The Banyan Tree Book Download Draft
Hello sovereign being friends,
I woke up this morning to something new - it seems everything is quite new - even if the word new has become so old:P
We are "making up it up" as we go along. Master's in the New Energy, and even our predecessors have no real clue what embodied creation looks like for us - we are creating it real time. There's no template. There's no pattern. The creation is happening in the perceived chaos, at times. And certainly in the no-thing for me.
Pondering for weeks now this life in embodied realization and creation. How do I live on this planet in joy? What I am choosing for this lifetime?
Well, last night in my deep, full moon sleep, I chose the Banyan Tree. I chose Freedom once again. I chose to share it here with you all. Once again. I hope you will continue to join us.
On this new PAGEof the website, I have uploaded a draft copy of our first Banyan Tree Publication. It is just a draft and does not include all submissions. It does carry the energy of the creation and a background for those new to this space.
I want to officially welcome Les and Karen Montgomery, Rebecca, and Elia to the Banyan Tree and Third Circle experience. This draft publication will give you some insight into this space and what we are creating. I encourage you to take a look, and connect if you choose. Never required, invitation stands open.
I know I "quit" some weeks back now. Perhaps we have to completely disconnect from everything sometimes, to bring a deeper consciousness or awareness of what we are choosing in this realized lifetime.
In the absence of everything and the ability to choose anything, I choose this space again. And to be a part of its evolution as we continue to flow with the changing tides of consciousness and creation. Thanks for the putting up with my seemingly wishy washy nature. I had to really choose it. And I did not take it lightly. And I had to move past my own cynicism and jaded-ness, to move forward. Radical shift in motion. Holy hell.
In honor of us and our inimitable souls,
I know I said I was going to take break from writing. These days I have had to free myself from everything. More disconnection. Seriously?
But it is my only tool, my only outlet that might bring a breeze to the stifling heat of being in this physical form. So I'm going to slug through typing this out with what feels like my last few breaths I have in me. Surely not, but today I'm a bit dramatic.
Perhaps its the stifling heat that's causing me to die - yet again. It's a heat that can not even be diffused with air conditioning because it doesn't seem to exist anywhere - literally.
Definitely, not in my California home. The heat even followed me to Wales and England, known for rain and fog and dampness. The grass burned up beneath my feet as I traversed it's jagged coast.
Each place I stepped my foot, the grass went from salvageable yellow to dead as a doornail brown. My thirst is unquenchable. No amount of water will solve the dryness in my throat. My body aches for water like the trees. I reach up toward the sky like a flower only to burn to ash in the sun's rays.
The scorching, record-breaking heat poured over my twenty-five day trip to return to Avalon and the shores of Wales where I washed up after the fall of Atlantis eons ago. Funny, I have not forgotten after all these long millennia, yet I can hardly remember my own name these days, let alone type this.
The melancholy of the Robert Earl Keen song played in my head, "It's been a long hot summer - and not a drop of rain."
In the heat, it takes all I can just to move my fingers along the key board. I have the fans going. The windows and doors are open. I seek a breeze that does not come.
I think about my dissatisfaction with everything. The seeking human loves a problem to solve. But what happens when you have no problems. Money - plenty there. A partner - yep, he awesome. Health - yep, I'm strikingly healthy despite my deeds.
I see why people in their realization experience are getting jobs to fill their days. Makes them go by quicker. I don't have to forage for food. I don't have to seek a partner or a friend. I don't have to keep my body in check. There's nothing to do anymore. No solutions needed. Everything is perfect and it's stifling.
As a result, my days are so long. Each minute feels like another year on this Earth. This Earth that doesn't need me for anything. In fact, no one needs me for anything. I created it that way. Total freedom just to be.
For the last few years, I have been writing about the magic of being. How glorious it is to do nothing. But now that I have the freedom to do nothing. Now that the desire for human experience was extinguished, my desire to pep talk others into enjoying life. I feel everything is done on this planet.
Gaia is leaving. OK. We are supposed to be creating a new earth with our realized friends. Well, if spend two seconds on a forum with these oh so realized beings, I realize I have no desire to be part of that world. No thanks.
