I had been getting sorta smug. My changed diet actually had shifted my hormonal balance, apparently, for I was no longer waking up insomniac in the middle of the night.
Until last night. Until the night after the shooting in Connecticut. At 1:10 a.m. I snapped awake, and lay there, sleepless, disturbed, until around 4 am. The disturbance both raw, visceral, and mental, agitated. At 2:00 am, I succumbed to the temptation to check the internet, and saw a new impassioned blog post from Jon Rappoport —
— once again, excoriating the drug companies and their psychiatric toadies for this latest atrocity.
This morning, I notice that Steve Beckow, like me, wonders about the likelihood of mind control in all these so-called “lone wolf shooter” set-ups —
Response of Light for the Victims of the Newtown Tragedy
— and though Beckow tends to see this absorbing tragedy as a designed distraction from the progressive enlightenment that does seem to be settling into the global atmosphere during this climactic time of “Ascension,” and I tend to see it as one more mass trauma-inducing event meant to foment terror, loathing, gun control and police state “protection,” in any case, this event seems to have reverberated below the surface, inducing an unusually disturbing shock into the mass unconscious. That this kind of atrocity could express in a bucolic little town in Connecticut during the Christmas season, and that it should be tiny school children and their teachers who were murdered “in cold blood” or “in hot blood” — who knows? Who, really, was/were the shooter(s?). And why? Supposedly, he had been diagnosed with a personality disorder. Does that mean he was on drugs? And were they responsible for his state change?
But what, really, is a “personality disorder” in a world where the new DSM-5 lists every human emotion as a disorder?
The so-called “New World Order” is fast spinning into disorder, hopefully just in time, as we finally see through the illusion of the matrix.
While we’re seeing through it, we’re also dealing with our natural tendency to recoil from perceived or imagined danger.
I’m reminded of the shooting that took place in my supposedly bucolic little neighborhood, only a stone’s throw from me, not even two months ago. Ever since then, I’ve not taken puppy Shadow out for a walk in the dark. Ever since then, I keep the doors locked.
As I lay there last night, insomniac, around 2: 30 A.M. drunken college kids poured out of nearby houses, yelling at each other, walking up and down the street, starting up their hot-rods to a roar, and finally driving off. That took about an hour, there were so many of them.
I wonder: where in their own lives, do they live? Are these students completely unconscious? Do they not realize that people are asleep in the houses next to theirs, and that, not just as a matter of law (we have an ordinance here called “Quiet Nights”), but as a matter of courtesy, that they need to keep their voices down?
But they were drunk. I had to remember this. And they are drunk a hell of a lot of the time. Getting drunk seems to be a matter of pride in college culture. Or, on an unconscious level, are they medicating themselves from the despair they feel as to their bleak future in world where hamburger flipping jobs will never pay off their college debts?
Yesterday, on my walk with puppy Shadow, I came upon a defaced wall of the newly created tunnel meant to connect Green Acres Neighborhood with the neighborhood just east of here. Big black letters — FUCK YOU! — spray painted on the concrete.
Yesterday, a call from one of my sisters, and from her husband, at different times. She had been in a special classroom that day, as a substitute teacher with children who are severely disabled. “Oh Ann, they are such beautiful souls!” And “the care with which this school works with these children!”
“And,” her voice fell, “such contrast to what just happened in Connecticut . . .”
Yes, reminds me again of that shooting here in the neighborhood, how it took place right across the street from the Green Acres Neighborhood Garden, the worst that we can imagine, juxtaposed with the best of which we are starting to remember how to do and be . . .
This juxtaposition of the worst and the best; I imagine it will go on for awhile longer, as long as 3D is the dimension that most of us live in most of the time. What better way to wake up to the dream of duality than to experience its extremes?
Last night, I finally found a way to ease myself back into sleep. Tonglen. Just as I had after the Fukushima nightmare, I found myself breathing in fear and pain and suffering, breathing it in through my heart into the back of my body, then breathing it out through the heart, transforming fear into love. Over and over again, fear into love, fear into love, fear into love.
Somehow, we must learn to open wide, to all of it, all of it, no matter how awful or how wonderful. Somehow, this capacity to expand the heart to include both good and evil is key to shifting our frequency, both rising above and sinking below, so that we become one with the unfolding drama, full of compassion, releasing judgment and blame.
I will practice tonglen throughout this day.