The Skeptical Mystic

         I’ve been procrastinating, trying to avoid addressing this subject (or the events that followed) by focusing instead on old family records. It really is time to get back to spiritual subjects.

         When we left off, I’d just experienced a terrible beating, an experience brought on in meditation by trying to uncover blockages to my spiritual progress. I had found myself back in a past lifetime, reliving what appeared to be not just memories, but the actual experiences of a young high-priestess-elect. More importantly, I had to face a deeply held problem of my life—fear of being too different from those around me, fear of admitting to spiritual experiences that differed from what I saw described in accounts of traditional spiritual encounters, fear of admitting to experiences that might stigmatize me within the scientific community.

        The final realization of my experience brought a tremendous sense of emotional release and an opening to new realities, new spiritual possibilities. However, it would have been foolish to leap forward, based on such an ‘awakening.’

        The first thing one should do, when confronted by such an experience, is to look back objectively and search for other explanations. Was there any experience in my earlier years that might have resurfaced in a disguised form? I grew up in the fifties, and it was not uncommon for parents to spank their children or wash their mouths out with soap to reenforce family values. Despite this time period's social ‘norm,’ I grew up in a functional, loving family, and while I can’t say my parents were never driven to these disciplinary methods as a last resort, these methods were seldom used---especially with me, since my parents claimed I so seldom misbehaved. Spankings were never more than a few swats, never given in anger, and resulted more in bruised pride rather than flesh.

        Was there any other childhood incident, emotionally based, which might be reinterpreted subconsciously as a severe beating? Something that might have taken place when I was close in age to the high-priestess-elect? No, despite an honest and intense search of childhood memories (and even those of adulthood), I could think of nothing. Then, I questioned, could this be symbolic of any other type of incident? Did I feel beaten into the ground by events in my first marriage, by the divorce, or by the struggle after the divorce? That might be a possibility, though it seemed a stretch to connect those struggles with the brutal beating. Still, to be totally honest in evaluation, it had to be considered an option.

         More important to me than proving whether I was reliving a past lifetime or symbolically facing a deep-seated emotional injury of this lifetime, was the lesson learned. I had a long history of being afraid of standing out as too different. When I found out that intellectual learning came too easily and that other children had to put forth effort to learn their school work, I put up blocks to make my own learning more difficult, trying hard to blend in. When I discovered my spiritual experiences went far beyond those of more experienced chelas (or at least those who’d been on a spiritual path for more years), I again put up blocks to keep myself from reaching too far beyond the norm.

        These personal restrictions, the fears that brought them about, were in place long before my marriage, which I suppose might weaken the argument that the beating symbolized events of my mid-life struggles. Still, I was less interested in what happened during the meditation than in the emotional blockage removed in the final realization.

          It is easy to get caught up in spiritual experiences and how profound, or deeply true they feel (usually more real and true than everyday life). Always, I think we need to concentrate on this lifetime. This is the life we’ve been given to live. If a spiritual experience helps move us forward in the quest to become a more complete and loving individual, then keep the focus on the lesson learned; focus on carrying the lesson into everyday life.

         I realize many of my experiences seem bizarre, too far beyond the norm. I am not attempting to prove their validity to others, or even myself. Wherever they come from—other dimensions or my own psyche—they should be used as clues to point me towards healing of whatever blockages might keep me from being the person I strive to become. 

        Almost two years ago, my mother handed me a box of my grandfather’s letters from World War I, written to my grandmother (who at the time was ‘the girl back home’). Sid had been part of the American Field Artillery serving in France. The letters were not particularly organized, but one of the advantages of a computer is the ability to type in letters by date and let the computer sort them out. I was fascinated by this glimpse into the life of a grandfather I’d never known, and remember writing about emotions stirred while reading his words (see the earlier blog article: Feb 11th, 2005).

        Shortly after finishing this transcription project, my uncle loaned me my grandfather’s war diary. This was even better! A diary did not have to be censored. The diary was remarkably small (the better to fit in a pocket) so entries had to be short and succinct. Yet, my grandfather Sid had a knack for covering a wide range of details.

