Why Do We Monitor Ourselves?

Checking in to where I am checking out always takes courage for me. I would far rather drift in some limbo of not bad, not workaholic, not cortisol, super mediocre than really look into the face the place I now claim as now.

sun set or dawn watch the light

Last night, I had a long, drawn up multi -phase dream about the disengagement that my family chooses as it default setting modus operandi as I spun out a narrative of failure to protect, fear of connect.

When I have these vivid dreams, I am also very grateful. It is like watching my computer “repair a link” and the bar slowly fills up with the message of mending.

To see clearly is not something that comes easily in this human state. We are all clumpish, physical, and inefficient at making change.

I think about the old mimeographs I had to make when I was teaching. I would crank the handle and the room would fill up with the chemical smell, the paper would be coated in a bath of oil like residue and the original master would slowly degrade.

 

The reward for walking: view

Where I am now is not much beyond that mechanical turning of the print. I can see where I am stuck. I can see where I am handicapped. But my dreams……

My dreams give me the bigger view. They show me exactly where the monitoring is failing to make a clear, total imprint.

The very fact that I am surprised that I have put on weight and 1/2 an inch on my waist when I have been systematically working toward that goal.

The very fact that I have not finished editing my book Walking the Streets of Blood for the 5th edit when I made that promise to myself is obvious if I look at it.

I go to the calendar and see the stickers I have put on for exercise, meditation, writing and I argue with what I see. NO!

“NO!,” I say. “I meditated every day. I wrote many blogs. I worked out I am sure of it. I remember being sore.”

The ego is such a child that when I have lost focus and gone into distraction mode, I refuse to admit to it. I deny it.

So while I was hiding from myself and making excuses, the days have kept coming. And as a result,  my goals have slipped past me in January.

I have even gone into loss land. Oh, I can argue until the flying pigs come back to roost, but there it is.

What I do at these times where the monitoring is revealing a truth, is I attempt to buck myself up. A depressed person does not achieve a lot of growth.

So I look at how much social contact I have had over the past month; I look at how many Oracle Readings I have done; I look at the food I have been eating which is organic and wholesome.

These things exist at the same time: the growth actions and the self sabotage. And the real gift of self monitoring is to simply see the whole picture and to know that resetting, beginning again, renewing the vows that I made to myself are simply an organic part of the process.

I stood on Knox Mountain today and looked at the vibrant blues and saturated whites of the land and lake below me and I patted my inner child self and said, “Good job.”

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Maslow Spoke to Me while I Was Washing Dishes

Yesterday I had a very down day. I don’t mean that I was gothic weeping and trailing my torn black gown around the dusty floor. The emotional element was not telenovela drama but rather just a sense of disconnection. Like having lost my keys, I simply misplaced my joy.

I woke up from another dream about having a job. It has happened for several days now. It indicates to me that my sense of purpose program is firmly tied with my past habits and experiences. I return to the work as being “on purpose” in my dreams. The small flash thought of “am I up to this job?” comes in the unconscious state. However, I wake up happy knowing that I was up to the challenges set for me during my slumber.

The good news is that I simply allowed the non-productive, stalled and slack-ass day to run its course.

A friend suggested that I have been following political drama so closely that I was dealing with the “negativity virus” I had picked up.

 

The ability to step back and observe myself with love and compassion allowed for yesterday to simply be another lesson. I observed that “this woman” had a low down flat in the bed wrapped in the bathrobe kind of day. But she did not trash talk herself, nag herself, create a sense of fear that somehow she was losing the competitive edge, the race to the finish line, all possible changes at the opportunity.

It was a victory for me to see I simply refrained from taking myself out into an alley and beating the crap out of myself for being human.

As I was doing the dishes this morning after coming back from a 30 minute walk, it occurred to me that I am always pushing into new territory in my relationship with myself.

When I first began this journey of changing my story, looking at my trauma, allowing my darkness, I treated myself like a baby.

The workaholic self in the past would not allow me to get much sleep, or stop for the washroom, or eat regularly. From that point, I have transformed myself. Physical self care is a deeply hard wired habit. I rarely even notice how beautifully I attend my body.

The environment of my home; the energy in my friend’s groups; the care I take of my spirit are all now hard wired. My house is clean, my friends are supportive and accept me for where I am in my journey, and I have the sense that I am surrounded and protected by spirit constantly.

As I was washing the dishes, I suddenly understood that the higher levels of Maslow’s pyramid where now where I needed to climb.

