My birthday is tomorrow.
I had a premonition a while back that I was
going to die this birthday. Kept seeing
my apartment bare, me gone, my car at an auction, and I was out in Cali staying
at friend’s house. (The bright spot was
this blog was getting hundreds of hits! Bunch of people were actually reading
my stories and other writing! And a lot
of things I have done that have gone unacknowledged were being recognised.)
Thought it was the eviction, maybe I lost my shit and got shot by the sheriffs
or something? An ending like that to my life would surprise no one. (Also thought
maybe my stalker who is a killer got me- but he has disappeared. But then there are so many other people who
hate me.) Then the ARPA money came through, the landlords were paid, and I got
a reprieve.
Still kept having those visions. And a constant nagging feeling to get all my
passwords and emergency contacts together, sort out stuff so that someone could
get my family stuff out of here, write letters to people I had things to say
to. Realised that in my vision, I was in
Cali but only seeing one friend, was not going anywhere. Realised said friend is one of the few people
I will be able to interact with when I am dead. Realised I wasn’t going on
vacation.
Freaked out about it a little bit. We are
hardwired to resist death. But when I started to really think about it, my only
real concern was my mother, and to a lesser extent my sibling. And that if I have anything my family might
need that they may not be able to get to it. There were a few people that I
genuinely wished I had said something too, but not enough to actually write the
letters.
Also, in the vision, all my stuff was just
tossed or given away. Nothing was
preserved, etc. I would have had to find someone to come and deliver those
letters and such, and I didn't want to talk about it. And I also realised that
there were so few people that I knew well enough to ask that sort of thing of,
and also what a thankless task it would be, sorting through all my shit.
And the biggest realisation: I felt mostly
relieved. I have so much to offer, so
much I could be doing, but even finding two people to be on a board for 501(c)3
has been a challenge. When I was younger
I could do things on my own dime, always had a little and had the energy. But I
am just worn out. Being stuck in St. Louis (there is a reason I left, and I wish
I had worked to bring my mom to LA and not returned here. But I did.) This
constant fear of something breaking down, or an emergency expense, all of my health
issues that I can’t afford to take care of, even when I am working at a decent
job with decent insurance. Never being
able to have a real vacation.
And I look around at all the truly shitty
people in the world and I just see that the more selfish and greedy and dishonesty-
particularly emotional dishonesty- the more they thrive. All these years I spent thinking that I would
write something great and always failing- maybe it wasn’t my writing, maybe it
is that I will never be “relatable” to these humans.
Turns out my reading list was the thing
that I really cared about. I have really
been trying to get a good look at the afterlife- in particular what my
afterlife would be, and if I would be able to finish these books. And that answer is really complicated, and
partly yes and partly no, but bottom line is, if I really feel like it is my
soul’s purpose to read some books, I’d best stay here, if I can. Because it is
just not the same on the other side and it is as big, if not bigger, a transition
as moving around the world to somewhere completely new and foreign. (And also, conversely, completely old and
familiar. I hope you can follow what I am
saying.)
I did not come to this life to have what every body else has. I came here to
see as many lives and as much of this life as I could. I came to be part of big things, even if I
was only a small part of them. And for
the first 35 years of my life I feel like did that. Yes, I was a mess, suicidal twice during that
time, crazy, but I did do some many things, meet so many people, have so many
wonderful experiences.
And in July 2007- long story for another
time, and maybe you have already heard it- when my spirits told me, with some surprise
that I had continued to live when that was to have been my death, and showed me
the path that would have happened for family without me, and told me that now
it was all new, unmapped going forward, I thought I could still achieve my
goals to write something that would really matter- to me and to other people.
And here I am 15 years later, and I just
don’t even want to leave my house and I wish I could just read without having
to stop to work or eat or wash or whatever. I guess if a big chunk of money
fell in my lap and I could go on vacay and go to Scotland (big chunk of my
reading is books about Gaelic, Scotland, the Celts, etc.) and get my little One
Minute Revolution org going and funded, maybe I would feel thrilled, but I’ve
tried so many times to get it or something like it going. I have no hope for anything anymore. (Other than books. Reading is always rewarding, and if it isn't I just shut that book and move to the next. Working at the library, though, that was enough to make a lesser person suicidal. Wish I had never worked there and never suffered that disillusionment.)
Like my stories and books and poems, it is
on my agenda and not anyone else’s, and maybe it would not do any of things I
think it would.
So, I didn’t die. And some of the other things I saw have not
happened- or, to be more precise, have happened in a different configuration and
with lesser impact than I had foreseen. And all I see before me is more crappy
jobs, more stress about my health and my car, more deterioration ( I will be
moving April 1st to a new place but it will be more expensive and
really just a lateral move. Another
crappy apartment... actually I will be moving if I can manage to hold everything together. The possibility I will be moving into my car is ever present.)
I wonder now if it wasn't some sort of test? All the motherships are here, and all the old
gods, and there is a massive “voluntary evacuation” call going out constantly via
the astral channels. I’m not suicidal,
and for me that is not an option. (I
think for most it is spectacularly bad idea, although recently there seem to be
a few spirits who have not suffered the consequences for it- either via their life contracts or that mess they get stuck in.
Essentially, in committing suicide you lock yourself into the very
feelings you were trying to escape and it is difficult to get out of them. You
nullify all the good in your life. Or, at least, that is how many of the suicides
I have encountered have been.)
This world could be so great, but it is
going to have to get a lot worse before people begin to do anything. And even if people do start doing something
now, it is still going to be a mess for quite awhile. Someone exiting now, even
if they immediately re-incarnate, will suffer less because the bad shit will be
their starting point. It won’t be a
decline. Easier to be a child in a dying
world than an old person.
For almost two months now my earworm has
been Spike singing “Life’s not a song/ life isn’t bliss/ it’s living.”
Spike is right. It’s just living. Doesn’t matter if the world is shit, if you
are depressed, if you made it to the top or lived under someone’s bootheel your
whole life, you lived. That is all this
world is about, living in it.
And on the other side, once you actually
move out of the Bardos and the various purviews of different afterlifes, there doesn’t
seem to be much difference in how a life was lived. The spirits I talk to that were way more depressed,
oppressed, messed up, fed up, etc, than I am say that from their perspective
they were no different than a king, or a celebrity, or a hero.
Still, it would be nice if life would “Give
me something/ To sing about!”
Cheers, and as always, thanks for listening.
https://youtu.be/Sv8uRVLN5Dc?t=212
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