Conversation over! My colleagues and I parted cordially, my energy to maintain the connection spent!

About two weeks after that first faltering introduction, I again sensed the "historian" wanted to speak with me. This time I came with an open heart and mind ready to listen and not ask questions. I could sense anticipation building in me as this being came forward. And then with a power that still resonates within me, they said: “We Are One People”. I sensed this in my body, I felt this in my heart, and I knew this in my mind. Sidhe and Humans are one people. When I facilitated the workshop a couple of weeks later, this was the keynote. We are one people and it is time for both Human and Sidhe to reweave the connections that became frayed centuries ago.

Pleased with the outcome of the workshop, as were they, I expected to continue facilitating more of them. When I brought up the topic to my Sidhe colleagues, they were noncommittal and I had no clear insight on how to proceed. A few weeks later I brought up the topic again. In reply I heard: “Would you be willing to setup a website for us?”

A website for the Sidhe? What would its mission be? In answer a number of individuals came forward and said that they were the Sidhe website committee. They would work with me in developing the site. Together this Sidhe committee and I created our mission statement - word by word:

To Further and Empower the Relationship between Humanity and the Sidhe.

With this inspiration, Portals Connect emerged!

For me, this website project is grounded in Lorian's work with the Sidhe and is one of a number of collaborative experiments inspired by the Lorian-Sidhe connection. I hope to see this new website become a place where those drawn together can converse about their interest in and connection with the Sidhe. We Humans and the Sidhe have much to share with one another. They are earnest in their desire to connect with us and are very willing to share their understanding of the subtle worlds that we as One People inhabit. I do invite you to take a look at Portals Connect, sign up for the newsletter and share your interest and work with the Sidhe.

DAVID’S DESK #149 - THE MYSTERY OF KINDNESS

David's Desk is my opportunity to share thoughts and tools for the spiritual journey. These letters are my personal insights and opinions and do not necessarily reflect the sentiments or thoughts of any other person in Lorian or of Lorian as a whole. If you wish to share this letter with others, please feel free to do so; however, the material is ©2019 by David Spangler. If you no longer wish to receive these letters, please let us know at info@Lorian.org.

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I recently sprained my hand and arm by doing too much typing for too long a time, an occupational hazard faced by others who type a lot and, I’m told, by concert pianists, which puts me in good company! Aside from ice packs (ugh!) and massaging (yay!), the main therapy is to stop typing, which is challenging for a writer who thinks through his fingers.

Consequently, I’ve had an enforced vacation while my hand and arm heal, during which I decided to catch up on my reading. I have a number of books on my desk (and under it, on the floor) that I’ve been intending to read, all good books on spirituality, the state of the world, new economic theories, the politics of climate change, holistic business organizations, the intelligence of trees, and other interesting topics. What I ended up reading, though, were murder mysteries. Well, I said it was a vacation!

Specifically, I was introduced by my good friends and Lorian colleagues, Jeremy Berg and Freya Secrest, to Canadian writer, Louise Penny and her Chief Inspector Gamache series. There are fifteen books in this series, so she and her character have obviously been successful and popular.

It’s easy to see why. Penny's prose is brilliant, her stories are well-crafted, her characters are compelling, and she has a wit that often had me laughing out loud at a particular passage. Her murders regularly produce a number of possible suspects, and the mystery of who the murderer is lasts until nearly the last page. For someone like myself who likes classical murder mysteries that focus on character and deduction rather than non-stop action and gore, her stories are a treat. They are genuine page-turners, not only because she is so skillful at building up the suspense but because her characters are so well-drawn that you can’t wait to see what one of them is going to say or do next.

At the heart of these stories is Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, head of the elite homicide department of the Sûreté du Québec, the provincial police force. He is what makes these stories remarkable and different from any other murder mysteries I’ve read. He is a brilliant detective, yes, but what makes him stand out is that his biggest tool in solving crimes is his kindness.

Penny is brilliant at delineating this character, bringing the reader along to not only appreciate Gamache’s kindness but to feel it as a palpable presence throughout the books. He is respectful and kind to everyone, his fellow police officers, the suspects, even those whom he must arrest for the most horrific of crimes. His kindness defuses defenses, overcomes resistances, opens hearts and draws out secrets. He is compelling not because he is strong or smart or courageous, though he is all these things; his strength comes from the fact that people feel acceptance and respect in his presence. They feel his kindness.

Reading these books, I came away feeling I’d spent time with an embodiment of what kindness is about and the power it can have in the world. This is why I abandoned my intended reading list and ended up devouring one after another of Penny’s stories (I’m a third of the way through the series, which is best read in chronological order). I found that in the midst of the day’s news, with all the conflict, polarization, and division rampant in today’s world, I was hungry for anything that brought the spirit of kindness into my life.