Not knowing how to be joyous, not understanding when I need to stop and do something that makes me feel radiantly alive, waiting too long to recharge at the Tesla station are the next areas of growth.

Yesterday, as I lay with unbrushed hair, an old bathrobe semi-wrapped around me because I was too dispirited to find the ties and my mind gone to some Netflix distraction zone I did not hate on myself. However, I can see today that it was where I needed to go.

Always, there are lessons and opportunities to grow.

I am simply higher up the pyramid and on new ground. I stood in the cold air on Knox Mountain this morning engulfed by the no self beauty. The gray and the cold was boundless.

It is all a lesson if I step back far enough, I can see it below spreading out, this life; these narratives; these thousands of experiences just structures like the houses spread out below me.

So working on allowing joy is the next assignment. And you have to know me to understand what an amazing revelation that is. Or perhaps not. Perhaps you just get it.

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Dizziness. Moths or Butterflies Energy Flapping

Today Trump with a stroke of the pen ended Standing Rock, the TTP, and made an agreement with Canada to allow pipe lines to cross major farm lands.

We experienced, or planned, or walked in one of the largest gatherings of women since the 1913 demonstrations for the right to vote.

The assumption has been that social liberalism was a developed philosophy with its commiserate protection of all members of a society in the contemporary Western world. Included in that concept was the protection of the earth and the environment to ensure that our progeny would inherit a safe and stable existence on the earth.

We are all dealing with the sudden apparent shifting of energy. The activation of fear has created more scenarios for fear. It is a dark energy that feeds upon itself in order to grow.

We know from social anthropological studies, from brain chemistry studies that when people feel safe, when they feel happy and protected they are more likely to be compassionate. Their thinking is more creative and they are more able to McGyver a solution.

Most of us are familiar with the Star Trek episode called The Trouble with Tribbles. Creatures that live on anxiety exponentially increase when they are feared.

 

Fear creates Fear

We are seeing “push back” happening with the Marching of Women (and their partners) across the globe.

We are seeing some of the raising of awareness in our own town of Kelowna as voters push back on the issues of stalling/rejection of a safe injection site and the threat on park land by a proposal from City Council to build a tourist bureau on prime lake front property.

Today I posted on Facebook my reaction to these two seemingly different issues:

The education, the studies, the academic follow up to the effectiveness of injection sites has been collected for over 15 years. What the voting public is looking at is a general issue in the city, in the Okanagan, in the province. It is a philosophy focused on very 1980’s, 1990’s retro-thinking.

Everything we must do to move into a more compassionate, caring, green and thriving world is being blocked. Climate change is being ignored in the attempt to placate voters with short term jobs. Child protection systems are failing because of a lack of commitment to creating a new structure that is proven to work to wisely deal with abuse cycles.

Building commerce pushing structures in the major city park when it is known, proven that for a contemporary city to thrive it must attract young, creative individuals working in green business sectors. A recent survey of young professional indicated that only 6% would consider moving to Kelowna because of these short sighted actions which defeat the possibility of a vibrant future.

Ignoring the environmental limitations of having a city in a semi-desert valley with its limited water resources in the name of short term financial gain is wrong headed.

It is not ONE thing. It is an entire mind set that is the block. Learning to care for one another; learning to care for the environment; learning to care for the creation of a sustainable future needs to happen within the political structure.

There is only one way to move past this philosophy and it is for people to see that the block is there. Reacting to one arm of the octopus is exhausting and ineffective.

Today as I sat in my bath, I heard the organizer of Occupy talk about the dead end of mass demonstrations. Occupy become a distinct moment in time and has had no long term effect.

In this shared interview on CBC this morning a long term political activist echoed the sentiment:

Jay Pitter, an author with ten years of experience in public engagement, has her own suggestions for people who want to make change.

“I think every single woman who attended that march — and women who did not — should create something that I call a personal action plan to ensure tangible action,” she said.

Pitter said people should start by identifying an issue to focus on, then take stock of the resources they have to bring to the table and research people already working on in the area.

“Then women need to sit down and develop a timeline with milestones so they are really measuring their actions and their impact,” she said.

Where do we go from here? We can stay home and feel more and more dizzy, confused, sickened by what is going on. We can troll, snipe, attack, vilify those who do not agree with us. Or we can encourage others who have the skill and experience of succeeding in activism to step up.

