The Cleverest Conspiracy Of All


We live in an age of conspiracies and rumours of conspiracies.  Even those who mock and deny their existence feel the need to talk about them in a disparaging manner.  Governments, corporations and intelligence services all thrive on their production, implementation and cover-up.  Educated populations, now mostly freed from the threats of eternal damnation, loosened with ever increasing leisure, and armoured as never before with access to information, demand ever more sophisticated cover-ups and plausible denials delivered with assurance and aplomb.  Children with considerably more than spare change, we now require sophistry on the level of myth, complete with the the panoply of dramatis personae we have come to expect down through the storytelling ages.

Some ancient battle between darkness and light, truth and deception, seems to be continuously reenacted on the world stage.  It is a drama of operatic dimensions that could easily grow a religion or two about it.  Who will save us from the lying demagogues of democracy, the chorus asks.  Who shall deliver us from the seductive pit of propaganda?  The answer is perhaps obvious: us.  Us and only us.  We the people, who are so much more than concerned citizens, but who have forgotten their divine origins and are dwarfed by those who would manipulate our ignorance into endless dependence.  We need not wait for all the Pinocchios to grow long noses.

All the political shenanigans, all the crafted assassinations, all the bombings with their stage managed radicals, all the wars over natural resources spin doctored into evil dragon slaying, all the drugs so carefully designed, all the spiritual wickedness in high places, it’s merely the play of Maya, illusions prancing their hour upon the stage.  It need not detain us, although it can and does, our fascination with baubles and blood being what it is.  But for those of us on our way to graduation, a not insignificant number I might add, the cleverest conspiracy of all is that of the Higher Self.

The Higher Self conspires, unfortunately with our full cooperation, to denude us of all cosmic consciousness, so that our delivery onto the physical plane through the medium of our mother’s womb is accomplished with such a narrowing of the psyche that the phrase blank slate is the most accurate for our tiny embodiment of life.  So although we are emanations from a virtually omniscient Monad (group soul, Higher Self), by the time we descend through the planes to arrive here almost emptied of our previous divinity, and proceed, through many trials and tribulations, to recover our heritage shorn of the illusions of ego and society, we are essentially starting out once again from the basement of consciousness to explore not only the house above but the many mansions which it magically contains.

And we essay these explorations as dim witted but boisterous children, eager for adventure but easily cowed by frights and cuts.  As personalities we grow with our family and society imposed definitions, all of which are useful within the parameters laid out before us, becoming independent and educated adults.  But as spirits in the material world these definitions become ties which keep us in bondage, too timid to explore the unknown and unseen.  And when, out of frustration or giddiness, we do reach out a seeking beam, they remind us to doubt and distrust, to return to the basement where being rendered stupid with safety is the community standard.

In our ignorance as state sanctioned citizens with rights and responsibilities we often remain, assured that we are contributing in an accountable and civilized manner.  But as citizens thus defined we remain ignorant of our greater selves, our original share of divinity, and we quietly assume our tiny spots in history, the subject of forces beyond our control, when in fact we have picked a life path of challenges suited to our needs, and only appear to be buffeted by the fates of disease, lousy weather and political repression.  Whether we have chosen wisely or been rushed by the prospect of thrills is another matter, but the metaphysical fact is that we have picked and are partaking.

But our ego based illusions about our limited and isolated selves conspire to keep us in our place, while attributes such as gravity and debt assure us we have made the smart choice.  Inside our separated selves, our much valued individuality, we look to sources of power outside us.  Whether natural, as in earthquakes or floods, or man made, such as banking or government, we feel dominated, threatened, conspired against, that there is a hidden order which executes plans in the shadows, regardless of our requirements or well being.  There are hidden orders conspiring contemptuously in the shadows, but they operate at the level of ego and ego gratification, and as such, live in even more illusion than yourself, the seeker and would-be disciple of the mysteries.

The cleverest and most cunning conspiracy of them all is the one you delude yourself with, that we all delude ourselves with: that no matter what your station in life, your race or gender, your degree of freedom or repression, you are in essence an unbounded being of light, a conscious contributing emblem of divinity, who is only pretending to be daft and lost and limited.


Why Consciousness?

Sounds like the annoyingly curious child going why daddy?  every fifteen minutes and the parent attempting the impossible: explaining every shred of existence the wondering child puzzles over.  But it is a questioning pose we all slip into eventually.  Usually after the why floods, why tornadoes, why war, why pointless suffering, why ruthless evil and even why good guys finish last.

As a metaphysical quester of many lifetimes and playgrounds of incarnation, I am occasionally tempted take the plunge, part the waters of the mystery and walk through.  And when I do, walk through that is, what I find on the other side, whether galactic or sub-atomic, is that which comes before energy and its manifestations.  You know, energy which propels planets in their orbits and people in their preferences, that force which pushes you into action and then pressures you into rest.  The creative juice of the universes if you like.  The mysterious drive behind the evolution of forms, mineral, vegetable, animal. That thing which keeps your fingernails and hair growing after you die.

That excitement which animates your refeshed or resurrected spirit once the fear of death has itself died.  That pleasurable joy which finances your stay in the paradise of your choice.  That fount of wisdom that seems so self evident when thought is unleashed from its belief systems.  That immense power behind your many manifestations in this and other worlds.  All those beings that are born of you, go about their business in time and space, and, as the blues song goes, bring it all back home to you.

Consciousness is what makes it all possible and renders it all useful.  Useful for your education  in the cosmic game of being and not-being.  For even when you’re absent from team practice, here on the planet, some other aspect of that greater you reigning over the family tree is here, hoisting its ego flag.  Shouting here I am love me!

And when you’re not here, but languishng in heaven, relearning what you thought  you’d lost forever, you can look down and chuckle at all the marvellous silliness of egos shaping up to expectatons, and know that it is consciousness that gives them the freedom to do so and you the freedom to watch them.  You can present yourself above the torments, await the explosion and catch some startled falling soul like some falling star, and as the song says, put it in your pocket and saved it for a rainy day.

Child’s play in the pit of hell, yes, but just another day in the shadow play of consciousness.