Not that the Inspector Gamache books are the only source of this spirit. Far from it. Examples of the power of kindness are all around us if we choose to look. We find trolls on the Internet, but we find heroes and heroines of kindness as well. Digital newsletters like Good News and Optimist Daily serve a welcome daily diet of stories of kindness in action. And in our own neighborhoods and towns, we can find people expressing kindness, especially if we do so as well.

My father’s favorite motto was “Reverence for all life,” inspired by the writings and example of Dr. Albert Schweitzer. It was something he practiced, and I believe it’s a vitally needed idea. At the same time, I believe the times call for Kindness to all life. We can revere, but now is a time to act. Kindness is reverence in action, and kind actions to each other, to the nature around us, to the world in which we live are what we need if we hope to save our world.

There is a mystery to kindness in its ability to bring forth the best that is within us, to transform situations, and to multiply its effects far beyond the original act. It is one of those actions that always makes a difference, a difference that can spread in ways we can’t foresee, bringing changes we did not expect.

What was wonderful was to find this mystery of kindness in the pages of a mystery of murder where I had not expected to find it. Inspiration in unlikely places, which, when I think about it, is a lot like life itself if we pay attention.

And with this thought, I will go back to letting my hand and arm heal themselves.

DAVID’S DESK #148 - THE 3 C’S

David's Desk is my opportunity to share thoughts and tools for the spiritual journey. These letters are my personal insights and opinions and do not necessarily reflect the sentiments or thoughts of any other person in Lorian or of Lorian as a whole. If you wish to share this letter with others, please feel free to do so; however, the material is ©2019 by David Spangler. If you no longer wish to receive these letters, please let us know at info@Lorian.org.

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The world is so filled with challenges and alarms these days that it’s easy to feel despair or discouragement. When I feel myself being impacted negatively by the news, I have a technique that helps: I remember my 3 C’s: Core, Calm, and Connected.

By “Core,” I mean everything that helps me center myself. Our physical core is the vital center of our body. All fitness programs, as well as martial arts, build upon this core. Its well-being supports everything else in the body. One simple way for me to connect to it is just to pay attention to my breath, allowing the rhythm of my breathing to draw me into my body’s core.

I have a psychological core as well, made up of my sense of self and sovereignty. In this core, I find my values, my aspirations, my sense of self-worth. My psychological core is where I can feel both goodness within me and good about myself. Never mind the faults and failings I may feel; they are the things I’m working on in my life to grow and improve, but they are not my core.

Likewise, there is a spiritual core, which for me is love: love for self, love for others, love for the world, love for life. This, in turn, attunes me to the Sacred which is the Core of cores, the Love behind and within all other loves.

Each of us has our own sense of what constitutes our core, the place from which we draw our strength, our courage, our wholeness of being. It is our center from which we can act with balance and wisdom, just as an effective martial artist acts out of her core or an athlete draws on his core strength. The impact of challenging and distressing news and information from the world around us is to push us out of our center, away from our core. When this happens, we become less powerful, less able to act from a place of wholeness. To prevent this, my first response is to remember my core and attune to it. It’s the first of the 3 C’s.

The next C is “Calmness.” It is what I feel as I center myself in my core. Imagine trying to thread a needle or drawing a straight line with a pen while your hands are shaking. The job is so much harder, and you may not be able to accomplish it. Similarly, if your own emotions and thoughts are agitated, it is harder to act effectively, or, if necessary, stand quietly and do nothing until the right actions become clear. If the world around you is energetically shaking, you want to be the calm center that quiets it down. Calmness gives you mastery and control over your own thoughts and emotions in the moment, allowing you to work with confidence and carefulness.

When I stand in my core and fill myself with calmness, then, rather than wanting to pull back and retreat, I feel able to connect with the world around me, with others and with events. I can be present. I can connect in positive, loving, harmonious ways that spread that harmony outward into the life of the world. Even more, I feel that I am entering into collaboration with all the other forces that are connecting and contributing wholeness and love to the world. I feel enhanced by this and am better able to find ways to connect and enhance the effectiveness of others.

When we feel impacted by negative energies, one inclination is to withdraw, to pull back behind our boundaries and use our selfhood as a fortress protecting us from the world. We may also, out of need or fear or anger, react to what is happening in the world with our own anger, fear, and distress.

At times it can be necessary to withdraw and protect ourselves emotionally and mentally, but if overused, this strategy can lead to isolation and alienation. However challenging the world may feel, if we can stay connected in loving ways, our own gifts and positive energies can flow more freely and with blessing into the world.