 

As with most things in life, if we wait for the lesson to go from a whisper to a bulldozer plowing through our security structures, we will eventually take action. But as one who has had her life flattened three times from refusal to act early on, I really prefer the early response method now.

Where do we go from here? Well, the tribbles are growing.

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When You Have Run Out of Fixes

When the last series on Netflix that drew your attention was finished at 2 a.m.; when the last day of sun in the sky was well over a week ago; when the next change in the weather system threatens to be weeks from now; when the list of things you intend to do are as uninteresting as eating a slice of the heel of stale week old bread; when the business is slow and friends are all caved up fighting some heroic battle with a plague like virus; when you find yourself going through emails from nobody interesting and watching posts from Facebook with no thing except postings of the insistence of the wrongness of other dunder headed dumbed down walking dead vampire black night of ignorance creatures; when the prevailing smell in your house is of the super strong vinegar you have used to unblock the drains because damn it you will get something done today; when you watch the Tony Robbins video and your response is “Fuck you, Tony Robbins,”; when your entire narrative is bland, obstructive not like a sand storm but more like a dandelion head storm with no particular drama offering itself to juice you awake; that is when you hope you are at the bottom of it.

But you walk over the calendar after drifting on the internet for three hours and see, holy hell, that it is still January. You are prepared for this feeling of disconnect and floating disembodied grayness but now now. Not yet!

 

February, my mother used to repeated tell me, was when the lab where she worked had more medical tests than the other eleven months together. People were coming in to try to figure out the rash, the cough, the fever, the diarrhea, the sense of weakness, the lack of will. But, she told me, it is just the February affliction for places where the sun has been banned by low pressure fronts, rain clouds, obscuring mists.

So I do what Tony has yelled at me to do. I will not listen to my mind. And then maybe when I am 85 I will have been in a helicopter with the doors open flying my family around the sky beyond any clouds right into a freaking rainbow.

Why?

So I put vinegar in the drains, I dust, I do dishes, and I make a list for the day even though the smirching darkness is headed in.

This being human is an amazing challenge. And it isn’t even February yet. I might make toast and bury it in sugary jam. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

When you have run out of fixes there is always coffee and toast.

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All Trump’s Eve

There is a tension in the air of North America and a watchfulness of the world on the eve of Trump’s inauguration. Once when I was in New Mexico, the air felt stretched thin. It was hot and impressively still as I stood in the laundromat. The sound of crickets, dogs, people moving through the streets just stopped. The pressure had built to the point of affliction.

 

getting caught in the whirl wind

And as I watch social media tonight there is a similar sense of prescient not knowing. People are not knowing how this happened. People are not knowing if the new president is the result of fate, corruption spiraling out of control (because corruption has a decent structure), or if it somehow his or her own fault (I should have know/voted/chosen differently).

The vacuum is oppressive. Obama is leaving and there is only emotion to replace him. To relieve the yawning opening sense of loss, people are choosing a particular focus.

Some are huddled fearfully under the stairs trying not to breathe noisily. Some are armed with weapons of mass distraction. Others are deciding to march. Demonstrators are planning to witness for human rights; to witness for their new leader; to act as a human barricade between three other factions (see meat wall).

William Butler Yeats lived in a time that was also “an opening” or shift in global energy. And it is his words that come to mind from the poem The Second Coming:

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

The only thing that I know is that the weather systems will change. There are laws of shifting air, exchanges of temperature, moisture, pressure that are at work.

And it is only increasing the velocity of emotion if I stand anticipating that either the storm will come, a violence of rain or unexpected winds. I clean my house. I work out. I leave the house with the intention of enjoying those I meet.

It is a time to release attachment to a story. It is not the time to cling to the necessity to be correct.

I will do what I can for social justice, for human rights and the rest I will leave to the fates.

I remember standing in the laundromat and allowing the sweat to suddenly appear and roll down my body. And then the rain drove the dust high into the air. The downpour cleaned everything in its way. That is my hope for after this storm.

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Risk Taking for the Timid

Well I have obviously been gifted with high levels of Monoamine oxidase (which functions as a regulator of risky behaviour). Individuals with high levels are seen to have an entire narrative generated from the brain as they sit assessing a possible risky action.

