A recent cold snap here in the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) has taken its toll on the homeless, bringing a frozen demise to several and calls in the media for increased services in such tragic situations. This, of course, happens every winter and I’m sure is repeated in cities across the northern US and Canada.
Two things strike me in this: our refusal, as a culture, to acknowledge Thanatos, the love of and desire for death, as its promise of extinction charms away the grimy sufferings of existence. Regardless of how repeatedly and insistently the homeless, and others in desperate straits, welcome and encourage their departures, we, citing good citizenship and compassion, make every attempt to derail their determination. No matter how many individuals have befriended the illusions and anxieties surrounding death, and seen for themselves that its bark is much worse than its bite, as societies we are still terrified by that inevitable transition and seek, at all costs, ways to delay and defang its threat.
Secondly, we do not consider the possibility that the hopeless and homeless are catered to by bands of retrievers, well schooled in the mind games each category of the dead comes to call its own. Let me illustrate with some examples:
When I first discovered my exploring self, speeding out of body to the various realms beyond, and sometimes doing rescues/retrievals from those areas of the lower astral where the lost and confused roam, either ignorant of their death and wondering how the heck they got there, or knowing that they’ve transitioned but refusing to go farther on some assumption of sinfulness or punishable wickedness, I was participating in the conversation boards of Bruce Moen’s Afterlife-Knowledge.com site.
During that period, covered in detail in my More Adventures In Eternity book, I and others discovered an area/areas like ghettos of almost stereotypical urban decay, where we came across the raggedy homeless, huddled against elements we could not feel, or arguing over issues we could not perceive, or sleeping it off, whatever ‘it’ was. By this stage we had already discovered many gloomy dilapidated areas, some rural, some urban, and some kitted out in in centuries-old cultures and styles. But, like all retrievals in any atmosphere we quickly learned the appropriate relating skills for that category of confusion and the careful positioning of various rescue missions and soup kitchens scattered around the detritus and rubble.
At some point someone tagged it the Homeless City. Today I returned to the ‘Retrievals Only’ board of Afterlife-Knowledge.com and quickly came across a current example. ‘Ginny’ had found herself “standing alone in a narrow street”. It looked deserted but she knew from experience that the new arrivals “hide out or seek safety in basements”. She remained still, waiting to see what information might come to her. Then a “commotion erupted down a side street”. She came upon “a square with several individuals standing around something on a sidewalk” who “instantly scattered” when they saw her approaching.
Getting closer, she realized it was “someone on their side” dressed in “brown rags, filthy shirts and faded dresses”. It was a “woman and she was terrified”. When she gently asked if she needed help the woman “started crying out”. She looked wounded, and “couldn’t get to her feet” and thought “I was one of the thugs who attacked her”. As she grew to hysteria Ginny asked “if I could take her to a nearby shelter” but she shook her head no. She asked about a religion or a church she might be at home in, but the idea “of the existence of a god really set her off. She screamed angrily that there was no god and for me to leave her alone.”
Ginny then tries to channel unconditional love by hand, something we all learned to do at some point, and it works. “Her pain and fear gone she watched in astonishment as others and I got her to her feet, and for the first time I got a glimpse of her ravaged, bruised face and a huge amount of bright red lipstick which made her look almost like a clown”. The contrast, of course, was heartbreaking. Soon, with help, she moves her away from the city “through a white fog”. Other helpers were navigating, so she “just stays close to our lady, going along for the ride” when that “unmistakable fell of focus 27 swept through me”. (Focus 27 is a non-denominational paradise realm set up for those souls who do not immediately respond to the siren call of any of the religious heavens).
Finally, they glide down “to a small old English-style country cottage which was almost completely covered with vines festooned with vividly coloured blossoms” and a surrounding yard “crowded with flowering bushes and trees”. She knows that “this was her new home now” and she took her leave “knowing she was in good hands”.
As I have often written, “The afterlife is for everyone and all you have to do to get there is die.” None are, or can be, excluded, except by their own ignorance or self-judgement, both states that can be eventually remedied by the loving insistence of guides and helpers.