Likewise, there are times when anger or even fear at what we see in the world can be a positive and appropriate response, especially if they lead us to positive action. But if all we do is simmer in our emotional reactions, we only add to the agitation that fills the world.

The key for me to avoid this, which I happily pass on to you, is to remember the 3 C’s. Perhaps the best gift we can give to our world now is to be Core, Calm, and Connected. Editor's Note: This David’s Desk is adapted from a chapter in David's latest book, Holding Wholeness (In a Challenging World). Click here to download a free PDF of the book. We hope this anthology will offer you support in these challenging times.

Being in Love

An open heart. For me, this was a long time coming. For me, this is an active, continuing endeavor. A grail long sought has begun to show me its shining presence. I am awed by the power that beats in the heart of love.

I know people who love me but whose hearts are well defended. Perhaps the love is no less, but without vulnerability, its power to transform is diminished. I did not see this as a lack until I began to open my heart. In truth, I instinctively valued the shallow plane of exchange we allotted each other, those of us who were afraid of opening more. But now I am finding new ways to love, stepping gingerly outside my fortress walls while honoring others’ need for remaining within.

When I want to conjure the power and vulnerability of love, I see my children. My love for them is fierce, though it has often reached them imperfectly, twisting past my fortress walls. Even when this mother love remained stuck within me, I still felt its vulnerability keenly. The possibility of grief yawns beneath the joy of sharing our lives together. Yet I had learned well the lessons of my culture and my childhood—better not go into that vulnerable place. Don’t borrow trouble.

How do we resolve this instinct for self-protection with our desire to open to love? Not just in our personal lives but especially when considering subtle activism in this world of increasing hatred, violence, and natural disasters? Years ago, I learned a subtle healing technique from my shaman teacher. I found it difficult and have not practiced it often so I may not relate the steps accurately. It involves journeying to your allies, perhaps to a special ally who partners with you in healing endeavors. You request this ally’s protection and assistance. You fill yourself up with love and light and you journey shamanically to the site of a disaster to offer this light to the victims. You are to see the light pouring from portals in your wrists and hands. Those in need will come to you and feed on the light. The idea is to channel this love and light with the assistance of your ally, not to provide it from your own self, for the demand will deplete you.

I performed this exercise right after Hurricane Katrina swept through New Orleans. Tuning in, I saw a grey swath swirling over the surface of the water-logged land, filled with hundreds of suddenly dead people. I reached out my arms and invited them to come feed on me. Shocked, bereft, or aggrieved, they swarmed toward me. A number of them filled up and were released. But eventually, I needed to end my journey. I left reluctantly--I saw so many more not yet tended to. Of course, they would not remain untended; angels and helpers were probably on hand to help these souls transition. What struck me most after completing this practice was the way it aroused my own fear of loss and death. Not a place of strength from which to act! Maybe this approach should be labeled “Expert practitioners only. Do not do this at home.” I did not venture to do this again.

Years later, Incarnational Spirituality strengthened my sense of sovereignty and gave me new tools for subtle activism. A first step in subtle activism—or actually in any attempt to connect with subtle beings and energies—is to place myself in the state I wish to share. Love is a great starting point. And so I imagine the love I have for my children. And I begin to sense how this love grows and stretches beyond to all sorts of connections. A deeper vein of this love calls to me now. It is the unwalled courageous heart that carries a full sense of vulnerability.

If we read about the victims of mass shootings, if we imagine the pain and fear of the migrant children separated from those they love and on whom they’ve depended for survival and support, the well-trained culturally approved reaction is to allow ourselves a brief moment of feeling that pain and horror. Maybe we can hurl our anger at those responsible, but then we must retreat into learned helplessness. A better option is to surge into political action. Another is to connect with our allies, generate love and healing, and in whatever fashion move that loving energy out to those who need it. Doing this, we never know rationally to what extent we’ve been helpful. And the danger, as I see it, is in a new kind of complacency. Because we’ve performed subtle activism, we can put the horror of the situation aside and go about our lives.

It gets tricky putting things like this into words. Of course, there is value in going about our lives since every act performed with love generates more good than we can imagine. But maybe we can deepen our subtle work by holding the pain and horror in love, without glossing over it, without sinking into it?