At the first British rest camp....We had an awful march to a camp way across the town and this was the most tiresome trip or hike I have had so far. Nearly had to drop out. Practically nothing to eat all day long made it worse. After about an hour we hit this camp and it sure is some place. We sleep on cement floors and eat nothing (This is the English ration). Took our mess kits and went to a mess hall at 12 o’clock midnight for a light lunch. One small piece of cheese, 1 small slice of bread and ½ cup tea, then went back to the barracks to sleep. Big day & a hard one.

On the way to the French training camps:

Still riding (in box cars). Had no sleep last night as car was so crowded. Passed through Rouen and several other large towns and landed at Messac about 5 pm., unloaded, crossed the river and pitched shelter tents in big field near river. Went in swimming. Ordered to remain within tented area and not to go into town. Beat it through M.P.’s and got a bottle of wine for 6 Francs. Good stuff. Went to bed at taps after singing for about an hour. Buchanon, Westrom & Brown were arrested for fighting in a saloon and put in the guard house.

Training on the 322 guns:

Battery is out on the range again today and firing high explosives. Hope there are no accidents as these high explosive shells are dangerous and occasionally blow a gun up and kill that crew.

1 hr later:

Word just came in from the range that #1 gun blew up and Cpl. Weber (gunner) was badly injured & taken to hospital. Pat Johnson (#1) is being brought in on a stretcher. Don’t know how badly he is injured. Will discontinue this until I hear for sure.

Pat Johnson is here now badly bruised and unable to walk. Gun is total wreck. Weber has big piece of steel embedded in his arm close to his shoulder. Luckily no one was killed. Colonel just left HQ for the range in his side car. Lots of excitement.

And field conditions:

Am really "somewhere in France"-- I have no idea where. We hiked from 4 till 8 and went into the actual war district. Went through Menil La Tour and then we struck a town that was all shot to pieces. Passed through Flirey, also in ruins. We reached here as it started to rain and pulled off the road into a field, unhooked the horses & tied them to carriages. Btry pitched shelter tents but I couldn’t find my roll. Tried to sleep under paulin {tarpaulin} with supplies but without blankets I nearly froze. Got up after an hour of misery and crawled into Sgt. Seafelt’s tent with him & Stg. Armstrong. Slept near Armstrong in a puddle of water and nearly froze to death. Up again at 4:30 a.m. and pulled carriages into woods nearby. Still raining hard, and all of us wet. It was awful. Weren’t allowed to build any fires so had to keep moving around to keep from freezing.

        Once again, I devoured the words, trying to build an impression of my grandfather, and the kind of man he might have been.  After carefully transcribing, then compiling the letters home with war diary entries, I was able to present a spiral bound book to the immediate family last Christmas. At this point, my uncle remembered the 329th Barrage Book, written shortly after his father had returned to the States.

        It’s taken me a while to transcribe parts of that book onto a new blogsite (click here for WWI blogsite), and already I have gotten into transcribing more than I originally intended. It is hard to say why I feel so compelled to transcribe these records. I haven’t turned into a total WWI buff, searching out details of other battles, so I suspect it is more the need to chronicle everything possible about my grandfather’s experience.

        While I transcribe the writings of the 329th, does it allow a connection to that grandfather I never knew—helping to build an emotional bond that takes the place of actual memory? Or is this compulsion driven by current circumstances---being faced with one son in the Navy and the remaining two sons leaning heavily toward the military? Is it easier to look at the devastation of a distant, now silent war than to face the uncertain condition of the future?

        Poor Sid lived long enough to see the buildup toward WW II and it deeply grieved him. "We fought to put an end to wars," was the lament to his children. How far we have come since WWI, how much we have advanced in our knowledge, and yet I still wonder—will humanity ever get beyond war?

