How was your first day of this new, 9th cycle, of Universal or Unity Consciousness? Did you pay attention?
This is the first of two articles in which I will explore what “happened” to me yesterday, Day One of Calleman’s version of the Mayan Calendar’s 9th Wave Unity Consciousness, the final wave, only 260 days long, which runs from March 9 through September 28, 2011.
In this Part I, the backstory:
I spent a good part of yesterday contemplating the nature of my life for the last 12 years, since January 5, 1999, when the 8th Wave launched us into yet another 20x time acceleration.
To begin the 8th cycle, I (and we) progressed from fearing the world would end on “Y2K,” January 1, 2000, to seeing the world as we’d known it end on September 11, 2001 — and spiral into hell from there, morphing into the breathtaking global cabal/illuminati’s end-stage drama with corporatist international bankers pulling the strings of a financial ponzi scheme that sucks up all fiat money, dictates endless wars, and deliberately induces starvation, disease, pollution, environmental ruin, and other forms of killing off the rest of us as “useless eaters.” And, in the past two or three years, the inevitable reaction, as the people of the world start to wake up to what has been foisted upon us, recognize how we have allowed a tiny minority of several hundred people to control and suffocate the lives of billions, while ridiculing any perspective that places Earth in its larger cosmic home.
Meanwhile, in my own little corner of the world, since 2001: I closed my magazine, Crone Chronicles (2001); I wrote, on request and with a miniscule advance, a book length biography for Parabola which was refused when my famework for the woman’s life turned astrological; my husband and I moved from a 20-foot diameter yurt in Jackson Hole Wyoming to a suburban ranch house in Bloomington, Indiana (2002) where he suddenly died, three months later (January, 2003).
And that’s just the first four years. It went on like that, liketty-split. I spent a year in solitude and grief, wrote and published an award-winning book, toured 10,000 miles in seven states for 30 workshops in two months; remodeled my kitchen and added porch and greenhouse; was founding editor for a new Crone magazine to help the new publisher get it off the ground; took the permaculture design course; morphed into a neighborhood activist; bought the house next door and started a neighborhood garden to grow food, educate, and inspire community; and the latest, immersing myself more and more deeply into ET/UFO realities and their impact upon and interrelationship with Earth and earthlings.
Add to that several adventures of the heart and annual or semi-annual visits with family on both coasts — kids, grandkids, still-living parents in their mid-90s, seven siblings and their spouses —the next visit ten days from now, when I fly to Seattle for a niece’s wedding.
Whew! And that’s just one way of telling the story of just one little person, me! I’m sure all of my close female friends could tick off an equivalent list of astounding events, processes, switches, miracles — because we’ve been “working our issues,” “sitting in our stuff,” for years, even decades prior to the last 12 years.
I’ve noticed that the more I let go of what held me in place emotionally (old repeating karmic patterns that kept me bogged down), the faster life moves, the freer, more alive I feel! And if that was true in the 8th wave, what will this 9th cycle bring, one which compresses the same slam bang intensity of events that we flew through in twelve years to only 260 days??
It used to be that it took years and years to process through crucial childhood wounds, They were like the air I breathed; they were lodged into tissues and organs and cells — so so deep that I had no idea of their existence. All I knew was that I felt depressed, lethargic, bored.
And when I did begin to wake up — noticing that, for example, I had attracted a lover who was “just like my Dad” again, and starting to recognize the pattern in that, my innate curiosity led me to ask why, and to recognize that I was trapped. The actual feeling of being trapped followed, and ignited a burning desire to break free.
I have to go back to the early ’60s to find this “me” who was so stuck then, in an early marriage to a man who controlled me the way my father did, through relentless criticism.
When I did begin to feel my feelings, they felt heavy, like lead, like a mountain crushing my solar plexus and heart. Gradually, along with close female friends, we all started to “process” these wounds of ours, spending years with processing as our primary focus, co-counseling each other, journaling, learning symbolic languages, writing down our dreams. . .
As the Chinese might say, we were busy “clearing our meridians,” the pathways that chi, the life force fueling the universe, is designed to course through.
Little by little, we began to notice that it took less and less time to process any single event or wound. And that even while we were processing it, the situation felt lighter, not nearly as heavy or stuck as when we were young and blind and dumb, weighed down by guilt and pain and fury.
Though I was well on my way towards putting the past behind me twelve years ago, I still found plenty of unexpected events to process during the 8th wave cycle. But by this time processing felt like second nature, and I didn’t even need to keep a journal or talk to a woman about what was going on. Instead, I did, and do, chi kung, tai chi, and yoga everyday, to keep the meridians clear. And, as I have done for 40 years, I eat right and sleep enough, and walk three miles daily. As a result, I stay pretty much in balance, no matter what comes in from left field.
During the 8th cycle, the time I needed to process events kept shortening, to the point where a few weeks ago I began to speak of integrating shock as “pivoting around a point.” Fast. Almost immediate. No big deal.
I feel blessed and grateful to have been one of the female pioneers who learned how to process our feelings so long ago. We’ve actually been at it since the rise of the second wave of feminism in the ’60s, with the publication of Betty Friedan’s book, and her phrase, “the problem that has no name.” And, we’ve gotten better and better at it, and we’ve helped our male counterparts learn how, too. And our children. By this time we are an enormous choir of “enlightened” (i.e., not so heavy, weighed down with old gunky wounds) souls here to help others integrate the shocks of this final, unity cycle now beginning, where we will each pivot around the center point of our own world, over and over again, remaining in balance as the collective infrastructures that have been held in place since the rise of the industrial world continue to disintegrate, and loosen us all from the seemingly terminal strangehold of the cabal’s nefarious plans.
Those who have not learned how to process their experiences, who have instead denied that they feel anything, who have been roboticized, or anesthetized themselves to feel nothing, will simply not be able to absorb and integrate shock. There will not be enough time to sit back and allow the integrative work of processing. Processing takes time. The press of events are going to demand that we be able to move from one astonishing moment to the next, with out blinking and hardly any break.
Their bodies will be too thick, too stuck in the mechanical push-pull of the third dimension. Hopefully, we “lightworkers” can serve as temporary ports in the storm, places of refuge, during this coming period that some will experience as chaos, terrifying, and others will experience as liberation, exciting. The breakdown is also a breakthrough. Into unity consciousness.
That’s the story I tell in Part 2. For I did experience an astonishing wave of unity consciousness, yesterday. For one brief and shining moment, when it was absolutely and precisely required in order to remain alive in this body, I was graced with the essentially fluid nature of so-called physical laws.