Remembering Infinity

Spirituality | Metaphysics | Consciousness | Life


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An Evening With Theresa Caputo (The Long Island Medium)


Despite the evening’s uncomfortable heat, Theresa’s show was an unforgettable and fun experience!

Well, I can’t say enough how GREAT the show was! Despite some serious issues with the venue, Theresa was “spot-on” and I have a whole new respect for her and her work! The show was held in an outdoor concert-type venue at a the Thunder Valley Casino (a Native American-run casino). Unfortunately, the venue itself was quite poor (this made even worse by the weather). There was a crowd of about 5,000 folks at the sold-out show–and for the minimum ticket price of about $70.00, we were sitting on aluminum bleachers (about the most uncomfortable seating arrangements possible). Even the higher-priced ticket holders were seated on ordinary folding chairs!

My family and I arrived several hours early and had planned on relaxing a bit, having a drink and a leisurely dinner, then enjoying the show but, alas, that was not to be. The casino was huge and positively PACKED with people. It was polluted with second-hand cigarette smoke (you couldn’t avoid it–even outside), and there were hour-long waits just to get a table at one of only a few extremely over-priced restaurants on-site. Out of desperation, we stood in line for a half-hour in their “fast-food court”, couldn’t find a table, and half our party (including me) had to stand while eating our micro-waved personal pizzas.

Since we couldn’t find any place to have an “adult beverage” and sit or relax, we went outside (in nearly 100-degree heat) to stand in line and wait for the amphitheater to open. The wind coming off the parking lot was like a blast-furnace! After standing in the sun for nearly 45 minutes, they finally opened the gates and everyone filtered in. They had obviously over-booked the facility, because the bleachers were full–and people kept streaming in and squeezing in anywhere they could possibly fit. Fortunately, by the time we found seats, the sun had started to set and the bleachers were in the shade. Despite a (thankfully) cool breeze that kicked in, at least two people keeled over during the show and had to be taken away by ambulance.

When the show started (30 minutes AFTER the scheduled 7:30 start), Theresa finally made her appearance. She was HILARIOUS! Some parts of her show might not be appreciated by those who are offended by foul language–as she let out several “F-bombs” and a string of “sh&ts” in the first five minutes! By her own admission, she “cusses like a sailor”…but if one can find their way past that (or appreciates that kind of frankness as I do), the show is awesome! During the show, Theresa poked fun with some of the “spirits” who came through and their loved ones, complained good-naturedly about the California mosquitos (including one that “bit her on her a$$–even through her Spanx), and the nearly unbearable heat.  Theresa’s sparkling personality and uniquely high-pitched giggles had everyone charmed from the first moment she appeared.

Apparently, this was Theresa’s first group reading with such a large crowd–and my wife and I were wondering how on earth she would be able to channel with over 5,000 people (and their “spiritual entourages”) present. But she stepped down from the stage and worked her way around the aisles like the pro that she is. The audio was great and we could not only see Theresa and the camera crew making their way around in person (albeit at a distance)–we could also see her and the people for whom she was reading quite well on the large screens behind the stage. Despite her funny comments to the contrary (about her “a$$” appearing much too big on the wide screen), Theresa looked great in a simple, but elegant black dress and sparkling silver shoes.

Just as she does on her TV show, as she made her way around the crowd she’d feel drawn to one or two nearby folks, connect to and communicate with Spirit, convey many healing messages from those “on the other side”, and had many of those for whom she channeled (and much of the audience too) in tears. One man, who had apparently lost his son in an accident (and whose own life was spared in the same accident) had come to the show as a skeptic–and as one who obviously carried a great deal of guilt and anger. It was readily apparent however, that by the time Theresa and his son’s spirit were through with him, he was in an entirely new place. You could see his emotional reaction on the screen and almost feel his relief as Theresa gave him a big (and self-admitted “sweaty”) hug for his son’s spirit.  I was actually amazed at how she and these messages could connect with even those at the fringes of the crowd. I’m pretty sure that, by the end of the night, there wasn’t one person who hadn’t experienced at least one sniffle-inducing, throat-catching, or misty-eyed moment. In fact, I’m pretty sure my sister-in-law went through at least one package of disposable tissues!