         A letter from a reader brought up the subject of auras and the interpretation of the colors in an aura. The specific problem is as follows: her brother, who can see auras, told her that even though the color of her aura changes and shows different intensities, there was one dark, clear, almost emerald green spot over her left shoulder which seemed to be constant. She asked if anyone could tell her what this could mean.

        It’s been a long time since I’ve paid much attention to auras. I’ve heard of people who saw auras consistently since birth, so that they were amazed when they finally discovered that others were not seeing people wrapped with color as a normal perception. During my early psychic years I spent some time focusing on auras and trying to understand how to interpret colors and patterns.

        I found multiple books on the subject, only to discover they did not always agree with each other about what this or that color meant. Gradually I gave up relying on book explanations and tried to figure things out on my own. My own patterns of interpretations developed.

         I noticed that people who were advanced on a spiritual path usually had auras of pale yellows or blues (on rare occasions, white or cream white). Note: not every ‘spiritual teacher’ shows an advanced aura. Some teachers are good at reading books, distilling passages and ideas, and then putting on a good show for the public (who generally pay for the advice). Genuine teachers show not only a difference in clarity and color of their outer aura, but at deeper levels (such as the causal). Click on Saturday, April 9, 2005 for more details about teachers.

         People whose focus and energy center in the physical world have deeper, more intense colors. I gravitate toward people who show up most frequently with blues, greens and yellows in their auras; I am less comfortable with large patterns of reds and oranges. People with bright clear reds and oranges are definitely more outgoing and physically active, with vibrant personalities that live in the moment. The blues and green I like tend to be more intellectually oriented, so that this color distinction on my part is a reflection of my personality, not a judgement of cool colors being better than warm.

         Colors of an aura shift somewhat with a person’s mood and energy levels. Therefore, focusing on any one pattern, seems non-productive. The most telling and important factor in my interpretation is how clear the colors are. Muddy, dirty colors are not desirable. To see areas or streaks of muddy red, brown or black is never a good sign and I’ve learned to keep up my guard. Sickly greens and yellows are not the sign of health; these hues could signify mental or physical problems.

         Occasionally, I still find myself staring at an aura that’s popped into view, but I avoid making a conscious effort to view this part of people’s inner lives. I’ve had too many times of accidentally seeing someone with a dark or murky aura, which feels rather like seeing someone’s dirty underwear. For my part, I’ve decided that purposely focusing on strangers’ or friends’ auras is an invasion of privacy.

           Now, as for the reader’s problem: I’m going to turn it over to any reader who is more experienced in auras to interpret the ‘one dark, clear, almost emerald green spot over her left shoulder.’ Any ideas are welcome. Any comments about aura reading are also welcome.

         Robert recently left a comment on an old blog entry (see "Psychic Attacks") which made me think it was time to approach the subject of sensory overload again.

         We live in difficult times and our lives are filled with internal and external stresses. Holidays and large functions only exasperate these stresses. This is true for everyone. If you are an introvert, a highly sensitive person, or psychic, accept that the environment outside yourself will probably have a larger impact on your sense of well-being than on the people swirling and jostling around you.

          To be idealistic---times of stress are precisely when you need to be the most careful to get adequate sleep, eat well, exercise, and find ways to keep balance in your life. How many times do we read articles or hear speakers give this advice? I remember my response when I had three boys at home---get real. These recommendations by perky motivational speakers (who must be noted were highly extroverted people) were so unrealistic to my lifestyle that I could only be appalled by their confidence. How could they keep insisting anyone could follow through on their suggestions, thus guaranteeing unlimited energy and harmony?  I was more inclined to believe the energy experts were living in some strange La-La Land. As a single parent with limited funds, I knew I was not in position to even knock on the front door of their orchestrated life scheme.

         Being an introvert, I have never been able think of shopping as entertainment (though Randy says I must enjoy grocery shopping since I get lost in supermarkets, examining all the labels and prices). If I shop in malls, I have a definite goal in mind and head right for the specific stores, get what I need, and get out. If I need to wander (as in looking for stocking stuffers) I’ve learned to recognize the signs of fatigue, at which point I call it quits for the day.

