We’ve been hearing for some time now about the declining effectiveness of antibiotics in the treatment of diseases. Some point to the reckless overuse of such substances by the medical establishment and others to the rampaging superbugs now trolling the planet in search of helpless victims.
In one such report this morning I heard an informed voice mention the ingenuity of bacteria as they transform themselves to effectively resist the old methods of attack, and I thought once again of all the life forms on the planet exercising the free will option, their evolutionary urge to go forth and multiply and their inalienable right to life, love and the pursuit of whatever makes them happy bugs. And of course, our right to suppress that tendency.
The endless and ruthless struggle for survival is an unavoidable given in our world, the plane of ever repeating growth and decay, and we humans are as much a part of the process as any other sentient being. Of course, many will argue that bacteria, electrons and all the other teeny-weeny negligibles are not in any way sentient beings and should not be permitted to become generators of guilt. Man has always weeded his garden, has he not? We have always had to separate that which is beneficial for our health and longevity from that which is not. It’s natural, surely, to ensure your lineage? And don’t we have our ancient sacred books which insist on our lordly position in the hierarchy of created beings, despite their commandments now being called into question by atheists, environmentalists and the like?
And how, you might be wondering, does our measure of divinity, as we have been discussing, play into all this? I would suggest, with only the slightest of smirks, at every juncture. The divine spark, that smidgen of the highest possible consciousness, has been inserted by one or other Monad/Higher Self, into every possible life form, from the microscopic to the huge. Of course it is clothed in layers of relatively unconscious matter/flesh, but it is there, perhaps slumbering, a baby angel napping undisturbed in a storm, as evoked in William Bloom’s vision of tiny elementals shining in every blade of grass (in “Working with Angels and Nature Spirits”). It is there, however buried and seemingly dormant, gathering the tidbits of experience which make up its life, ever ready to return to source when its form is extinguished in the endless slash and gobble of our hunter/prey world.
To this round trip journey, I should add that it has been stated, in more than one esoteric teaching, that the plan for our planetary system is the gradual insertion of greater and greater degrees of spirit into matter until, one assumes, it is entirely spiritualised and thus freed from the inertia of the matter state. Of the millennia given to such a determined infusion I care not to speculate, although I know from experience that a return to the radiant void, the godhead in which our Monads flutter about quite freely does not involve any passage of this quality we call Time. Its understanding makes me want to slap you all on the back and go ‘That’s eternity for ya!’
Our share of enlightenment, our quota of knowing, is telling us that every death liberates the divine spark inside, setting it free from the suffering and gore that animates the territory and allowing it to return from whence it came. As we do when we die and drift through the planes, with their joys, pleasures and challenges, returning slowly by many circuitous paths through the heavens of our aspirations to the godhead, the radiant void, the supreme ground of being from which all arises, mosquitoes, sharks and bacteria included.