There were quite a few other funny moments in the show that I really appreciated–and to me, they only reinforced that Theresa is the genuine article. She’s clearly a caring, loving person, with an amazing gift…and I’m so glad she’s chosen to share it. In one funny moment, someone made a comment about her fingernails. She mentioned how some people actually seem offended by them, then started rubbing and scratching one of the audience members’ back with them. She joked about how great they are for scratching peoples’ backs and expressed disappointment that no one was scratching hers. The audience erupted in laughter when a nearby gentleman eagerly stood up and, a bit too quickly, offered to do it.

Another hilarious moment happened when a kind lady noticed how Theresa seemed to be tiring a bit in the heat. She offered her seat to Theresa during the reading, but instead, Theresa settled herself down on this kind soul’s lap and joked about how comfortable it was. Then she asked the woman if the bottled water next to the seat was hers. When the woman replied that it was, Theresa unceremoniously helped herself and drank half of it. Then she made some more humorous comments–and nearly drained the rest of the bottle! While the actions may seem a bit “cheeky” to some, it all seemed perfectly natural and only helped endear her, almost as family, to the crowd.

Despite the distractions from the incredibly uncomfortable seating (and the frequent sound of plastic water bottles falling to the ground from the high bleachers), the show was WONDERFUL. Theresa’s quirky sense of humor and her heartfelt communications made the time go by quickly. While I may never again go to this venue, if I have another opportunity to see Theresa in person in a more intimate or comfortable setting, I’ll go in a heartbeat!

Theresa and Spirit–YOU ROCK!!!

Love Always,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: Spirit Signs


Does the "Spirit World" really communicate with us through subtle signs?

Does the “Spirit World” really communicate with us through subtle signs?

I find it interesting that so many others who have an interest in spiritual and metaphysical study seem to have such astounding experiences that encourage them along their way. So many others report having profound visions during meditation, an ability to connect directly with loved ones who have passed and beings from other dimensions, or witness paranormal activity with their own eyes.

Me? Not so much.

I, it seems, am a very tough case! Sure, I believe in many things I can’t see. I believe in many of the accounts others share of otherworldly beings and contacts. I believe that many other forms of intelligent and energetic life exist even beyond the farthest reaches of our Cosmos and our understanding. I believe that our consciousness lives beyond the grave—and that we are eternal souls. But without actual firsthand proof of these things, it seems I only have my faith in the accounts of others to go on.

Then there are days like today. I experience yet another synchronicity that subtly suggests that many worlds exist beyond ours—and that spiritual energies help nudge us along to the exact places we are supposed to go.

Before I share my account of today’s rather mystical events, I suppose I must explain that my paternal grandmother was a very spiritual person. She considered all religions as valid and wonderful pathways to personal discovery. Although raised under the umbrella of Western Christianity, she studied and deeply appreciated other religious paths, particularly those which touched the Eastern philosophies of Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism. She meditated quite often (although she often told us she was “just resting her eyes”) and spent much of her life in deep contemplation of Source, Our Universe, and our place within the Unity.

I was born and raised for most of my younger years in San Francisco and, since my grandmother lived not far from us, she spent a great deal of time exploring the city with me in tow. No matter where we went, whenever she spied a church or house of worship of nearly any kind, she would be drawn to it, much as a moth to a flame.

“Oh,” she’d exclaim, “what a lovely little church! We simply must go inside for a visit.”

Even at five or six years of age, I must have rolled my eyes and grinned—much as I do now when I recall those precious moments.

“Yes, Grandma…” I’d sigh with resignation. But I really didn’t mind. Our visits to these old churches, with their heavy wooden doors; cool, dark, and echoing interiors, and peaceful energy, left me feeling happy and at peace with myself. We’d go in, sometimes light a votive candle or two, and sit for a few moments on the smooth wooden pews. Grandma usually wasn’t much on ritual, but she’d sometimes make the sign of the cross and close her eyes in meditative prayer. I’d do the same, but instead of making a connection with Spirit, I’d pretend to pray and sneak peeks at the beautifully crafted statues and stained glass windows instead. I’ll always remember how beautiful my grandmother looked at those times—her wrinkled hands resting peacefully upon her lap and her softly lined face a perfect reflection of heavenly bliss.