          When the kids were little, I dreaded shopping in a crowded mall: my own shopping issues were compounded by maneuvering a baby stroller through crowds while keeping track of two younger kids (both, with any momentary lapse of my focus on their immediate location, turned into free-ranging entities). Let’s not talk about the time I sat one kid down to try on shoes and his brother disappeared back into the mall because he was bored; or the time I mentioned we would work our way towards Santa, stopped to reorient packages on the stroller, and discovered when I straightened up that the eldest had disappeared from sight (he was sure he could find the Mall Santa on his own). Nothing creates more of a parental paranoidal panic than looking for their lost little lamb in a sea of shifting shoppers. To add to the shopping woes, I had one child who was highly sensitive and easily reduced to an emotional basket-case if subjected to more than a half hour of crowded confusion. How I dreaded Christmas shopping at malls.

          My sister solved her problems with a ‘shop-til-you-drop’ spree in early November, spending two very full days at an outlet mall until all Christmas gifts were bought. It’s become an annual event for a group of relatives; allowing them to wrap and ship packages in November, which in turn frees up time in December.  I have never asked to be included---the idea of shopping (even as an adult without kids) from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., two days in a row, would be subjecting myself to seemingly unending torment, wandering the depths of Hell. It would take me a month to recover my sanity.

         I learned the joy and necessity of catalog shopping at home. For this introvert, catologs and the internet remain a relaxed and simple way of shopping, as long as I start in fall to search out possibilities. I start ordering in November. Last minute shopping in December is minimal and thereby, less hectic.

         If you are a highly sensitive type, you will find the emotions and tensions of the crowd can press in on you any time you are not high on your own enthusiasm. The son I mentioned earlier, who was highly sensitive as a child, required a slow building up of his resistence (because I really did have to get out to pick up supplies). I had to keep my own emotional energy fields tight and high-powered, and that seemed to give him better control. I started out with short trips and gave him plenty of quiet time at home afterwards, to regain his emotional stability before tackling the next shopping excursion.

         As he got older, I continually reminded my son that he was sensitive and could pick up other people’s emotions. He had to learn how to find his own emotional center of balance, then continually recenter himself when in crowds. Any time he found negative emotions or thoughts building inside, he needed to step back, reconnect to his own sense of self, and then decide if he was truly upset by a personal issue, or if he was picking up on someone else’s frustration.

         If you are sensitive, avoid crowds when you are tired, hungry, or stressed. It will only make you more susceptible. If you must be in crowds, keep reminding yourself that emotional upset can come from internal and external factors. Deal with it. If really pushed, I can sometimes get by for short periods with caffeine or sugar boosts to increase my energy level, but i suggest you be kind to yourself. Learn when enough is enough and make a graceful exit. If you've been through unusually stressed excursions (such as losing a kid in the crowd), it helps to find quiet time at home to recenter your energy and rebuild a strong sense of well being. This may remove a lingering vulnerablity to sensory overload caused by a weakened or stressed aura.

           If you are psychic, even in the highest energy state and the most focused on your own center, you may pick up stray thoughts of others. Most psychics learn to ignore these thoughts. It may be harder to deal with turbulent auras of some highly stressed shoppers, and again, I would stress keeping your focus on your own center, your own mission. This does tend to block out most outside impressions.

          If, as in Robert’s case, you are being hit with negative thoughts over longer periods, you need to take action: please take the problem seriously. Thoughts picked up from others are short-lived. If you are psychic, don’t be so fast to believe every thought running through your mind is a personal creation. Think through the logic, and compare specific thoughts to your current life situation. That often stops a foreign thought in its tracts.

          More commonly, negative emotions picked up from others can create a non-specific sense of anxiety. Human nature is not comfortable with free-flowing anxiety and tends to start inventing reasons and statements to justify the emotions. If you accept the resulting thought patterns as valid, you may find yourself worked into an unnecessary frenzy.

