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The Instructions on the Six Lamps translated by Jean Luc Achard The Jew in the Lotus - Rodger Kamenetz Cultivating the Empty Field - Hongzhi Zhengue Tibetan Dream Yoga - Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche Guidance for Living and Dying: Bardo Teaching from the Bön Mother Tantra - Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche And I just finished the first fiction I've read in a long time - The Martian by Andy Weir It was quite compelling and technical, a nice interlude.

Thank you. This is helpfull. Sometimes I follow the wrong ones, and they just last, but don't grow, other lead me to dream like state, and sometimes I did follow other sensations in my head like pulsation between my eyebrows, like she said it this quote. Today I noticed something new. After about 40 minutes of breath meditation I've started to have strong lights, tried to stabilize them and after a while my body and sense of will become paralyzed. Something like Sleep paralysis. I was aware of everything around but withouth moving or control of my body. There were even fireworks explosions near and it was like nothing. I could not move, and could not have will to move. But it was okay. The good nimittas just explode, I'm just not familliar with it yet, and I stop it cause of fear, but each time I go further. Funy thing - when I did not know what good nimita is I had more of them, now, when I know, they are harder to reach

"Either my life will improve or it will end" I'd say this is a misinformed idea: For instance if one's present physical life ends while having a hellish, unresolved like mindset then the energy of that will continue or arise in another and whatever resultant form per any self-destructive LoA actions - that is until work is done for resolution, for there is no checking out of one's state or place with threats to the "universe". (period) Further, a "not to be" part of an old saying is an impossible dream, for no one "slips out the back jack" without facing whatever needs to be faced - sooner or later... btw, a 'later' and unfortunate result that has fewer or lost opportunities makes for a tougher game and even harder work like crawling on one's belly over broken glass for miles while being pounded on with a sledge hammer just in order to reach a clean strip of dirt and grass and hopefully catch a break, for in that case when said strip of dirt and grass is finally reached it would give joy and rest for which one's heartfelt thanks would pour out to the previously hated and wrongly misjudged universe! (edit: some sentence clean up)

I wonder if this is similar to tha nazi mantauk experiments. They basically had a man who would go into a deep dream state and then would follow instructions that they gave him. It basically went, fly up to the sky, find an elevator, take the elevator down to the bottom-most floor. Then he would get out of the elevator and enter a "room." From this room he could do a lot of different things. He would lift weights, and also emerge himself into a hot tub-like bath to heal himself. His physical body on the outside would get stronger from the lifting and his body would also heal at an incredible rate from the hot bath.