When my grandmother was here in the physical, she loved butterflies. Well, she loved butterflies and ladybugs, but butterflies were her favorite. Especially the Monarch Butterfly, with its bright orange and black wings. She’d always point them out excitedly, every time she saw one. In the many years following her passing, I’ve come to understand that butterflies are “Heaven’s Messengers”. A great many psychic mediums have identified these delicate, colorful creatures as being used to convey messages from the spirit world to us, in our dense 3D-ness. I’ve even noticed myself that, many times, shortly after thinking of my grandmother, either a butterfly will flutter by very closely or a ladybug will land on my arm. To my mind, the frequency that this occurs is far beyond the statistical margins of “chance”.

But I digress.

Since today was one of the last few days before my teenage son starts school, I had offered to take him and his lovely girlfriend on a jaunt to Chinatown for lunch. They agreed, so we headed into the city from the suburbs. We hopped off the train, trekked through the downtown financial district, and found ourselves seemingly in another part of the world. If you haven’t seen it, San Francisco’s Chinatown is a mystical feast for the senses. Established in 1848, it is known as the largest Chinatown outside of Asia and the oldest in North America. Handsome, multi-story brick buildings line the street and strings of brightly colored lanterns, banners, and even drying laundry hang from balconies and light poles. Large glass windows offer expansive views into quaint, old-fashioned storefronts. Bright, colorful wares are often stacked floor to ceiling—and some goods even spill out onto the sidewalks to beckon the throngs of shoppers in.

As we walked down the street, smelling the wonderful aromas of incense and food being cooked in nearby restaurants, I noticed a tall, brick church that looked familiar. The sign in front read, “St. Mary’s Church” and I remembered it as one that my grandmother and I had visited nearly fifty years ago. I grinned at my son, mentioned that she and I had once been there, and suggested that we go inside “for a visit”. He wasn’t really interested—in fact, he and his girlfriend wanted to go play “Pokemon Go” on their phones at a park, just across the street instead. :rolleyes:

I was somewhat disappointed at their not joining me, but as a parent, I get it—after all, who would want to go in some old boring building with your dad when there are lots of wild virtual creatures to catch with your girlfriend, outside, in a bustling city?

So we parted ways momentarily and I disappeared into the nearly empty church. Just as my grandmother and I had done so many years ago, I lit a candle, found a quiet pew, and sat for a few moments. Now, much older, I did meditate for a few moments—but some things haven’t changed. I must admit that I stole a few glances at the stained glass and the familiar figures in alcoves along the walls. I thought about my grandmother, somehow just trusting she was there with me, and wondered if I would ever really feel her presence as I have done on a few very rare occasions.

Sadly, not feeling anything in particular, I shrugged my shoulders and got up to leave. I walked out of the church into the sunshine and walked across the street to the little park where my traveling companions waited. I found them on a bench and, much as I had expected, they were deeply engrossed in their technological adventures.

“C’mon guys…” I encouraged. “Let’s visit a couple of more shops and head to lunch. The place where my grandma and I once ate is right across the street and the food is fantastic!”

As they got up and we turned to leave, something caught my attention. There, out of the corner of my eye and behind some trees, I had noticed a brightly painted mural on the bottom floor of a very old apartment building. Once can scarcely imagine my surprise when I saw, much larger than life, two monarch butterflies painted on a garage door!

Now it didn’t escape me that, because of the position of this mural, there is absolutely no way I could have seen it from the front stairs of the church. The only way I could have seen it is to walk over to this park…and if my son hadn’t wanted to play his game there, I wouldn’t have seen it at all.

I laughed aloud, pointed out the mural, and told them both why seeing the butterflies meant so much to me. Although they may be young and somewhat skeptical, I don’t think the significance of the finding was entirely lost on them. My son’s girlfriend even mentioned that sometimes her family has seen what they too interpret as “signs from above”. She and her family have noticed on several occasions that, just when they are thinking or talking about her grandparents, lights or other electrical appliances will turn on for no logical reason.

So, once again, Spirit has sent me a “sign” that we and our loved ones are never truly gone. And once again, all I have is a wispy “inkling” in the place of rock-solid proof. But that’s OK. I suppose it’s much more fun that way…when Spirit plays a mystical game of “hide and seek” with us incarnated human beings.