          Again, I suggest that before you start blaming problems on other dimensions, look first to your own state of  emotional balance. If you have any internal issues that have not been resolved, the additional stress of crowds and holidays can turn into the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Do not be afraid to seek out a counselor, a cleric or a friend, who may help you work through personal issues and find perspective. Writing in diaries and connecting through the internet also can help you clarify problems because it forces you to organize and explain your thought patterns.

           If you are psychic or sensitive it becomes even more essential than for the general public that you not leave old issues buried. That doesn’t mean telling off your boss or that annoying relative, but you have to work through the emotions. The quality of your psychic impressions (positive versus negative) will improve as you heal old emotional wounds and resolve internal conflicts.

         Try to avoid a lifestyle that weakens your own aura. Drinking, drugs, loud and aggressive music may offer a temporary distraction, but in the long run I see these things leaving you more vulnerable to future attacks. Look into physical fatigue, biochemical imbalances, and internal stresses arising from your own psyche. Are you eating a balanced, healthy diet? Most psychics and sensitives I’ve known tend to burn up more than the usual amount of B Vitamins and function better on a supplement. Test it out.  You’ll either see a difference or you’ll decide it's a waste of money. Never take supplements just to be taking them, but check out how you feel on and off the supplement.

         Confession time---it seems out-of-place to be giving advice when I am faced with some type of holiday stress year after year. I've found no magical way to make the holidays stressless; what relieves one stress area only seems to open up time and space to other last-minute obligations.

         This year I had a major rush to complete shopping and get Christmas set up so it could be celebrated with my family before Thanksgiving (my oldest is shipping out for Japan this week and only had leave in mid-November).  We had a second Thanksgiving in Chicago with Randy's family, which seriously altered diet, exercise and sleeping. It was a wonderful family gathering, but I was frequent chilled because I hadn't brought enough warm clothes for their large home. All of this was worked into the middle of an unusually heavy hospital schedule extending over a six-week period (hospital weeks are always more draining than regular lab work).  I came back from Chicago and jumped into working on Christmas cards (with a traditional  long letter), which I wanted to get out early to make sure everyone had the new name and address.

         As soon as the main rush (and my hospital rotations) were over, I collapsed with a terrific head & chest cold. A few days of forced bed rest, lots of herbal and over-the counter cold remedies, and I’m finally back on my feet. The days off were spent quietly at home, taking care of myself, getting the house decorated, and Christmas cards finished up for mailing. I have to admit it is wonderful now to spend December without the usual pressures, since so much was handled earlier.

          Yet, it seems to me--despite a rare holiday season this year that seems quiet and more in keeping with the ideals of the season--most years, I still fall into the rut of trying to make the holidays special by running myself ragged.  Will I ever get to the point where peace and harmony are a routine part of December, or is falling back into the rut of physical, emotional and/or sensory overload just part of being a mother who loves to keep the traditions and memories alive?

          I’d just gone through a long and drawn out beating from another lifetime.  I’d gone through the emotional, gut-wrenching pain of deepest guilt.  I’d uncovered the protective psychological barriers I’d etched in my soul, to protect myself from ever enduring a similar experience.

          Still, I was reminded of that magical moment when you deliver a baby and all the memory of labor pain disappears, as if it had never existed or was too trivial to bother remembering.  So it was with lifetime lessons.  Once the lesson was realized, the pain that went before seemed to vanish.  The wonder and magic of this new awareness over-shadowed everything that led to its unveiling.

           In its place now was a sense of accomplishment, as if this single realization was my biggest step forward, my greatest achievement of many lifetimes.  My awareness opened up.  I was looking outward into countless lifetimes, seeing the effect of this one erroneous concept over and over.  And suddenly I was feeling the healing of all those lifetimes.  Pain dissolved in understanding.  Peace and calmness wove their strength into my soul.

            And my awareness opened again.  The Eck Masters surrounded me.  No longer did I see patient and anticipating smiles.  Now there were relaxed smiles and even laughter.  Some wandered past to give a pat on the back or wrap an arm around my shoulder. Some winked or nodded from a distance, their faces beaming.  As I looked out over the gathering I saw hands raised in greeting or acknowledgment.