Here’s a story that may seem like a sidetrack. Once I was vacuuming the rug in the living room of the off-campus apartment I shared with fellow students. The old Hoover began to groan and whir, so I tipped it sideways to see what was stuck. With all the impracticality of my youth, I foolishly stuck my finger into the vacuum hole without turning it off and was struck by some kind of rotating beaters lurking just inside. My finger was smashed and badly cut; the pain almost caused me to faint. Again the foolish youth, I ran to my roommate’s liquor stash and swallowed a shot of peach brandy, thinking that would dull the pain. It did not. I went to lie on my bed and as it was hopeless to ignore the pain, I went into it. My awareness moved into the shrieking finger, I merged with the intense pain, and suddenly I felt an intense love for life. Like the continuum between hot and cold, how something can be so hot that it feels like freezing, I could no longer tell what was pain and what was the intense joy of being alive, my deep and wild love of life. I told an acquaintance about this later. I did not know how to put it into words so I simply said I’d hurt so much that I’d seen God. He replied, “oh boy, you must be a real masochist.” He did not get it. It was not about enjoying pain. I had been mystically transported to the place where pain and love are one. Vacuum cleaners, peach brandy and transcendence, who knew?

Seriously though, this is a clue to my new direction in subtle work. It’s about not walling yourself off from the pain. It looks like this. First, I partner with my allies and step fully into the intense joy of love. I feel it shining through my little toes, shooting out every strand of hair on my head. I feel it sifting into the air about me, washing over and through my environment. And I feel all the grace and support of the beings in my physical environment stepping up to assist me. Then I imagine the circumstances of the violence or tragedy I wish to attend to. As best I can, I touch into the horror, intense anger, grief, or fear of the people I hope to help. I mustn’t shy away from the emotions and shift to a ‘higher’ plane but feel them simultaneously with that intense love I’ve conjured. That love is capable of infinite consolation, of tender protection, and soul-and-body-satisfying nurturance. And that love can hold those qualities while also letting in the pain. I can shed tears and know joy at the same time. I imagine the pain and sorrow, all the horror and rage, stepping into the shelter of this great Love’s cloak.

As with manifestation, this healing for others works to the extent that I embody it in myself. If I do this well, I know fear but also know that I am safe within that cloak of love. I mirror what I am offering to others. I become vulnerable in my heart while holding fast to an invincible love. I become the cauldron that does not shrink from pain. And amazingly, that great love we all can access holds me safe as I hold, acknowledge, and honor all the feelings. Those suffering pain and loss are not denied their feelings but are invited into the safe holding of love. They can know themselves because they are seen for who they are, in all their suffering and longing.

So many things deconstruct the fortress around our hearts: self love, trust, gratitude, beauty, a child’s gleeful laugh, the awareness of the tender vulnerability of others. What blasts the walls down, for me, is being in love enough to feel it all. When I am in love, I no longer need to shy away from the dark.

Living with Subtle Friends

In the summer of 1965, I met a subtle being whom I called John, as described in my book, Apprenticed to Spirit. Our friendship and partnership inaugurated a work with the subtle worlds that continues to this day. I thought it would be interesting to share what my relationship with the subtle worlds is like today, fifty-four years later.

These days my contact with the subtle worlds and with subtle beings takes four different forms. I think of them in my whimsical way as Colleagues, Neighbors, Randoms, and Essentials.

By Colleagues, I mean those subtle beings with whom I partner and work almost daily. John was the first such Colleague. He said at the time we met that he was part of a group, and since he left in 1990, I have been working with others in this group who came forward to take his place.

What draws us together, unites us and gives focus to our collaboration together is a shared project, one that has its origin in the subtle realms. One of the specific manifestations of this project is Incarnational Spirituality, but its overall objective is to promote collegiality and partnership between the two halves of the Earth, the incarnate, physical realm and the subtle realm, the realm of matter and the realm of energy and consciousness. The purpose of this in turn is to enable a greater degree of wholeness and harmony to manifest in our world that can facilitate a new phase in the planet’s evolution.

Working on this project is my job, and every day I “go to the office.” This means that I place myself in a state of attunement to a virtual meeting place that, over the years, has been co-created by my subtle colleague and myself; this is a state of shared consciousness and energy I call collaborative mind. I am not in meditation; I’m not really in an altered state of consciousness at all, but I am in an attuned state in which part of me blends with the energy field and mind of whichever of my subtle colleagues I’m working with at that moment. I’m perfectly aware of everything happening around me in the physical world, and I can do ordinary tasks, but part of my attention is elsewhere.

For me, this feels like sitting around a table with colleagues and discussing what needs to be done and how to do it. There is a sharing of thoughts and insights. I am an active participant, not simply a receptor of information being passed on to me; there is nothing passive about this relationship. I offer my perspectives, my thoughts, my insights on how to proceed and my subtle colleagues offer theirs, and out of this sharing, something emerges. We are co-equals. Sometimes, I have more insight than they do, sometimes it’s the reverse.