One day, when my son has a family of his own, I hope he returns to Chinatown and recounts the story of the day his dad received a sign from Spirit. Perhaps then, if I’ve moved on to other realms, it’ll be my turn to send him a sign of his own. And I’ll just bet he’ll be awake and aware enough to notice it.

Hey, it’s now 5:55 as I’m writing this!

That just reminded me of what comedian Jeff Foxworthy used to always say in his show…“There’s your sign!”

What signs have you received from Spirit or your loved ones?

With Love,

stargazericon

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The Christmas Truce (1914)


angel

Let there be Peace on Earth!

For many, it is difficult to imagine the unspeakable horrors of war.  The bitter stench of cordite, explosive rending of earth, air, and sea; and indiscriminate destruction of all that would stand in the way of victory are just the beginning.  There is the inconsolable and heart-wrenching ache of homesickness.   There are the inescapable miseries of Spartan living and the tempestuous wrath of nature.  There is an arrogant fury, fueled by an illusory sense of righteousness that drives combatants to commit unspeakable acts.  There are the lies, manipulations, and raw determination of the brutal and ruthless powers on both sides of the conflict.  Finally, there is the bare and abject fear that shivers through the veins of all who witness its atrocities.  While the horrors of war are experienced to some extent by all, they are disproportionately reflected in the blank faces of the young–for it is most often they who must bear the burden of orders to fight and kill, suffer, or die.

While the costs of war are many, there is little doubt that its highest wages are paid through the wholesale slaughter of humanity.  Fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, friends and neighbors; all, regardless of guilt or innocence, are ground under the wheels of martial advancement.  Many lose their homes and livelihoods.  Many must live the remainder of their lives with debilitating injuries of mind, body, and soul.  And many will die.  But in the end, all suffer horribly.  It is this carnage, the wanton waste of human blood, muscle, organ, and bone–indeed, the callous disregard of Life itself, that is the greatest transgression of war.

In our modern world of instant communication and artificial imagery, it is difficult to imagine how thousands of young men must have felt, just over 100 years ago in 1914.  At that time, what was thought to be “The War to End All Wars” (World War I) was being waged on the front lines between France and Germany.  While most of the world lay warm in their beds on that Christmas Eve, two determined armies huddled miserably in muddy trenches, facing one another across a dark and battered stretch of no-man’s land.  Much as pawns in a violent game of chess, these men were trapped between a wet and bitterly cold winter and the relentless grinding of their countries’ military machines.  But in a moment of silence, just when the hour must have seemed darkest, a Christmas Miracle occurred.  Despite incredible odds and the stubborn efforts of the leaders on both sides to stop it, The Spirit of Peace prevailed.

According to most accounts, the uncertain cease-fire began with a song.  German soldiers, apparently overcome by homesickness, began singing Christmas carols.  Allied soldiers on the other side of the lines, fearing a trick of some kind, listened and watched with surprise and suspicion.  Before too long however, someone on their side joined in.   Others soon followed and it wasn’t long before voices rose on both sides of the trenches.  One can scarcely imagine the surreal nature of that moment, for here were two bitterly opposed armies that had been wounding and killing each other for months.  Now, instead of destroying each other in the cold darkness, each side was singing the same song in its own language.  Somehow, and in some miraculous way, these men were connecting to a sense of something–something that was quickly bridging the gap created by the broken bodies of their fallen comrades, the torn earth, and the rigid doctrines that seemed to separate them.

As the night progressed and Christmas dawned the next day, both sides of the conflict came together in a strange new way.  Enemies looked directly into each others’ faces, shook hands, and respected one another as equals.  Each came to understood that his enemy was a human being, much the same as he was–and that each had his own hopes and dreams, a home, and family.  These men, wearing different uniforms, speaking different languages, and representing violently opposing views, found a way to lay down their arms and share something that transcended their differences.  For at least a few hours it seems, humanity returned to the front lines.  All that day, after burying and honoring the dead on both sides, the men shared stories, food, and photos of home. They played soccer and traded keepsakes.  They laughed.  They sang.  Together, in the midst of a war, they found a way to celebrate the season that reminds us that Love and Peace are among the most cherished of all things to blessed with in this life.