 

down the slippery street

In the past, If I stood on a step ladder, I would spin out the story of me spinning out and falling backward onto my neighbour’s fence. This choose your own adventure pattern had me selecting various outcomes. I could see in full three dimensional colour projections the future quadriplegic self learning to use a mouth tap to read books. The equally likely story would roll out of the wheel chair bound woman who builds her upper body strength to over come all limitations. The brain damaged person whose hair is never more dyed and comes out in gray roots as she drools upon her self would be another possibility. The blinded by grape vines cane tapping ever wary woman could be the outcome.  Or the super woman who pushes herself at just the right moment to fly beyond the fence and land upon her feet was another script that would flash into my head.

I did not like travelling in fast cars, on escalators, on rope bridges, in glass encased elevators or taking off or landing on planes. Always, my brain which had soaked in years of literature would align some outcome from any activity.

The few times I tried to be outrageously courageous did not work out well. In university a group of my husband’s male friends decided to pee in an alleyway. I too was overflowing. So I wanted to “show them” how one of the guys I was. I carefully went behind a barrier, pulled down my pants and stepped on a gigantic nail facing upward in a board. Limping home and then getting to the emergency ward for a tetus shot was I felt the natural outcome for one who had taken such a hasty action.

Is it worth it?

I followed the rules. I wore safety gear. I said, “no thank you,” to most of the adventures that the other 20 year olds in the 1960’s set off on. I looked for fire exits when I went into a room. I kept purse handles, luggage, objects out of the way in rooms I stayed in. I was careful with knives and scissors always.

One of the things that mindfulness practice has done for me is to make me very aware when my high levels of monoamine oxidase is leading me into anxiety, I stop the spiral. My practice of asking, “What if,” helps tremendously.

What if my response is just wisdom? What if my response is bio-chemical? What if my response is irrelevant?

I went to Peru… up the Amazon

The question becomes: ” Is this risk going to make me feel an opening up to life?” The question becomes: ” Is this risk simply a way to distract myself and hook into the necessity for peak experience?”

I watch my reaction and stay in the middle. Fearing the risk, seeking the risk is irrelevant. What values am I pursuing in my life? Sometimes I get on a small plane in a windstorm because I wish to feel safe in the world. Sometimes I walk alone at night because I wish to feel safe in the world. Sometime I say exactly what I am thinking because I want to show up in the world. None of my decisions are based on the thrill of taking the risk in and of itself. But then, I was born with very high monoamine oxidase. And I made it to 72 years of age.

Being aware that who we are, is a gift, makes the mind so much calmer. And a calmer person is more capable of taking well assessed risks. Every day is a new beginning to explore. And there is no story.

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How to Live in Interesting Times

These are not trivial times. You would have to have been abducted and put in some shed, bunker, outback hill hollowed out captive at random especially built structure to be unaware.

 

Every beautiful thing is here

It is a time of triggered, reactive, defensive, spewing of fear. So many are feeling like their nervous systems have been tasered and as they finish their convulsions of neurological energy epilepsy, they lay limp looking around for WHO did that. They find some post on facebook, or twitter, or snapchat or some news source and attach all of their explosive overload onto that one thing.

The other day a troll fight broke out about Oprah and Weight waters. What was her motivation? Was she altruistic? Was she simply marketing? God help us all if we can’t believe in the Oprah Ministry of Follow Me.

I put up a response as I watched some insisting that Oprah was being disrespected and attacked by others’ comments. Reading through the thread again, I saw not one disrespectful comment. I was curious.

Then I got it. Good lord the media is corrupt. We have to cover our heads to protect ourselves from the revelations that most of the structures, systems, institutions, inculcated belief systems are mind prisons and simply not reliable. We are like a partner in a marriage that has been betrayed and can no longer believe in anyone.

People are like children. The safety corner is gone. The sanctuary is a myth. Daddy is a monster and has committed atrocities that we weep to see.

So what is left? The limbic system is running the show. We have four choices when we are in rapid foaming at the mouth fear states: fight, flight, fornicate, feed.

The cracks mean reformation

And so people are triggered instantaneously. They are having trouble with insomnia. They are experiencing neurological diseases for some yet unexplained reason. They are walking around with a skin crawling type of anxiety.

Blaming themselves works for a while and then they look outward.

The question becomes, “Who is attacking me now?”
How else do you explain the tsunami of cortisol flowing through the society?

What if the crow were yellow?

So we attack one another. Somebody out there is doing this to me. Something out there is doing this to me. And then the eyes squinch up and they fall upon somebody who is attacking the vestiges of faith they still manage to cling to.

Oprah… no. I will fight for this symbol of light and truth.

