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.

The Sister/Brotherhood Of Sentient Beings

On this inner journey to discover who and what we really are, only to open a new page and discover another definition even wider than the one we thought appropriate and useful last week, we see our embrace of sentience in more and more beings inhabiting the various neighbourhoods of our knowingness.

     Perhaps we got going years back by recognising that loved one, so irreversibly dead, was actually living elsewhere and sending out telegrams about their new address, hoping we’d stop losing them in our endless rush to organise our days.  Perhaps we finally admitted, maybe inspired by some dotty acquaintance, that our pet was significantly more sensitive than the appetites we noticed.  Perhaps we found ourselves floating up at the ceiling, wondering who the heck that was down below snoring, and seeing, maybe only for a second or so, that there was two of us, each as alive as the other.  Perhaps we allowed the aliveness of nature invade us instead of obeying the dictates of civilised behaviour.  Perhaps our drug of choice swept us into the scary sentience of everything, persuading us for a few moments that inanimate objects were not to be pitied.  Perhaps we shivered at the notion that meat was murder, or felt that the carrots cried for mercy when we pulled them out of the soil.

     Perhaps we read some books that spoke of such experiences and decided that life as we knew it would be impossible with that knowing around our necks.  Perhaps we had a meltdown, making our families wonder what kind of therapy would work.  Perhaps we began throwing up every meal consumed.  Perhaps we began buying burgers for the homeless. Perhaps we abandoned consciousness expansion for servitude in religion or the military.  Perhaps we went with the flow and did what families expect.   Or perhaps we engaged with our doubts and anxieties and persevered through the stages of the journey, following this or that teacher and practice.  Perhaps yoga and meditation soothed our troubled soul.  At some point we arrived here, knowing that we were a tiny part of the big picture, that being the planet with millions of sentient beings, many of them not human.  I have arrived at this ‘here’ and I suspect many of you have also.  Can I supply a useful outline of this big picture?  I think so.

     I live in a house with a garden with my partner and we share our understanding of its life and all its inhabitants, most of whom are nature spirits and elementals.  Some of those nature spirits, orbs if you prefer, came here with me fifteen years back from my fifth floor apartment in another town, where I had gathered them about me on my many walks through the river valley park there.  On moving I invited them to come along.  One of them assumed the position of house spirit here and orders the place and the others much like the butler in Downton Abbey.  I sometimes wonder if he got the notion from me watching the series devotedly some years ago.  I wonder but am not sure as he usually will not come down to the basement room where I watch videos and enjoy music, as though it were somehow beneath him.  Lord knows I’ve invited him often enough.  He will also refrain from venturing into the back gardene nature spirits there would prefer he stayed in the house, or so I’m told. Those garden spirits helped me redesign the garden over a few seasons.  I bumbled about in my enthusiastic amateur way, assuming that they were putting ideas into my head as I pursued my plans.

Having read the Findhorn books I was well aware of our status as co-creators, doing all the sweaty legwork for the little darlings while they buzzed about full of ideas. Also the Findhorn folks, I forget which one, years ago alerted me to the value of grateful loving thoughts directed to one’s house maintenance equipment and I have never since forgotten to thank my furnace and central air for their service when it’s -25c or +35c.  Speaking of thanking, I have for many years thanked our car for its faithfulness.  One day it responded to my usual ‘thank you car’ greeting by saying, ‘Why not call me Elizabeth?’.  That should give you some idea of where I’m at.

     Recently the book Subtle Energies (2010) by David Spangler pushed me even further in that direction.  Having followed his output for decades, starting with the work at Findhorn in the early seventies, his psychic and spiritual explorations never failed to inspire me.  Subtle Energies continues in that vein, and I was not surprised to see detailed evaluations of his relationship to the rooms and furniture of his home as well as the house spirit and fairies in the garden.  He spends an entire chapter assessing the energetic body of his sofa and how by admiring and blessing it with gratefulness he could enliven its being and raise its consciousness.   I give but one example but it allowed me some leeway in my own thanking of doors and windows, which had sprung up years before almost spontaneously from psychedelic trips where at some point in the journey everything had a vibrating aura and really did feel alive, as the various pioneers, like Huxley and Leary, pointed out.  Not to mention that nifty song by Godley and Crème, I Pity Inanimate Objects.  Of course, having belonged to the psychedelic generation for decades, many of whom have had ‘the transcendent vision’ and think of themselves as ‘companions of the sacrament’, it seemed as though another chapter to a story I knew well had just been added.  His field notes, as he termed them, reminded me of another tale, whereby an elemental who had assumed responsibility for my bedroom, took to asking that the door be shut upon my departure, a request I found easy to comply with.  After some time the request gained in confidence and began to seem like a demand, so then I thought, No, I’ll decide on that one thank you and the would-be servant resumed his position.  So, some pushing and shoving for position, at least on that level.  As a friend of Spangler’s wryly observes, “every something is a someone”.  So as we open to the proliferation of elementals all around us, we can see that even a tiny recognition and love blessing can boost their self-esteem and twig their consciousness to the next mini-level, we can, as Spangler notes, be “shepherds of consciousness” even if we “can’t see the sheep.”