My subtle colleagues are not all in one place. They occupy different levels of vibration and energy; some are more evolved consciousnesses than others. Some have an easier time connecting to and communicating with me than others. Not all of them are human; a few are part of the Devic or angelic lines of evolution. Most recently, some have come from the beings known as the Sidhe. But we are all partners in this project of creating wholeness.

This working group has changed and evolved over the years as the tasks change. Beings come and go. For instance, such a change is occurring right now (though over a period of months). The reason is that the emphasis of our working group is moving away from establishing the theoretical base for Incarnational Spirituality and its main exercises and practices—which has been its main focus over the past decade or so—to looking at application and how this approach may be helpful in meeting the challenges our world is facing. Those whom I think of as the “theoreticians” are stepping back while the “engineers” and “appliers” are coming forward. I’m excited to see what this change may bring.

Much of my work involves writing and teaching, but it also involves holding and connecting qualities and patterns of energy with the physical world around me. My colleagues usually receive these patterns and qualities from higher dimensions of life and pass them on to me, and I, in turn, pass them on to the energetic life around me, but it’s often up to me as the “incarnate partner” to figure out how best to do that. It’s a more complex work than simply being a “channel” for higher energies, though I’ve had the occasion when that has happened as well.

As I said, my subtle colleagues and I meet in something like a virtual meeting space, a place accessible to all of us. John taught me how to create this space, which I call an “alliance space,” and I’ve been doing it ever since. By now, it has become second nature. But it still requires energy. Sometimes, our blending lasts only an hour or so and sometimes it can last for most of a day. Usually these days, after four or five hours, I’m done and need to withdraw.

None of my subtle colleagues are what I would call “spirit guides” in the older, spiritualistic sense. They rarely offer me personal advice, though I am always the recipient of their love. They are working colleagues, just the same as if I went to a physical office and had my co-workers there. It takes energy for these beings to connect with me as well, and when our work is done for the day, they return to their own various levels. They don’t hang around to give me counsel.

However, there are a few subtle beings who are more intimately and directly involved with me as an incarnate person, who are there for me to call upon if I feel a need, and who can offer advice and counsel. I whimsically call this much smaller group my “Pit Crew” as they energetically help to keep me on the road, so to speak. These are beings who are closely related to my own soul and who have volunteered to assist me as a soul in my incarnation.

All of us have such a Pit Crew attuned to us and seeking our well-being.

My subtle colleagues are the most regular of my subtle contacts, and our relationship is defined by the tasks we share. But I have other contacts as well, the most common of which are what I call my “Neighbors.” I’ve been in touch with these Neighbors all my life, long before I became conscious of any spiritual projects or of the subtle colleagues associated with them. They are all the subtle life forms that make up what I think of as the living Commons of which we are all a part. Thus, they may be nature spirits, the Devas or Angels overlighting places and cities, the beings I call “Underbuddies,” techno-elementals (the living spirits within our human artifacts), and so on.

If my subtle colleagues are like the co-workers I meet when I go to the office, my neighbors are just that, the beings who make up my subtle neighborhood and environment. Sometimes they may contribute something to my work, but mostly they are engaged with work of their own, living their own lives. My main relationship with them is to appreciate and honor them, to send them love, and to assist them in their work if I can the way one neighbor might help another in keeping the neighborhood whole and healthy. If I do subtle activism or environmental energy hygiene, working to clear negative energies from the local environment, then I will usually call upon Neighbors to help.

There are subtle beings who simply pop in, as it were, sometimes just to say hi, sometimes out of curiosity, sometimes to offer a bit of information or to make themselves known to me. I think of them as “Randoms” as I never know when they might appear or why.

Finally, there are the subtle beings I call the “Essentials.” These are those beings whom I reach out to for my own wholeness and spiritual well-being and development. My own soul is one of these, but there are others, usually angelic in nature. Often, to call an Essential a “being” can seem too limiting a description, as they can manifest as universal forces, direct aspects of the Sacred—or at least, so it seems to me.

My subtle colleagues, my Pit Crew, my neighbors, even the one-off random contact can all enrich me in various ways, but none of them can touch my inmost core and identity as can those Lives and Presences I think of as the Essentials. They are the most intimate of my contacts. They are the ones I may contact in meditation or prayer; they touch the mystic within me, whereas the others touch my subtle consciousness and energy. If I seek guidance, it is usually to the Essentials, to my own soul and to the Sacred beyond, that I turn.

