The Story of the golden-hued Banyan Tree:
I, Lauren, was laying down in a hotel in Saigon, Vietnam one afternoon in late September, when I found myself simultaneously elsewhere. El Morya, my beloved friend of lifetimes, was making his usual visit, yet we were meeting in a different place, or so I thought.
Awake in my physical reality and aware of the simultaneous reality, I saw the dark-eyed magus levitating cross-legged in the lotus position beneath the canopy of a grand Banyan Tree. The branches hung down low and golden glittering consciousness - not energy, pure consciousness - flowed from each branch into the ground and then back up through the tree trunk in the movement of the dynamic infinity symbol.
"Won't you join me?" El Morya gestured toward me without making a sound.
As I moved beneath the Banyan's branches, I found I too levitated in the crossed-leg, lotus position.
I have been there ever since simultaneous to the reality in which I write. Perhaps I have been there all along.
After the experience, the Banyan Tree began to represent - to myself and the group of embodied masters I write with and for - a gathering place in the space beyond the noise. Some might call it Theos. You may call it what you like, but it does not exist in the physical form most humans consider real. You cannot get on a plane to find it. Perhaps it holds a similar quality of Avalon in the mists of Britaine - the home of King Arthur, another name by which El Morya was called - a lifetime we shared together.
As the Banyan Tree was adopted by the group eagerly as our new gathering space, one of the members marked the flow of life in the Banyan is a lot like the flow of divine will in the Universe of You, of SELF. Truly, I sense this intensely.
Every New Moon, we gather under the glittering gold consciousness of the grand Banyan.
You are welcome to leave all the human mentality and pressure of its density behind and levitate with us, if it is your soul's will, also called passion.
I, Lauren, was laying down in a hotel in Saigon, Vietnam one afternoon in late September, when I found myself simultaneously elsewhere. El Morya, my beloved friend of lifetimes, was making his usual visit, yet we were meeting in a different place, or so I thought.
Awake in my physical reality and aware of the simultaneous reality, I saw the dark-eyed magus levitating cross-legged in the lotus position beneath the canopy of a grand Banyan Tree. The branches hung down low and golden glittering consciousness - not energy, pure consciousness - flowed from each branch into the ground and then back up through the tree trunk in the movement of the dynamic infinity symbol.
"Won't you join me?" El Morya gestured toward me without making a sound.
As I moved beneath the Banyan's branches, I found I too levitated in the crossed-leg, lotus position.
I have been there ever since simultaneous to the reality in which I write. Perhaps I have been there all along.
After the experience, the Banyan Tree began to represent - to myself and the group of embodied masters I write with and for - a gathering place in the space beyond the noise. Some might call it Theos. You may call it what you like, but it does not exist in the physical form most humans consider real. You cannot get on a plane to find it. Perhaps it holds a similar quality of Avalon in the mists of Britaine - the home of King Arthur, another name by which El Morya was called - a lifetime we shared together.
As the Banyan Tree was adopted by the group eagerly as our new gathering space, one of the members marked the flow of life in the Banyan is a lot like the flow of divine will in the Universe of You, of SELF. Truly, I sense this intensely.
Every New Moon, we gather under the glittering gold consciousness of the grand Banyan.
You are welcome to leave all the human mentality and pressure of its density behind and levitate with us, if it is your soul's will, also called passion.
Few words were spoken under the majestic Banyan Tree.
The masters gathered beneath the shade of its branches and sat cross-legged, though their feet never touched the ground.
Their linen shirt tails hovered above the soil as the canopy of leaves swung low in the shifting winds of the Hooghly River.
Time stopped. No one could remember how long they'd been there floating, being, had they been asked. Yet, no such question occurred.
Then one of the masters began to think about choices, was he making the right one, being here, doing nothing.
These questions raced through; his head hurt.
Not sure where this foreign voice came from, he dropped instantly to the soft soil below with a slight thud.
He found he was hungry, thirsty, and desperate to know what day and time it was as the gravity set in.
The other masters continued to hover, suspended in air, unaware of the ripple in their own river of consciousness.
The tormenting thought, looking for a place to spread, to land and feed again, could find no home.
It departed empty-handed from the circumference of the banyan tree's hugging branches.
Only one of the masters gathered looked down at the fallen man, and spoke so softly the man in the dirt strained to hear.
"The soul's passion is beyond choice, my friend."
With that, he began to lift into the air once more.
His feet tucked easily and neatly beneath him.
He found his hunger satiated, his thirst quenched,
and time dissolved with the shifting winds of the Hooghly River, once again.
The masters gathered beneath the shade of its branches and sat cross-legged, though their feet never touched the ground.
Their linen shirt tails hovered above the soil as the canopy of leaves swung low in the shifting winds of the Hooghly River.
Time stopped. No one could remember how long they'd been there floating, being, had they been asked. Yet, no such question occurred.
Then one of the masters began to think about choices, was he making the right one, being here, doing nothing.
These questions raced through; his head hurt.
Not sure where this foreign voice came from, he dropped instantly to the soft soil below with a slight thud.
He found he was hungry, thirsty, and desperate to know what day and time it was as the gravity set in.
The other masters continued to hover, suspended in air, unaware of the ripple in their own river of consciousness.
The tormenting thought, looking for a place to spread, to land and feed again, could find no home.
It departed empty-handed from the circumference of the banyan tree's hugging branches.
Only one of the masters gathered looked down at the fallen man, and spoke so softly the man in the dirt strained to hear.
"The soul's passion is beyond choice, my friend."
With that, he began to lift into the air once more.
His feet tucked easily and neatly beneath him.
He found his hunger satiated, his thirst quenched,
and time dissolved with the shifting winds of the Hooghly River, once again.