Two years ago this summer, I was told by a master people call Adamus to release nature, to release biology. I did not take action but agreed to allow this to take place. And so it has, I am free now from biology and nature.
Sounds so lovely. But the trees and the foot paths across Earth filled me up on days when I felt I couldn't go on. Trying to solve human problems like paying bills, repairing my image on a daily basis, writing uplifting things, sharing my stories; they all took so much time the days passed so quickly.
But I don't have that deep desire to share anymore. I cannot care what people think. There's no need to explain anything.
The words are like the heat; they drain the last drop of moisture from my body.
Paddling out for a surf, the ocean waters say hey, I filled you up for lifetimes. Now you are on your own.
Mother Earth says I got this from here. I don't need you and you don't need me, anymore. This is the sovereignty you desired. Really?
I breathe a lot. Deep conscious breaths. Over and over in time that stretches painfully out like a roll of dough. Yet I have no desire to make bread. I'm not hungry anymore.
I see others creating things in their lives. Record numbers of realization lifetime beings getting jobs, getting married, enjoying food and wine, enjoying sex, buying houses, moving, traveling. More. More. More. Good for them. Yet, I know none of that is going to fill me up anymore.
What do you do when it's all here?
I've had months in realization. My self-love is unflappable. My bank account is brimming. My partner is perfection for me. My dog is loving and healthy. I am told I am creating something beyond love. I am creating a new earth, but it's not appealing.
I'm not hungry, and that's an odd sensation having been insatiable all my lives.
If I did want anything, it would be a cool breeze, a dark rain cloud to come over my house and let loose.
I want to not sweat for a whole day.
Besides nature being gone as a source of inspiration within me, travel has died a slow death as well. While on my trip to Avalon, which lacked magic in a way I could not fathom, I wrote these notes - and even more died away in the two weeks passed:
Traveling in a space of realization is quite a trip. You aren’t looking for answers. You do not seek resolution or for some magic moment to delight your human...at least not outside of nature...and even that magic is starting to wear off (now it has completely).
Yet, in the midst of chaos, there is always a tree motioning me over to rest my back on its centuries old trunk. Brief relief from the flat earth world mentality. (Now there is not even that!)
As a realized traveler, a walker, a pilgrim with no end destination, you know you’re not going to fully resonate with anything. Nothing is going to match your insides, your guts, your swirls of ever multiplying consciousness.
Walking through Glastonbury today, the pious priests and those desperate for their redemption mingled with new age drunks with dark tans, no t-shirts, and harem pants that would stand up on their own.
Naked babies grasping onto their mother’s dreadlocks, wondering why they did not choose the boring yet stable parent, passed by staring at me through the window pane, asking:
“Is this it? Is this what Earth became?”
Every sign lining the streets promises salvation. Through Jesus, flagellation, tarot card readings, workshops of every variety, hemp — or an organic iced coffee.
St. John the Baptist sits at the bar with Mary Magdalene and they have a good laugh at people looking for King Arthur’s grave site.
“No. It’s here,” points another.
The smell of burnt hope swirling up from the alter boys swinging incense urns mixes with the hippie body odor distinctly new age in nature.
A man or woman - let’s say a person- dressed as Carmen Miranda shakes its narrow hips balancing the plastic, made in China fruit basket on its head, grating behind the priest who holds stoic.
The monk who wears his costume from lives past and waits for people to notice his importance as they pass by. They never do.
Then the message makes sense. Anyone who is a pioneer of consciousness will be invisible to those who are still playing in the systems dressed up in circus tents. There's the religion tent. The new age tent. The marijuana tent. And on...
“Step right on up, folks. This is the most conscious show on Earth," each ringmaster boasts to the passersby.
I know they cannot even see me. I move through the crowd untouched and unseen. This show is a rerun.
As my internal wisdom comes to the surface with each inhale, I exhale the words.