Unfortunately, as Christmas passed and the glowing spirit of this spontaneous armistice faded away, the ugliness of war returned.  The peaceful space that had briefly existed between to armies was torn asunder.  It wasn’t long before the crack of small arms fire, thud of artillery, and screams of the dying drowned out the echoes of songs and joyful laughter–but the fact that, for a time at least, songs and laughter could be heard at all among the trenches on that cold, dark Christmas Eve was clearly a miracle.  And it’s one that should always be remembered.

As we look forward to spending this Holiday Season with our own friends and loved ones, perhaps we may find a moment to reflect on this event and look within.  Perhaps we may find a way to overcome some of our own prejudices, the ones that make us feel so different and separate from other human beings.  Instead of seeing only differences and gaps to be bridged between us, perhaps we may begin to see and embrace our commonalities–that is, the things that we share, and begin to accept all fellow beings as our brothers and sisters.  While we may have been taught to see unfamiliar beliefs, geo-political borders, and cultural traditions as differences to resolve or challenges to be overcome, are they not simply opportunities to learn fresh, new ways of experiencing our beautiful world?  And what if we were to begin learning to accept them as such?

If human beings were always able to seek common ground and respect one another as individuals, perhaps conflicts like those surrounding the Christmas Armistice of 1914 would never again be necessary.  I, for one, know that it can be done.  After all, if the power of a Season and a song stopped a war once, it can certainly do so again!

May all the Joy, Wonder, and Peace of the Holiday Season be yours–not just today, but always. 

With Love,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: Grandma’s House


We may find that "Heaven" is within ourselves—by simply opening our minds and hearts to its presence.

We may find that “Heaven” is within ourselves—by simply opening our minds and hearts to its presence.

This post is dedicated to my good friend Grace, at Amethyst Road and The Earth Plan.

One of my favorite places growing up was my paternal grandparents’ house.  One of many boxy row houses squeezed alongside one another in San Francisco’s Miraloma Park neighborhood, most of the homes were built there in the post-war 1940’s.  Their uniform stucco walls weathered the infamous San Francisco fog well and from their flat tar and gravel roofs or upstairs bedroom windows, the views of the Bay were absolutely spectacular—at least on those seemingly rare days when the sun actually broke through the gray.

Whenever my parents and I would come by for a visit or a weekend stay, I’d race down the walk between closely trimmed hedges, race up the painted concrete steps, and ring the doorbell next to the dark wooden door.  Grandma, plump and rosy-cheeked in her apron, would often be working in the kitchen when we’d arrive.  She’d greet us at the door with a delighted laugh, and as she dried her softly-lined hands on a faded tea towel, I’d rush in for one of the warmest and best hugs—ever!

The door would shut tight behind us with a solid thump and click, shutting out all the worries and cares of the outside world.  We’d cross the worn hardwood floor, pass through the dim, book-cluttered living room, and head straight for the kitchen. With its large windows, pale yellow paint, and bright vinyl tablecloth, the room was always warm, cheerful, and inviting.  On warmer days, the fragrance from Grandma’s favorite “Cecile Brunner” rose bushes would drift in through the open windows, along with the joyful song of her many backyard birds.

Grandma would put a pot of water on the stove to boil for the adults’ coffee or tea and bring down a package or two of cookies from the high cupboard above the oven.  Sugar cookies, iced raisin cookies, or chocolate chip “Angel” cookies—all were well-appreciated, especially when dunked in a glass of cold milk which, in those days, was still delivered to their doorstep in heavy glass bottles with little pop-out cardboard caps.

While the adults were catching up on the latest news and gossip, I’d usually excuse myself and go explore.  Sometimes I’d sneak down the squeaky wooden stairs and into the dark, cave-like basement, full of its electronics equipment and power tools.  Grandad, in addition to being an amateur radio operator, was well-regarded as an electronics “whiz”.  He took pride in being able to repair just about anything that had wires, transistors, or glass vacuum tubes in it—and every nook and cranny in the basement reflected it.  Every square inch, including the overhead rafters, was crammed full of saved parts and pieces from disassembled appliances or communications equipment.  Even though his work kept him away from home for long periods of time, his well-organized workbench always smelled pleasantly of melted solder, shoe polish, and his lingering aftershave.  Sometimes I’d just sit on the tall stool at his workbench and spin round and round, dizzily watching the basement rush by in a blur.