            Wait. Back up a minute. I didn’t understand. This was a big step for me.  I had finally accepted a truth that before I’d been unable to accept.  That was my own inner victory.  What I was looking at now, however, made no sense to me.

            I turned and sought out Shiva and Kali, only to find a similar reception.  I thought of them as spiritual parents; they had always embraced me as a beloved child.  Though they remained warm and tender, the relationship had definitely changed; I was left totally confused.  It seemed as if everyone knew what was going on behind the scenes, except me, of course.

           I left the inner worlds and, returning to the everyday world, crawled into my bed.  There I lay, thinking of all I had experienced that night.  As the glow of higher states of awareness dissolved, I became aware of my physical condition and a sharp stabbing pain near the top of both feet, close to the ankles.  Odd, I thought.  Perhaps my position for meditation had been out of kilter.  Perhaps I had been longer in meditation than I realized.

           It was probably a muscle cramp.  I was familiar with cramps across the bottom of my foot.  Sometimes when I stretched the muscles out, pulling the foot backwards would trigger off cramps across the top of my foot. Those were harder to work out but they still responded to stretching or walking.  I pulled my toes downward and grimaced.

            A muscle cramp should pull beneath the surface of the skin, parallel to the bone.  This sensation was nothing like that.  My God, it felt as if someone had driven spikes through my feet.

            As soon as I said it, I rejected the whole idea as illogical.  I kept stretching through the pain, trying to understand the sensation.  It was a sharp, jagged feeling, driving downward from the upper part of my foot almost through to the other side.  Hard, sharp and jagged -- like broken bone?  Could this be a carry over from Seeka’s beating?

           Stretching only seemed to intensify the pain.  I lay quiet, trying to ignore the pain and consciously relax muscles.  Five minutes later, I decided to walk out the pain.  Maybe I could take pain medication to lessen the intensity.  I rolled out of bed and was horrified---every step was acutely painful.  I tried to relax into the pain, to stretch through the pain.  No.  Each step remained torturous.  Slowly I hobbled my way to the bathroom, supporting as much weight as possible with hands braced against the wall.  I downed two ibuprofen tablets and slowly, painfully, hobbled my way back to bed.

            This was not a muscle spasm.  That would have been walked away long before I reached the bathroom. How long would this last? How long?  It could be a psychic impression.  If so, then the longer I focused on the pain, the longer and more intense would be the experience.  I needed sleep.  Maybe if I distracted myself I could forget the foot pain long enough to fall asleep.  Chances were the memory of pain would be gone by morning.

           So I thought back to my teachers and the strange shift in our relationships. You know, there was one part of pantheism I had struggled to understand.  Suppose that I accepted the idea of being unable to comprehend the divine from a human state of awareness.  I was supposed to focus on a conceptual form of the divine.  I was to give my love and devotion to whatever godform I worshipped and that would bring me closer to the divine.

            But I had argued, if I worshipped a lesser form how would I ever come to understand or reach the divine itself?  Wouldn’t I be stuck worshipping a godform of the divine forever?  No, I had been told.  There would come a point where the godform of the divine would catapult the seeker beyond itself into the formless divine.

          Despite my belief in a formless divinity I realized I had grown used to seeing the Hindu, Buddhist, Christian and Egyptian godforms as authority figures.  I had quit trying to see beyond.  Now perhaps I was ready.  I had learned what I had to learn from them.

            The only memory that came close to matching this feeling was when I graduated from high school. From the moment of my graduation my relationship with my teachers changed.  I was not their equal.  Not by any means.  But I was no longer their student.  I might be able to go back to them for advice and support but the relationship would never be the same.  Perhaps high school was a fitting analogy.  As much as I could revel in my accomplishment, I was also aware that I had only passed the first hurtle.  This was the easy stuff, the preliminary.   Now the real work began.