"You are not jaded; you are conscious. "
AND I'M LEFT WONDERING: HOW DO YOU LIVE ON A HUNGRY PLANET, WHEN YOU HAVE NO APPETITE?
I know some thread of Self will rise to the occasion - to replace nature, to replace my severed devotion to Earth, and the sensuality I found in consumption (food, shopping, energy feeding, exercise....an on....
But until then, I'm going to the store to buy an air conditioning unit.
Maybe it's the time.
A window within a day when some say that God rested, and when the human tries to do it too, at least for a short while.
Maybe it's the place.
Maybe it's the music.
Maybe it's the space.
Any space and place to rest and touch and be touched and open up to it all.
I could be now in a room, a special room. A room that flows across dimensions and timelines and where anything is possible. A place where I am teasing my human self with the kind of experience that twirls my insides and crawls naughty thoughts across my naked body. The body which shudders and submissively wakes up in emotions of remembrance and anticipation of things yet to come, or were supposed to come but never came.
Until now, until in this moments of intimacy.
Moments when I can feel how all of me is longing for the journey of orgasm as an expression of self love. As a temporary escape from the shackles of humanity into the brief rush of the highest wave that would carry me the furthest away from the love and pull of Gaia, only so I could crash again in her unconditional embrace.
A flying angel, but no less a fallen one, with wings that clipped themselves in the fire of longing for ascension.
But I am not here to be naughty, as all of us here are no more the kids sneaking around and clumsily hiding in plain sight the fireworks of sensuality coming over us from everywhere, boiling inside us and spilling outside of us with temporary release. All maybe happening within games we play and never really win and never really end. We are no more the ones held in detention, or under all sorts of moral chastities. Nothing to hold us down anymore, bound to abstract choices of morality and duality which would supersede our essence and our freedom.
Today, I wash away all of this dirty city and the mundane do's and don'ts and everybody else off my mind, off my body, off my everything. Right now I am showering off all the noise and tension held within the daily grind and grime of human drama and tasks and needs and patterns which stop far away of feeding and feeling the soul.
Today I dive and flow in the infinite ponds of music.
The music for which angels have embodied just to hear its pull and push and embrace and shouts and whispers of alchemy to all of the human senses.
The bass enters the stage and sings like a choir of sirens, which instead of waiting me to jump into the sea and fall into their spell, are boarding my ship like pirates hunting for the treasures I am not yet aware I carry.
And each bass note enters a core of me, with relentless vibrations that shake down all the mass consciousness glued tirelessly on me, myself and I, while all of me has been running along each day through the grind of it all. Down and away they fall, all of those limits, needs, wants, pettiness, numbness, stereotypes and patterns rising again and again from the beautiful but so unbalanced tango of brain, mind, body and soul.
We can choose the music that plays in remembrance that we are here to be sensual. That we are here to be real.
Yet even now the mind need its assurance that this choice it's not fake, that it rests its bid and odds on the real and right one. So it shouts back one last falling cry across this stream of letting go, which is putting it into sleep - Hey, waita justa minute... How do we know... how... real... ... looks............ like?
Maybe, just maybe, Real is the place where you open up to experience, and the experience opens up to you, and all of you goes on an unexpected journey of senses and experience. But is it all a self reinforcing loop, or is it more of a spiral into discovery?
Yet just before all would crumble down into analysis paralysis, the mind surrenders, in silent mantras of release. Who cares, just let it go, let it flow, let it now.
Thoughts die down, and the mind becomes ultimately aware of is how tired it is of trying to put a frame and a hold against this river of essence and beingness. It brutally strips all of its thoughts, as its last thought in front of its raw nakedness is that it's going right next door to Nirvana.
That's the closest match it knows for this place and space and destination, unknowingly that this time the destination is the journey itself.
In submission to it all, it does not even wait for anything anymore. It just stands, witness of stillness and of a creator in pure and sovereign beingness.
The music embraces and enraptures any and all and the last of the human senses, while the human surrenders. Surrenders himself with deep breaths of release and abandonment into the experience of now. The now where the music plays and where the bass takes me, all of me, in streams of tremolo, turning all the tensions into infinite flowing strings of vibrating sensations. It works like a symphony of magic hands massaging rocks of earthly tension and releasing my true self into ethereal waves of expression and celebration and joy.