I joking said that people are so triggered at the present time and so engaged in verbal fist fights on social media that I dare not post I like sweet pickles.

Somebody will come on the thread and say only garlic dill pickles are real and good. Sweet pickles are chemical, GMO, owned by a devil company, poisoning heavy lead mercury nano robot bone marrow depleting.

And heaven protect us all if I had said olives are the best.

And so we have become like children or frightened animals and race around looking for someone else to blame for the clearly and truly chaotic energy place the world occupies today.

Now more than ever, we are called upon to ground ourselves and become mindful. To see the flash of fear energy entering the body or leaving the body is to be in a place where you are no longer a victim.

It is what meditators strive for. It is what paramedics strive for. The calm understand that people are hurt right now will allow you to be able to see everything with the higher brain function. Instead of being a victim, you can become an emergency worker. You can show up with love. You can show up with compassion. It is what we are being called to do.

And I have no emotion around Oprah, pickles, which music group is the best. The heated debates are the result of marauding gangs of victims looking for a way to release fear. It is unnecessary.

The result is a population that is more fearful and more easily manipulated.

Sit down. Meditate. Check your body. Everything you need that allows you to grow up is right there.

You eat whatever pickles or olives you wish listening to any music that makes you vibe high and learn to believe in yourself and your instincts. There is no Daddy or Mommy. We are grown ups.

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The Mandela Effect. Consciousness Cookie Cutting

Today I was introduced to the Mandela Effect in one of Bashar’s you tube videos. Bashar is a channel who is emphatic, entertaining and engaging.

He assesses the energy shift that is occurring since the Fall of 2016 as the beginning of an entirely different sense of reality. The Mandela effect aligns with the ideas postulated in the study of physics.

All times are one. All possibilities are present at once. All alternatives lives, histories, global energies are at the same time.

The Mandela Effect is a study of how a group of people can hold a tribal belief. The term is garnered from the latest online conspiracy theory that argues we are living in an alternate reality.

The Mandela Effect was named by paranormal enthusiast Fiona Broome when she discovered she wasn’t the only one who wrongly believed Nelson Mandela died in prison in the 1980s.

When I look at the splitting off of “alternative” reality camps that are forming around political beliefs; that are creating a normative response to different races, religions, lifestyles; that have hardcore variance in trust in science, I can see how the Mandela Effect is a definite possibility in today’s world.

First, in politics there are groups who believe that the Democrats rigged the election; others who believe the Republicans rigged the election; others who believe the Russians rigged the elections. The sense that only those that I believe hold truth is isolating us into groups that have little interaction with one another. And at times create so much fear that vitriol spills out.

The planet is dying; the planet can still be saved; there is nothing wrong with the planet are all currently held belief systems.

The differing systems of reality are becoming so divisive that people are refusing to have contact with any other individual, group or source that does not hold an aligned belief with the ones they hold dear.

If Mandela died in 1980, then all of the information has been co-opted, controlled, reconstructed. There is OUR truth and the rest are all manufactured lies.

Physics talks about alternative realities. And what we are seeing today is people choosing which field of truth, which hallway of forward movement they will select to reside within.

My mind takes me to a similar word; a Mandala… distinct formations, clumps, shapes of belief creating a pattern. The original meaning of this geometric shape was a symbol in a dream, representing the dreamer’s search for completeness.

The questions of who is right; who is correct is ultimately irrelevant. The anxiety driven goal of believing that others are deluded at best and down right evil at worst is an irrelevancy.

The path to completeness is in staying open and dropping the necessity to be right. Being focused on being correct is a trap. It keeps us small. It keeps us always scanning the horizon for a perceived enemy. Everything “out there” is a black op.

As we separate from those who hold differing beliefs and isolate ourselves into tribes of alternative lives, we become smaller and smaller.

We end up arguing at a party that Mandela died in 1980, or 2008 or is still alive.

It just ends up being another distraction from the goal of being alive which is to learn compassion.

What if all of it and none of it was true all at once? It is a possibility.

As the Youngbloods wrote in the song Get Together:
Some may come and some may go
We shall surely pass
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last
We are but a moment’s sunlight
Fading in the grass

Come on people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another
Right now

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Planting Seeds

The thoughts that pass within my brain; that flow in my mind; that cycle in habit spin are simply seeds. With every impulse of cognitive planting the past pushes pressure into the earth of now. And with that seed the future is impressed and will grow.

