While I appreciate and give thanks for the lush green forest atmosphere which has been allowed to take root and spread throughout my town, and can see it as a prime example of how to harmoniously integrate the works of man and nature, my loving attachment is continuously undercut by my consciousness repeatedly and unpredictably stretching out above that green canopy and giving me the helicopter vision so often employed in movies.

And there not only am I free to float horizontally and vertically, say, into the clouds or beyond, but well able to recall how this ‘I’ is somehow separate from the ‘I’ down there, and though a re-merge is always imminent, the attempt to define any center of consciousness for which ‘Gordon’ can claim ownership is always attended by chuckles.  That there is a distinct individual spirit behind or inside the identifiable personality and its projections never seems to be in question, but its method and motive of distribution always seems up for grabs.

In ‘me’, the human animal, who feels comfort and solace with such a garden atmosphere competes with some super sentient other who effortlessly supersedes such local comfort zones, like some adult who leaves the children playing in the gated garden while tasks are attended to elsewhere.  Perhaps it is a nagging reminder of that astral/mental portion who removes itself nightly from that regenerative harbour of sleep to resume its existence in those realms where discarnates discover the many ways life extends itself beyond the known.

While the world of conflict and trauma can be accessed with a click, and its repetition of gruesome reminders hitched to your temporary innocence like some rickety cart to a recalcitrant donkey, the life of giddy light and ease of transcendence is equally aggressive in its hankering to tickle or hug.  Certainly it rarely lets me alone.  I often feel caught in some mystical tug of war, where my caring, suffering, compassionate self is made to feel self-regarding and superfluous by that free bird who flits about, care and conscience-free, the planet and the subtle planes as its playground.

And with ‘conscience-free’ I point not to the ruthless vacuum personified in the psycho/sociopath, but to that state of transcendence where all suffering is seen as self-generated, at least at the deepest levels of pre-birth choices and ancient karma finally coming on line.  For one who has completed their courses here on Earth there is, of course, the Bodhisattva option, that good samaritan who assumes that generous and wise assistance is always needed by one’s younger brothers, but the shift into any number of nirvanic states is also always available, and it should not be forgotten, in the wash of all those service-to-humanity schools, that just by existing in that realm of rapture and exaltation one effortlessly increases the planet’s quota of such radiant giddiness, which always helps to counterbalance the drag effected by the many dark anchors continuously reactivated by that palette of negative emotions so easily available to the anxious and fearful.

When personally thus suspended ‘Gordon’ has a pronounced tendency to feel ‘world-weary’, and that the struggle to gaily step from day to day has long since lost its challenge.  He feels as though he’s about to drop that last, most cherished illusion, that his identity and incarnation have any ultimate significance.  He sees vanity advancing its own agenda.  And he recalls what the adults would say when he was a child: “It’s a great life if you don’t weaken.”

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