The subtle environment is a complex ecology to me, even more complex in its way than the physical world in which I am incarnated. It is a vast community of life, a Commons of life, and we can engage with it in a multitude of ways. My relationship to the subtle is shaped by being a partner in a specific work and project, but there is much more, just as there is more to physical life than just one’s employment. On the whole, I see the subtle worlds as a community with which I am in partnership, one based on love and on appreciation of what we all have to offer to each other.

I believe the day will come when working in collaboration with the subtle realms will be a normal and natural part of human life, freed from the superstition, the fear, the glamor, and the mystery that now surround it. I am a participant in a project that seeks to bring that day closer; that participation has defined my relationship to the subtle realms since the day John appeared in my life fifty-four years ago and will continue to do so until the day in the future when I become someone else’s subtle colleague in pursuit of the same goal.

Gaia Strong

I am touched by the images in the news of Dayton and EL Paso as their citizens come together to grieve and uphold each other as a community. I see the signs and hear those interviewed speak about “Dayton Strong” or “El Paso Strong” affirming their resilience to meet and integrate the shock of the recent shootings and heal the rent in the fabric of their lives.

I wonder how to lend my support. Aesop’s fable of the bundle of sticks comes to mind. In his story he told of a father whose sons were often quarreling. The father wanted to show them how their discord would lead them to misfortune. He had one son bring him a bundle of sticks. Then handing the bundle to each of his sons in turn, he told them to try to break it. Although each one tried his best, none of them was able to do so. But, when the father untied the bundle and gave each one a single stick to break, they did it very easily.

Aesop’s moral was, “In unity is strength.”

Through the technology of TV and video I see these people’s tears and grief as well as their affirmations of connection, shared commitment and compassion. Technology brings the images into my room, but I live miles distant. Is there an honest way for me to experience solidarity with their pain and loss of trust and contribute to their energy of resilience? Is there a real way for me to know unity with the loss of these unknown family, friends, and neighbors?

I find thinking isn’t enough. After these days of focused attention, I must go out and move and let the land touch me. I need to walk and smell and hear, letting imagination move into felt experience so I can touch and bring back connection to my immediate world. Walking out the door and down the street, my head begins to clear and thoughts flow. I am conscious of how all the images I have seen, the commentary I have listened to, has overwhelmed and numbed my heart. In an odd way, with all the best intention to be present, attending and listening, I have fallen out of the bundle and broken. The unity that brings strength requires hand and body as well as head and heart.

So I walk and put attention to connections I can make along the way. I am building my local bundle of unity as an offering. I stop to smell a beautiful white rose and admire its fragrance. The homeowner walks up just then and we share in a friendly conversation about roses. I walk on feeling each of us, rose, gardener and myself are touched and a little happier for the exchange. Further along, I notice a woman with a cane tending her plants and offer to help bring in her garbage cans. The woman was very appreciative and I noticed how simple it was to offer that moment of connecting, of “bundling” the sticks. And then, just before I got to the park, there is the woman picking up her mail who was still new to the neighborhood. Though tired, she is delighted and seems refreshed by taking an extra moment of time to share some of her story with a friendly listener.

These were little acts of connection, but each one helped me to strengthen and stay present to myself and the large scope of what I am feeling. For me bundling with the land and trees and what is growing enhances my own reserves of faith, trust and well-being. Kind exchanges with neighbors lift my spirits. I can stand present to a bit bigger piece of El Paso’s pain and Dayton’s loss in myself.

The citizens in Dayton and El Paso are on the frontlines of this tragedy. Unfortunately, there have been and will be other such events around the world in these times of challenge and change. Along with contributing to open conversations and laws that support the structures and services that would best serve, I want to continue to strengthen my ability to stand present as a partner, one stick in a bundle bringing all the strength of my life’s bundles into larger and larger fields of connection.

Light a Candle for Liberty

The other night I joined a “Lights for Liberty” gathering in the nearby town of Sammamish protesting the inhumane treatment of immigrants being held in cages at our southern border.

I cannot help but feel grief and distress at the trauma that is being visited upon people who are seeking a safe haven for their families and an opportunity to adequately provide a home for them. The amount of trauma being experienced by the children is destructive to the mind and emotions of a young child. Trauma and brain development research has shown that children are particularly vulnerable to trauma because of their rapidly developing brain. Traumatic experiences can have a significant impact on a child’s emotional development, future behavior and mental and physical health. There is no doubt the children on our borders are being permanently damaged by their treatment at the hands of our government. I can’t help feeling heartbreak about this impossible situation.

While the right to gather in protest is an invaluable tool of a democracy, I rarely join demonstrations because I don’t always trust the wisdom of a crowd. As a child of the ‘60’s, too often I have seen violence erupting from a crowd being manipulated by angry speakers and leaders. Don’t get me wrong; I believe anger is an appropriate response to inhumane actions, but I don’t feel it usually helps move things along, so I choose other venues for expressing my concern.

