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.