     I have written and spoken several times about my love for the deva I sense hovering over Lake Ontario near the city of Toronto, not far from my little town of Oakville, and her innate abilities in blending the vibrations of city life with those of nature, both land and water.  I have also commented favourably about the angel I feel hovering over the church and garden of St. Jude’s here and her ability, likely amassed over decades, of combining the Christian and Pagan energies to form a harmonious whole that is quite apparent when one sits and meditates as the giddy orbs bounce about like children on a picnic after too much ice cream.  They are giddy to begin with but I found that I could make them even sillier by channeling a love energy down through my crown and out through my heart chakra, one that kind of overwhelmed them like some kind of irresistible tickle.

     In the neighbourhood of that church, in the historic area of town, there are many venerable old oak trees, all of whom deserve some kind of reverential greeting, but only a few get the respect.  And this gets to the crux of the issue I feel gathering about us as we advance in our embrace of life.  But first let me touch on some related topics.  With the twin issues of aliens and alien technology pressing upon us whether or not we pay attention, we are confronted with the prospect of even more sentient beings filling our plate.  The issue seems to be, at least for me: how does one cope with such multitudes?  It’s easy if you use ignorance and denial as a shield.

     At the moment it’s the white supremacists who are experts in the denial mechanism, refusing the respect other races and genders deserve.  But soon that shadow will pass to the mainstream rationalists who want to drive their car straight to success without stopping to admire other life forms yearning for recognition.  After that maybe vegans and vegetarians will be forced to confront that all foodstuffs are alive and frantically clinging to their forms as they are cooked and eaten, and not just the ones they have specified in their holy books.

     This diversity of conscious beings growing exponentially as we expand our willingness to embrace, while seemingly insurmountable at present, reminds me of the cultural diversity I’ve felt these past few decades, not only in the large urban expanse of the Greater Toronto Area (GTA), with many millions from every part of the planet settling here, but also in my small town, tucked into a small pocket by the lake, where it seems almost any language can be heard from shoppers in our stores and strollers in our parks.  While many can respond in English to greetings and requests, their chatter amongst themselves delights my ears with its music.  I suspect the telepathic and visual communications from the sentient beings above mentioned will roll out in a similar fashion.

     Of course denial and disbelief will continue to operate as a filter for many, giving them the breathing space they require as their perceptions gradually adjust.  I see this process in operation now, as many who are fascinated by the continued appearances of orbs and crop circles indulge their interest at every opportunity while the majority continue to chuckle and take a pass.  With television and movies assisting, (ghosts and the paranormal are still a draw) these manifestations will continue their cultural infiltration until something like a saturation point is reached.  Much the same with bisexuality and gender reassignment.

     I have related some ET contacts in this book, reaching out in the same manner as I would to the confused or enlightened dead and highly advanced spirits, but I recognise that others have gone farther down that rabbit hole and I am not much more than a newbie.  And as I read such works as Meet The Hybrids, the lives and missions of ET ambassadors, Being With The Beings, the how and why of ETcontact, by Miquel Mendonca, Extra-Planetary Experiences, alien-human contact and the expansion of consciousness by Thomas James Streicher, and others, I see I am only scratching the surface.  Obviously we have come a long way from the initial trauma of abduction to darn near friendly relations between ET and human, as outlined by someone like Donna Lynn in her memoir From Fear To Love.

     It’s a daunting prospect, this universal embrace of sentient beings, from tiny elementals in blades of grass to huge devas organising hurricanes and harmonising mountain ranges, and all the rivers, spacecraft, angels, escalators, refugees and sleazy politicians in between, but I suppose even an ‘hello!’ or a ‘thank you!’ is a start.  I have enough trouble reminding folks that the brotherhood of man includes women and children too.