But this night I felt a need to bear witness to the situation at the borders, to be seen and counted. We are a country with massive resources and I am among those who feel we can do better to offer compassion and care to others less fortunate! So I stood with my neighbors in a small crowd in Sammamish, Washington to add my voice.

I was ready for angry speeches. I was ready for shouting if that was called for. And that was certainly what was happening in other cities around the country – shaking fists, loud demands for better treatment of the people coming to our country for help, lots of posters. What I found in this small gathering was a lot of love. This group was feeling pain, sorrow and love for the families trapped between a fence and a law. Everyone felt grief and responsibility and helplessness. What can we offer?

There were a few speakers defining the issues involved, and the intent of the gathering. And there were volunteers who read quotes from children caught in the system, heartbreaking statements no one wants to hear but yet must pay attention to. And there was a candle light vigil.

What surprised me was that I was participating in an act of subtle activism with a group that probably had never heard of the term before. This group connected with each other, shared resources with each other, and felt love for the victims we gathered for. The love, the caring, was tangible.

Then a local interfaith minister, Alyson Young, introduced us to a vigil process which included a forgiveness practice called Ho'oponopono. I found this simple prayer deceptively powerful:

I’m sorry
Please forgive me
Thank you
I love you.

In speaking this prayer, I recognized that I am not separate from this situation we gathered to protest. I am complicit simply by living in privilege while others suffer. I live in a rich country fighting to protect its privilege and wealth. I am not doing this directly nor intentionally, but I am safe while others are not – I ride on the suffering of others.

This is not about feeling guilty for my privilege – guilt is not helpful. I am grateful for the blessings of my life. But accepting some responsibility allows me to open my heart to the dance of our world that is both beautiful and tragic and allows me to see where I can help.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the fact that while my comfort is built on human ingenuity and invention which is miraculous, it is also built on the pollution of my land, air and water. I am sorry that people live in places which cannot sustain them, that suffer war and drought and flood and despair, and need help that I am not there to offer them.

Please forgive me.

Please forgive me for my unconsciousness of those who suffer. Please forgive me for any hurt I have caused rising from indifference, selfishness, misdirected thoughts or words. Please forgive me for my faults and for the cruelty and suffering in the world caused by humanity, of which I am a part. I stand and acknowledge and own my participation, silent and intentional, and ask for forgiveness. I am human and not separate from nor better than any other. Please forgive any negative or destructive thoughts I have had that add to the collective field of fear and anger held within humanity.

Thank you.

Thank you for this opportunity to see and let go of anything that obstructs the clear flow of presence and intent of my soul on earth. Thank you for giving forgiveness and freeing me from constrictions that erupt from separation and self-protection, from fear and defensiveness. Thank you for sharing with me this world we love and the capacity to be in communion with spirit and with each other.

I love you.

In our unity in God and Gaia, I love you. In our shared responsibility for each other, I love you. From all the depths of my being that I am capable at this time of reaching, I love you.

✴

As we stood on the grass in Sammamish, we could not, as a group, be there at the cages on our borders, open them up and take these children and parents into our arms, offering comfort and safety. All we could offer was an inner sense of calm, love, support and hope that may reach and help sustain them in their holding cells. Anyone who has been sustained by an inner presence during times of trauma knows this. We are not alone in our suffering, and neither are these souls on our border. We can stand with them, offering subtle fields of presence they might on some level find comforting and strengthening. God works in mysterious ways.

At the Lights for Liberty vigil, I was gifted by a group of strangers with a reminder that I am not the only one who knows this. Lorian is not the only group who knows this. Whether or not they were aware of it, sustenance and hope were offered to the field of suffering that surrounds these friends on our border and I continue to hold them all in my love, my gratitude, and asking their forgiveness for my part in their struggle for survival.

Following Questions

This winter, six long-time friends came to visit us at our home. No, not all at once and they did not know one another. But for about a month it was like being on a lively merry-go-round of memories, storytelling, shared thoughts and observations, and delicious potluck meals. A most welcome diversion in the middle of a cold spell.

Yet about a week after the last visitors had gone on their way, I found myself trying to pinpoint what it was that was bothering me. And what came to me was the troubling realization that there was a flatness in the eyes of one friend in particular, whom I’ll call James. James has a wicked good sense of humor and always in the past I could tell—even before he said anything—when one of his wicked good darts was on the way. But there hadn’t been any real darts in the two days he and his wife were with us. Halfhearted darts—sure—but nothing with the vigor and spontaneity we’d known in the past.