There are times that are so clearly a space between what I have experienced, created, maintained, and invested in and that which I hold as a possible future existence. I have been feeling that prescience without the clarity of a precise vision lately.

I see what it is I cannot see. I understand how what I have dragged into the present is the dead weight of slain monsters from the past. The seed demons for the new crop have been kept as if they were treasures.

Loosening my grip on the old, heavy narratives is allowing a growing curiosity to present itself.

What am I becoming? What beautiful exotic crop I do not know how to name is growing out of my sight.

Spring will bring a growth of something not yet imagined. There is the sense that joy, sweetness and quiet belonging are descriptors of what is to come.

And so I plant the seeds of unexplained optimism. I push new stories in the ground not even stopping to open my hand to push them around. I don’t have a name for them, for it, for the future. But I am confident that what I am doing now is exactly what is supposed to happen.

I am content. I am confident.

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The OA. Why now?

I have finished watching the first season of The OA and I was astounded about how creatives can pick up on a scent in the wind. Creative persons feel cultural shifts. They become a barometer of in coming weather.

Brit Marling is reflecting back to her viewers a message that is totally in tune with their own internalized perceptions. For a narrative to succeed, the one who views/reads it must identify with the protagonist.

With that in mind it is easy to see constructs that are being held in some kind of contemporary convergence. Those who are “captive” have no physical control over their environment. They no longer have privacy. The reason they have become lab rats is because they are more spiritual, have a more heightened awareness, and hold a belief system that is beyond that of mundane society. It is the paradox created by the us and them mentality.

So much of our current story telling in books, in movies, in television shows is wound around the spinal “truth” that we have been mislead. We, as a society, have believed in limitations; have lived in the idea of isolation; have been captive to concepts created by an old mode of thinking.

The ego has laid a spike strip on the road. If an individual allows their beyond mundane experiences to be perceived, what will happen to her or him? We must be careful of growth, or being “seen.”

Two major concepts that I see reflected in social media at the present time is that we are collectively “captured” by some manifested form of Dr. Hunter Hap. The glass cages are perfectly analogous to the screens on social media. We can connect in limited ways, empathize with one another but we can never touch each other.

The Democratic Party, or the Corporate Elites, or the media, or the Electoral College, or the current government, or the incoming government has us trapped. We are locked down and must suffer.

The only courage is to suffer as bravely as we can.

There is, somewhere, information that we need to access. It can be “given” to us.

Issues of control are prevalent. In our own lives, issues of formulation of personal destiny are driving us. We feel that we are somehow between worlds.

The answer according to the mythology of the series is that we must physically work together in a group.

I thought about how much yoga informs the series. The belief system that moving in a certain way opens us to universal source is patently a Western Belief. Yoga as it is prevalent in European society is not the Yoga that came from the East. We in the West hold the truth to be self evident that we must pursue goals. We are only making progress if we are physically working at it.

Five people doing yoga moves at once changes energy. We hold that as a group belief system.

So as I viewed the series, I thought about the despair I am seeing among so many. The sense of being captive in a scientific system that is transitioning to the early stages of an understanding of energy is being met by fear. Where are the old rules?

How can I make “correct” choices if the ten commandments have been exploded by a laser gun? Where do I belong in a world that is shifting so rapidly I can barely make out the new constructs before they disappear and something else is worshipped?

We can no longer rely on a centralized concept to guide us. But what we are drawn to and what we see popular culture believe is evident in The OA.

We are captives. We are unable to get close to others. What we hold close as a belief may not be true or may not be true for long. We are misunderstood. Only by taking certain proscribed physical actions and working with others will we find a way to hold power in the world.

The end of the show was a perfect example of where these current limiting anxiety beliefs lead us. We are like Steve who runs behind the ambulance calling out, “Take me with you. Take me with you.”

We are desperate for surety but caught in a world where there is only investigation. The OA appeals to us because we can so deeply identify with the type of isolation that is only alleviated by finding a group that is creating a paradigm that makes us feel safe.

When we feel fear, it is lessened by watching the fear enacted in others. It is the cathartic role of art. The release of the repressed emotions lowers the tension of the viewer.

The OA is doing a service to many who feel trapped.

It is my belief that we will grow into an understanding that we, each one, can find connection. We can find connection to other people; we can receive space to be who we were meant to be; we can no longer create our own cages of belief. I think that is where we are headed. And artists will be the ones who herald in the entry of the new cosmology. They will know.

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