Ready Steady Jump!

How fickle is the unconscious mind! Gene Hunt has already faded into the spectre he always was. Ditto The Boy. Even though I dreamed of Daniel again last night, he was lying in a box and when I looked into his eyes, they turned albumen white. So maybe that’s it with men. Maybe now (at last) I am free to pursue something that offers more weight and depth than the chimera I have been chasing down my days. Maybe the dawning realisation that these days are not endless, has given me the necessary and natural impetus to move into a world that offers depth and weight and power; the world of developing consciousness.

It certainly makes me feel alive, which is good for a woman of my age. I met an acquaintance last night, who I hadn’t seen for a while. She looked different and was wearing a floaty low-cut dress. ‘I’ve left the bastard at last,” she told me in words that came tumbling out.”After 34 years I’ve left him and now I’m off to shag anything that moves.” I murmered a few words, mindful of Dorothy Rowe’s book Why We Lie. I wanted to say, “Stop. You’re running way too fast and this is going to end in tears,” but I didn’t. I just went on my way, thoughtfully contemplating the fate of ageing cougars and feeling very glad that this is a route I chose not to take some time back there.

So here I am, with a spring in my step, busying myself by fulfilling my contract with Source. As I said this is not without its dangers. Lala is always on the look- out for signs of the mad woman in the attic. This could be something as simple as a turquoise beret and matching scarf. As I wandered up the road this morning to the Farmers’ Market, basket on arm, I passed our local mad woman in the attic, leaning against the lamp post, fag in hand, dressed in a silver lycra jumpsuit and a huge black picture hat. She’s always beautifully turned out and if she lived in Manhattan she’d be snapped by the chap from Advanced Style for sure, but here she looks like a withering alien who’s waiting for her flight home. I always smile and invite contact but she’s already gone behind her eyes.

So I have to be careful, or rather I choose to be careful. Even so, my yoga teacher, Robert whispered in my ear as I did a shoulder stand the other day,”Don’t let the Mother ship carry you off Allie, we’d miss you.” I’d been talking about Gebser rather too enthusiastically before the lesson I guess. It’s changing my life, pursuing the unseen but so few people are on the case. No wonder The Boy disappeared with a rocket up his arse.

I must be doing the right thing, as I’m given direct guidance every inch of the way. This morning, before setting off on my organic veg. mission, I was cleaning my teeth with my yummy new fennel toothpaste when I found myself going to the bookshelves and extracting The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot. I had ‘the feeling’ as I picked it off the shelf and it wasn’t just the electric toothbrush pulsing in my hand. I know when I am getting a hit. I love it. It’s a lot better than ‘shagging anything that moves’ to my mind. For a start it lasts longer.

So here I am, learning how to survive in infinity, preparing myself for my flight beyond the corset of matter. The crop circles and the UFO sightings are part of the preparation, as they provide a relatively limited confrontation with the imaginal. It’s a shamanic journey we are on, heading towards Omega, learning to manipulate the hologram of reality.

I am a midwife now, helping to birth a non-physical world, for we are living at the end of time. By this I don’t mean to scare you. It’s a perceptual change. As one journeys deeper into what Bohm called the implicate, reality becomes increasingly a frequency rather than something one can hold. Eventually this is all we will see. Then we will float like Blue Monarchs into a wonderland and know it as home. We are here to learn, which is something I’ve known since I was a child. Now I’m preparing to shout ‘Geronimo’ and go for it. I will then be catapulted into the all, where deep connectivity exists and subjective and objective are not separate. Division is fear-based. At a moment of synchronicity(e.g.when I feel the buzz from a book) I get a momentary glimpse of where I going. That’s why I love the feeling. In that moment I look into the heart of creativity and know it as home.

The Warren is a conceptual pigeon hole I have created to keep the Universe at bay. One day I will move on and, illuminated, I will escape into the endless simplicity of my purpose. Infinity. Hopefully you’ll come too, for this is a collective leap. It is our only hope.

The Lycra jump suit is not obligatory.

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