Then—as I thought about it further—it occurred to me there was a similar flatness, though not quite as pronounced, in the eyes of another couple whom we’ve seen more frequently. We knew they were dealing with a difficult family issue at the time, but the flatness in their eyes called up a line of questioning in me.  

What was I seeing? Exactly when did I notice this expression—or lack of expression—with these dear friends? How did I happen to arrive at the feeling that I was observing something similar in their eyes?
 

*

I want to take a detour here to say that, in my experience, questions are among the most amazing wonders in life. I don’t mean just any, or many, random questions here, I mean questions that one feels driven to ask out of intense interest, longing, even out of desperation. I say “intense interest" or "longing” because I know there’s a big difference between questions from my brain and questions arising in my heart.

Questions from my brain are usually need or curiosity questions. These questions are important and can often be answered in physically tangible or material ways. For example, our dog is limping badly and can barely walk. I take an up-close look at the affected leg, explore it gently with my fingers and am baffled. Should I get him to the vet right away or wait till tomorrow?

This question might eventually lead to a heart question. Suppose the dog is truly injured or ill. Suppose the limp is caused not by a pulled muscle or a sprain but something more life threatening. The questions may go further, deeper—deeper not only into what is best for our dog but also perhaps into what is right for us too. With another family dog this inquiry led to having to make the difficult decision to put her down. We held her not only physically but with gratitude and appreciation and sensed she was not only ready but wanted to go and was giving us permission to say good-bye. We actually saw her depart as we looked in her eyes. The answers to our questions were not without sadness but they took both her and us beyond pain, into release and relief.

Not to say that all heart question are big questions like this one was. Yet action—either outward or inward—as in motion, change, a feeling of fluidity or release, indeed movement is an essential part of any real heart question. When the question is answered I know it through and through. There is a rightness to it, a calm, a sense of arrival and of being re-centered.

For me, questions are quests in and of themselves. And there may, in fact, be several different quests occurring simultaneously.
 

*

To return to the concern I expressed at the start as to the “flatness” I saw in the eyes of our friends: I asked my husband if he also saw what I saw and he agreed, yes, he could see what I was talking about. This led in turn to the realization I’d seen it elsewhere too, and not just in the couple that visited us after the visit with James and his wife. I’d seen it, and was still seeing it, here, then there, in the eyes of both people I knew—as in at the town library-- and in the eyes of people I didn’t know, as in at the supermarket. When you begin to see something you suddenly see it everywhere. There isn’t just one dandelion poking up, there’s another, and another, and another, and so on. Same with grey hairs, right?

It was as though a jumble of images, thoughts, feelings, observations and little red flags in every day life had lined up within me, forming an understanding of something I’d sensed in my heart but had not fully grasped. With that came the memory of the instant I first noticed the flatness in James’s eyes, when he was talking about Brexit. His wife told me later, privately, how upset she was by how much of every day he spent reading the newspaper on line and listening to the news. Likewise, the other couple had been talking about politics—in that instance immigration—when I saw the flatness in their eyes. I knew right then that the same flatness is in me too. A heaviness, a darkness, a kind of resignation, an inability at times to summon up optimism or any sort of hope or humor. Yup, I really missed James’s wicked good darts! It was the pronounced absence of those which called up the question in me, though I didn’t say it aloud: “James, where are you? I can’t see the YOU that is light, lively, on the move.”

Another question then unfolded from out of the various questions that had arisen in me over a few days, “Are we being drained, are we loosing vitality, even becoming sick, because of what’s going on in the world today?”

I’m, pretty sure friends of ours, including James himself, would answer with a resounding Yes!” And we would agree that limiting the amount and type of news we ingest is a good idea. (My husband sometimes has to remind me of my resolution on this score.) Yet, to come to a real heart response to this question, beyond a perfectly reasonable mental reaction, I believe one needs to let the question, or questions, go yet deeper within, in the way the poet Rainer Maria Rilke described in Letters To a Young Poet:

“…be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue… The point is, to live everything. Live the questions now.”  (Emphasis is as given by Rilke.)

This may sound like an unsatisfying response to an enormous question I’ve happened upon, a question I’m sure many others are asking, pondering, and living with too. “If we are drained and loosing vitality, if we are sick what can we do? What should we do? How and where can we find the balm, the cures, the healing?” My point here, however, is not to answer these questions but, rather, to express confidence, indeed faith, in the questioning process.

For I find that when I listen within and hear, or formulate questions, and make space for them in both mind and heart, personal experiences open again and again, even ripen into, understandings. Understandings on the way to go, and keep going. How to live. Or, to be yet more specific, how to move with life.