Since both my grandparents had experienced the difficult and “lean” times of the Great Depression and World War II, neither one threw much of anything away.  They saved just about everything, for they had learned that to throw something away was only to have need of it later.  And if the basement of the house was a collection of goods for posterity’s sake, the remainder of the house was much the same.  It was replete with dusty stacks of papers, books, magazines, and every manner of box and container.  Most of the rooms were stacked, floor to ceiling, with such treasures—all of them just waiting to be rediscovered by a snoopy youngster.  Closets, drawers, and creaky-hinged trunks were adventures in the making and, thanks to a rather active imagination, I had a grand time exploring undersea caves, jungles, and centuries-buried tombs.

But in addition to all my imagined adventures, there was another, even more important thing that I’ll never forget about Grandma’s house.  It was a truly special place that was filled with love. I always knew that, no matter what I had done or what might have happened since my last visit, at Grandma’s I was always forgiven and loved—completely and unconditionally.  I always knew that I was free to be, fully and unabashedly, me.

Now, many decades later, I know that in life—just like at Grandma’s house, we are always forgiven and loved by Our Creator.  And there’s no need to go anywhere or search afar to find our Home or connection with this Source either.  One only needs to look about with a sense of awareness, spiritual connection, and gratitude to realize that “Heaven” isn’t somewhere else.  It’s already here.  We simply need to open our minds and hearts to discover that it’s hidden deep within ourselves—right where it’s always been!

With Very Much Love,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: The Keys to Spiritual Freedom


I’m convinced that Forgiveness and Unconditional Love are the keys to our Spiritual Freedom.

Are Forgiveness and Unconditional Love the keys to Spiritual Freedom?

Several months ago I wrote about Forgiveness as a helpful practice for day-to-day living.  Since then, I’ve done a lot of thinking about Spiritual Evolution—and I’ve come to think of Forgiveness in a much more expansive way.  As a result of this deeper consideration, I’ve become convinced that Forgiveness is actually one of the most important keys to Spiritual Freedom.

To help understand why Forgiveness is such an important concept, one must first gain a general understanding of “karma” (as derived from ancient Hindu and Buddhist traditions).  The idea of karma (also referred to by some as the Universal Law of Cause and Effect) is that the sum of a person’s actions decides the nature of their destiny and future experience.  I sometimes think of karma as energy, but perhaps money may be something that’s easier to visualize.

So let’s imagine that we all go through life accumulating karma in the form of money.  For every kind, loving, or compassionate thing we do, we receive a dollar that goes into our karmic “bank account”.  For every mean, judgmental, or hateful thing we do, we lose a dollar and incur a karmic debt that must be paid back.  Conversely, if someone does us harm, they now owe us a karmic debt that must eventually be paid back.  If either party is unable to repay their karmic debts in a given lifetime, then both must reincarnate in a future life in an effort to balance things out.  If this is truly the case, it’s quite easy to see how a soul could quickly become entangled in a “karmic wheel” that may continue spinning for lifetime after lifetime.

To further complicate things, some even suggest that we accumulate a form of “collective” karma.  That is, our individual souls must take some responsibility for the actions of our species.  Human beings, for example, must all share some responsibility for wars, social injustices, and the exploitation and pollution of our Earth and its natural resources.  It has also been suggested that we may even inherit a bit of “residual” karma from our ancestors.  In other words, some of the negative energy from their karmic deeds may imprint itself on our DNA—or perhaps it’s merely a case of some negative habits and actions being passed down from our grandparents to our parents, and so on.  I definitely understand the feelings of consternation that arise with this.  After all, why should we have to pay for something that someone else did in our family tree—or something that another human being has done halfway across the globe?  What does that have to do with us?  Be that as it may, in many ways these ideas make sense and I’m inclined to believe they’re true.

On the face of it, this all seems rather complex and quite a difficult challenge to overcome. If we are to ever have hope of “balancing our books” and advancing spiritually, what’s a soul to do?

For me, the answer is actually quite simple.

First, do your best to build up a “positive” karmic bank account.  Follow “The Golden Rule” by treating others as you would like to be treated.  Be kind.  Be respectful. Love others without expecting anything in return.  Love them unconditionally. Why unconditionally, you may ask? Because—if you treat someone well or love them with the expectation that they repay you in some way, you generate a karmic debt for them.  If they aren’t able to repay that debt in this lifetime, then they—and you will need another chance to even things out.  Then you’re both right back on that karmic wheel again. But if you Love someone unconditionally, there are no debts to repay!