Later on, the bass submits to the drums.
And the drums come pounding.
Hit, Boom, Blow!
Smash, ripple, ripple, ripple, flow!
The drums march through my all, sculpting hard pillars of sound to which I momentarily grab and unconsciously try to hold on to, while the bass keeps on melting me away relentlessly. Each beat seems to manifest a solid rock of reference, which only turns into invisible sand as the next beat comes in and leaves me puzzled how I cannot seem to get a grip on any of them. While I flow... or I fly... or I travel through it all, or all of it unravels through me.
All of this holding on is pointless though, as the river of flowing beats sweeps me away immediately towards another shore for me to flow upon, to stretch and melt into pure bliss.
Some have called it, and all of this, Nirvana. Nirvana....
Nirvana. Never. Opens. The. Door.
Nirvana never opens the door when it comes.
It just smashes through it all.
Smashes through all of the doors, walls, layers, shells and spells.
Hit, Boom, Blow!
Smash, ripple, ripple, ripple, flow!
And you might just lose any notion of space and spatiality and linear coordinates where your mind and ego and human self thought they needed to be confined into. Confined tight enough so they could relate, associate, differentiate and process. Confined where they could work their obsolete mechanics again and again, in a rat race of so called personal development. Confined where they would be preaching the law of neverending incremental steps, in itself just a twisted replica of the timeless fountains of creation and expression.
The last thing the mind remembers is how it tries to process if Nirvana is entering you, or is it erupting from somewhere deep inside you, or is it actually releasing you from all of your humanity of thoughts and senses, wide into larger and larger waves of your infinite body of consciousness.
And Nirvana... Nirvana is just Home. When all of you stands unleashed in a symphony of experience and expression, of sensuality and divinity, carving the rainbow of I Am That I Am upon your stone of human lifetimes.
Thank you, Boggie, for sharing with us.
What fun it has been to share my realization journey with you all. I have made amazing friends, and together we have created a space beyond the noise - the grand and majestic Banyan Tree since March of 2017.
We have new members - Les, Karen and Mabelle. Most importantly, we have a robust and expanded online community on Ryver. New invites to go out soon.
This space has been so important for my expansion. A place of stillness in the chaos, yet it is no longer my creation but ours.
Over the last month, I have felt a call to go even deeper within myself. I'm not so interested in writing about what is going on within me but remain passionate about hearing and reading what is going on with you.
For this reason, I won't be posting so much on here, and the community will really be on Ryver, which is paid through March.
After that time, it will be up to you to keep Ryver going or to create a new forum. Instead of being the money collector and administrator, I am looking to you all to keep it running. For you to be the administrators of the group that is now ours.
Though a lot of the content that I wrote on here feels obsolute to me, I will keep it up as part of my journey, and a physical record of our sovereign collective journey together. I am sure I will be creating with you all to put it into e-book format as well. I cannot stress what amazing aha! and realizations we have had together on calls, in writing, and in our etheric gatherings.
I am so overwhelmed in the best way possible, looking forward to meeting in Vancouver and Italy. If there is any goal left, it would be to experience you all in person.
So I'm not sure how this book will end except that I know it will be grand and it will be your/ our creation with me sitting in the back seat rather than driving the bus.
One of the most amazing things is how little drama there has been in this group - either working itself out quickly or resulting in people dumping and then leaving at their own accord. It's truly been a ride, one that will continue but in a new way.
More than anything I sense it will be....
A creation from JOY instead of a product of being dissatisfied with what is currently available from those deep in their realization experience or triple E.
Continue to be free from processing, advice and quote spitting, or what D likes to call mental masturbation, and more about the joy of expression.
I remain passionate about the group, yet sense deeply a role change. A space holder for joyful creation rather than my previous rally cry.
Joanna has some amazing ideas she posted on Ryver. Take a look or maybe she will post them below.
In honor of US!