I’m playing around with various ideas as to how to curb my seemingly addictive appetite for continuously updating this blog with whatever impulses itself through me. Would like to structure my posts a bit more, and to limit them, so as to focus more energy on the work of bringing A Soul’s Journey into publishable form.
Two posts in two days both took their origin via synchronicities, those remarkable, “irrational” conjunctions of events, ideas, dreams — or whatever — that seem to appear out of nowhere and, if we pay attention, can lay out a seemingly miraculous path in the otherwise mystifying and impenetrable jungle that has become the clamoring tangle of “news” on the people’s voice Internet.
The first post considered the idea of “loosh”
The second, the phenomenon called “Janus-faced.”
So, I ask myself, what would happen if I decided NOT to post on this blog until some synchronicity prompted me? Would I post less often? Let’s hope so! Even I get exhausted from the continuous flow that just seems to want to use my body/mind/soul to push into the world a kind of constantly fracturing and dizzying perspective that provokes the mind and heart to open wider and wider while deepening the soul’s connection to Earth.
I imagine I probably would post less often, because each post would most likely undergo a longer gemination process — which means that part of my unconscious would be preoccupied with both opening to synchronicities and weaving them together into some kind of (limited) coherence. A thread of “meaning,” if you will. Or a scrap of creation, like art, useless in the long run, but somehow, weirdly, satisfying in the NOW. As if some circle has been closed, some cycle clicked into place. Whew! I can rest now, center myself again, in this ever-expanding universe.
Question (to myself): if so, if I did limit myself to posts that arose out of synchronicity, then would the underground gestation work of each one distract me from the mostly technical (so not all that interesting to one who always seeks new horizons) work on getting A Soul’s Journey ready for publication to the point where it would keep me from doing that work?
Here, by the way, is a taste:
And then another part of me chimes in: WHY DO YOU WANT TO PUBLISH A SOUL’S JOURNEY NOW? WHY PUBLISH AN INTELLECTUAL/SPIRITUAL/DAILY LIFE RECORD, INDEED, EVEN CASE HISTORY, OF THE FIRST 30 YEARS OF YOUR LIFE WHEN YOU ARE 72?
Well, because, frankly, because I’m impulsed to do it. And that impulse is strong and clear and constant. And runs on underneath, a vein coursing at a deeper level than my surface work on this blog. I wish it were not. It would be so much easier to just keep going, rather than double back, much less descend, into memory.
This soon-to-be “book,” A Soul’s Journey, (what kind? e-book? POD self-published? a “real” publisher?) is something I’ve never seen before. I really, frankly, have no idea who wrote it. Certainly not the me who exists here and now. My entire self and journey has so morphed since then that it feels as if I am unearthing some kind of archeological dig, and have, yes, I say this, or I would not bother with it, “chanced” upon an extremely articulate and classic tale of a young person growing up in the ’50s —
— who actually, gradually, painfully, learned to see through what we now call the “Matrix” starting when she was 26, and not only lived to tell about it, but, at the time she wrote about it, in 1986, had the kind of mind that could “process” evolving philosophical/psychological/sociological contexts in a very precise way. Indeed, I am continuously astonished by her capacity; it seems so foreign to me now.
You can see the personal rabbit hole that I have entered. Another sort of Janus-face. Since I do not feel at all like the person who either had those experiences or the one who wrote about them. And yet, the themes in that book are those I still pursue! And moreover, I find myself admiring both that experiencer and that writer, extravagantly. Actually astonished by her, what’s the word, “persipacity”? It seems like it. At least that’s the word that comes to me. Here’s one definition:
This is not to “brag.” Nor is publishing this book now a narcissistic exercise. Though it may seem so to outsiders. I’ve never been one to worry about what others may think. At least not since I learned how to see through the Matrix and started, at first with fear and trepidation, and, as the decades went on, with more and more alacrity, to just go my own way. But yes, I mention this weird (A Soul’s Journey) business I have found myself entranced with just to say how puzzled I am by how much I’ve changed since that time. I no longer have that young woman’s capacities, though of course, having 40 more years under my belt, I do have other capacities.
And yet, what strikes me here is how I, and each of us, is but a pure pinpoint of light shining into the vastness, timeless, ageless, and yet gifted? burdened? with “memory” of other times other selves, even those in “this” life that are so very different from who we think we know ourselves to be now that it literally takes the breath away.
Some people think we should just forget the past. Let go of all our stories. That they don’t matter. I disagree. It all matters. All of it. Matter, from the word “mater,” means MOTHER. Our stories nourish us. Our stories tell the tales that form and reform us over and over through time and space. They show how the pinpoint of light morphs into this and that, over and over again, no end to it. Such brilliance, our lights. How they shine! How they blind!
No wonder we need, or at least I need, synchronicities. They help tie things together that would otherwise just keep on flying apart.
More later, but probably not until after January 1.