Second, just forgive. According to the scriptures, Jesus taught Forgiveness—and I believe this is one of the main reasons why.  Think about it.  If you forgive yourself for any misdeeds, then work hard to Love others unconditionally, you’ll eventually pay off any karmic debt you may have accumulated without building up more.  If you also forgive others—that is, absolve them of their karmic debts to you, you will have set them free from having to repay you.  Therefore, by practicing forgiveness, you set everyone free—including yourself.

Now, any time someone does something that negatively affects me, I immediately forgive them and let their “transgression” go.  Then I silently offer them Unconditional Love.  I must admit that this is rather difficult to do at times for, like many, I tend to take things too personally—and “relive” events over and over, every time I think of them.  I’ve learned however, that each time I think about a perceived transgression, I can simply choose to forgive and let go again. In so doing, I know I’ll eventually train my mind to respond in an entirely different way.  My expectation is that, one day, I’ll be able to process an event once—and not have to revisit it again at all.

When it comes to our Spiritual Advancement, whether it’s considered individually or collectively, I’ve become a firm believer that Forgiveness and Unconditional Love are essential.  I’m convinced they’re the keys that unlock the Higher Realms of Spirit—and if we learn to use them well, we’ll all one day be able to set ourselves free from the ties that seem to limit and bind us so strongly to the past.

Respectfully,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: Who Am I, Really?


Life is a never-ending gift—full of mysteries to ponder and worlds to explore.

Life is a never-ending gift—full of mysteries to ponder and worlds to explore.

By all outward appearances, I seem to know who I am. I’m a regular guy and I lead what most would consider a pretty regular life. I go to work every day, return home to my family each night, and take care of some of the daily chores that need to be done around the house (but not all of them, as my wife will sometimes remind me). I probably have many of the same fears, hopes, dreams, and personal “hang-ups” that many others have. But when I look at myself in a mirror, I just have to wonder—is what I see truly all there is?

As far back as I can remember, perhaps even to my youngest memories of childhood, I’ve always felt as if I was not just the physical “me” I saw in a mirror. I’ve had this strange feeling that I was something much, much more. It always seemed that the biggest part of me was somehow kept hidden and locked away, somewhere just beyond my reach.

I’ve also always felt that I was here to do, participate in, or at the very least experience something of epic importance. This particular feeling always came with an odd sense of excitement—an anticipation for something upon which I could never really place my finger and something for which I have no logical explanation. It’s a feeling not unlike a child might experience on the evening before his or her birthday, Christmas, or the last day of school—just before the start of summer vacation. It’s like I’ve been expecting something really great to happen, but I’ve no idea what it is or when it’s supposed to occur!

In a way, I guess I’ve come to think of life itself as a never-ending gift. Each time I open a splendidly wrapped aspect of self and begin to understand it, I find another carefully wrapped package inside—another new mystery for me to ponder and explore.

Over the last few years, I’ve gotten to know myself quite a bit better as a spiritual being—not just a mortal being in a rather average human body. I’ve also become more and more convinced that I’m a volunteer. I somehow know that I chose to be here at this particular time in Earth’s history—perhaps, as many others similarly believe, to participate in our planet’s ascension as it moves to higher realms of consciousness or a higher dimension.

Whatever the case may be, I deeply appreciate being in this place, at this time, and in this particular “self”. I can’t help but feel that I’m “on the beam” (as my grandmother used to say) and following the best path for my own spiritual evolution. I still don’t know exactly who or what I AM, I suppose—because I’m still very much a work in progress. But I somehow know that I AM getting there, moment by moment, step by step, and day by day. And, after all, isn’t that what this miraculous journey called life is all about?

Respectfully,

 stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: Hidden History


Like precious treasure, Spiritual Truth has been hoarded and hidden from Mankind for far too long.

Like precious treasure, Spiritual Truth has been hoarded and hidden from Mankind for far too long.

One of my favorite topics of study, in addition to all things Spiritual, is history. I find the influences that past events, philosophies, and knowledge have had on our own times to be quite fascinating.

I suppose that my deep appreciation for history is at least partially due to the fact that my own family tree is a rather eclectic one (as I suppose I AM too, in many ways). Since the roots of my lineage may be traced back to nearly a dozen European countries, it’s quite easy for me to imagine that my own ancestors, if they didn’t actually participate in many of these events, may have at least witnessed some of them. It’s strange, but I sometimes seem to feel my own deep connection with certain periods in history—as if I may have experienced them myself, perhaps in a former life.

Of all the connections I’ve felt however, the one to medieval times—and to the Knights Templar, in particular, seems to be the most compelling. I find their history and philosophies to be unusually and inexplicably intriguing. On my own Spiritual quest, I often feel as if I’m winding my way through a maze of dark and dusty castle halls—where the most profound secrets of Life have been hidden. Along the way, I’ve been surprised to find that many of the ideas and teachings of the Rosicrucians, the Knights Templar, and the Masonic Order (Freemasons) not only make a great deal of sense, they resonate quite deeply with my own sense of Truth.

It’s been interesting for me to note that the doctrines of these and many other esoteric societies are “Christ-based”. That is, they recognize Jesus of Nazareth or Jesus the Christ as a preeminent prophet and teacher. They also understand God to be an infinitely compassionate, forgiving, and loving Being. In many ways, their teachings support my view that we are God—and that God is us (just as God is everything else). Consequently, it follows that we should all be capable of making a deeply personal connection with “Him”—and indeed All That Is. This wonderfully organic viewpoint suggests that we don’t necessarily need a church, ritualistic dogma, or someone to save us from a “life of sin”, as so many organized religions have taught us. We are all appreciated, forgiven, and loved unconditionally—period.

I recently watched an episode of “America Unearthed” on The History Channel. The show made it abundantly clear, at least to me, that the knowledge these Gnostic organizations made every effort to protect is much closer to the Truth than so many others would have us believe. In “The Templar’s Deadliest Secret”, forensic geologist Scott Wolters helps uncover and disclose a trail of evidence that shows how those in power have, for centuries, fought to keep much of this sacred knowledge hidden—in order to preserve it for themselves.

Governments, churches, and the wealthy zealots who control them have wantonly suppressed, tortured, and even killed those who would speak out against them—and even those who might dare to believe differently. The multitude of “Holy” Wars, Inquisitions, and other acts of persecution these groups have waged upon Mankind clearly shows their intent to impose control at virtually any cost. In fact, you may note that today is Friday, the 13th—a day of bad luck, according to Western superstition. Perhaps this brutal abuse of power is one of the reasons why, for, on Friday, October 13, 1307, hundreds of the Knights Templar were said to have been imprisoned by King Philip IV of France. They were tortured, forced to falsely confess to crimes against the Church, and ultimately burned at the stake. In Light of those circumstances, I felt it highly appropriate that I post this today.

It now seems quite clear that many of our governments, organized religions, and privileged leaders have suppressed the Truth, re-written history, and presented their own versions of so-called “spiritual truth”, all in an effort to keep an unwitting population at a severe disadvantage. It is thus that most of Mankind has been kept perpetually in the dark, asleep, and unwittingly enslaved.

Those in lofty positions of power claim that they will “teach” us, “lead” us, and perhaps even “save” us, but is their truth what we truly believe? Our governments, corporations, and many religious organizations insist that they are philanthropic and self-effacing. If that’s truly the case, then why do they hold such obscene amounts of wealth—while so many others are left to live in blind ignorance, abject poverty, mounting debt, and eternal suffering?

It has taken me over fifty years to understand and catch limited glimpses of the Truth—the Truth that we, as a collective, have been kept in the dark for far too long. We’ve learned much from the experience and we may certainly be grateful for its lessons, but I suggest that it’s now time for us to know and understand the real Truth. We and our ancestors have paid a hefty price for it, after all—through millennia of persecution, pain, suffering, bloodshed, and human sacrifice.

So let’s all uncover the Truth together. Let’s begin learning to look inside ourselves, inside our own hearts for the Truth. Let’s establish our own personal, deeply intuitive connections to our Creator, our Earth, and all our Brother and Sister beings. With new understanding, we’ll finally be able to move forward in Peace, Forgiveness, Healing, and Love.

We’ve most certainly earned the right to that.

Respectfully,

stargazericon

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