OK, so I have said this before, maybe multiple times. I find it, at the very least, discouraging, when "New Thought" and "Manifestation AKA Hay House" teachers become salespeople. Why? Because if this thing really works, then they should have no need to sell anything. They should be able to give away materials and teachings freely, or for just enough to cover their expenses. They should be pratcicong what they preach, which means they should nbot have a lack.limnitation mindset, so the have no worries about financial matters or money. They trust the Universe provides, as they so often teach, and it does, if this thing works! I just visted the Hick's Abraham page, and while they still offer the Introductory sessions of Abraham for free (you have to Google search for it as it seems to be buried in their site) the main focus of the site looks to me as if it is all about making money. Judge for yourself: http://www.abraham-hicks.com/lawofattractionsource/index.php Introductory Audio: http://www.abraham-hicks.com/lawofattractionsource/mp3downloads.php Teachings of Abraham: http://www.abraham-hicks.com/lawofattractionsource/teachings_new.php I look at this site, and just like Wayne Dyer, I see cruises and who knows what else, which I haven't verified, but I'll bet cost thousands of dollars per person to attend. To my mind this casts serious doubts on the teachings. If what you teach really works, if you practice what you preach, if you have mastered the teachings you espouse, then where are the free cruises, seminars, workshops or materials? Now maybe I couldn't say anything if I was the same way, but as far as I know, I am not. I provide my teachings for free. I have also not made a penny on them. I know there is a psychological component here, if ytou offer something for free peole thing its worthless, so you give it a price tag and it acquire percieved value. But what other people should be none of my business. If I came into the place or state where I am manifesting anything I ask for, and teaching others how to do so, I would do so freely, or only charge a small amount for my costs and time. That's it. No thousands of dollar cruises or seminars. The focus is on sharing, on teaching, not on making money. I am troubled by this. I feel that the teachings of Abraham, Seth and Wayne Dyer are pointing the way clearly more or less to the truth. I know there is a history here I have just learned about. From way back in 1937 with Napolean Hill's, "Think and Grow Rich." He allowed them to edit out the word vibration from the manuscript, and never detail what The Secret was (whcih became the inspiration for "The Secret.") Apparently the original 1937 manuscript makes no such edits and gives the missing information. The point is that there is a history here. We have been taught this nearly 100 years in recent history, and it goes back further with the Kyballion (I think) There may be other works as well. And for as long as these teachings have been given to us there are those censoring or dilluting the message. If they are not driven by profit then they are driven by fear. I have no doubts that the original translations of the various texts that make up the Bible even have these truths in them. But the Bible as taught today, and the modern versions of, "Think and Grow Rich" leave out the important information about the universe. That is that there is an energetic aspect to life, otherwise known as the non-physical, which is typically beyond our physical capabilities to perceieve. It is from this non-physical energy that everything physical comes into existance. It is some combintion of our beliefs becoming our faith then directing our thoughts that allow us to manipulate things energetically, and this is how we can manifest things into the physical world. That is the essence of the teaching, to the best of my understanding and ability to write it at this moment. When you come down to it, the Native Americans have it right. This world is the dream, it is not the reality. It is a game, or, according to Alan Watts, a dance. I think I like the dream analogy best. At an energetic level we have collectively created this world in which we live. Whatever happens here has no effect on who we really are, that energy that is the energetic aspect of us. Really we're like a gaggle of children, ages 3-7 or something, who are playing with our imaganery friends, creating our own imaginary world, and the result is the physical world in which we live. But the dream anaology is better I think. We can sit back, let the dream run us around, or we can take control of it, make of the dream what we will and create the experiences we choose. It is always our choice, even if we choose to forget it or not remember it. In this case an elightened person is just someone who became lucid. They realized this was a dream and "woke up" within the dream. They reconnected consiously with that energetic aspect of themselves. So I think these teachings are true, but only in the sense of the truth that is finger pointing at the moon, these teachings, none of what we can teach while in the physical, is the moon. But these teachings at least point in the right direction. Still if that is the case, how come those who realize and teach this are trying to make money from it? If you are out hiking and someone comes along and asks for directions, do you help them without thought of payment, or do you demand they pay you a few hundred dollars? If you were the person looking for direction, would you want the one you asked for it to charge you? I know I wouldn't like that, and I would give direction freely to the best of my ability. And I have not, by any means, mastered any of these teachings. I admit that, I freely share what I have come to understand, I make it clear that at best it is a finger pointing to the moon, and I have no expectation of anything from those I help. How come these others can't do the same? I really don't understand. How can you not practice what you preach? What are your thoughts?

The descent and ascent of the soul is a concept that goes back to Plato and to the Mithraic mysteries and later became a part of Hermetics and Neoplatonism. Among others, the Roman Macrobius explained it in his "Commentary on the Dream of Scipio" as the soul descending from the intersection of the Milky Way with the Zodiac. http://www.academia.edu/1536305/PLATOS_COSMIC_X_Heavenly_Gates_at_the_Celestial_Crossroads_Proceedings_of_SEAC_2012_Conference_Slovene_Anthropological_Society_Ljubljana_2013_" In Macrobius' description, prior to physical incarnation, the soul gradually acquires a "light body" along with human personality characteristics as it descends through the planetary spheres down to Earth. After a physical incarnation has ended, it ascends and sheds the different layers of this "light body" (which is synonymous with the astral vehicle) as it returns to the stellar/Divine world. I think that the shedding of the subtle body could be what is meant by the so-called "second death" - whereas the immortal essence, soul or monad goes on. A related belief is shared by various shamanistic cultures, where the ancestors are thought of as abiding in macrocosmic stellar regions whence they are able to bestow their beneficial influence on their living relatives via a good harvest etc. Interestingly, related concepts of the soul's astral sojourns can also be found in the works of modern metaphysicists like Edgar Cayce, Rudolf Steiner and E. H. Bailey. http://www.amazon.com/Prenatal-Epoch-E-H-Bailey/dp/1933303247/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1418856361&sr=8-1&keywords=prenatal+epoch From my perspective, the question may really be how far that which we think of as our personality can follow on the soul's journey back to its source - which depends on how conscious the personality during its physical existence was or became of the extended landscape of its psyche and to what level the "light body" has been activated, respectively. Thus the endeavours to build up a "diamond body" in Tibetan Buddhism, or to construct "Solomon's Temple" internally in an Occidental esoteric tradition. Chinese Alchemists may employ methods of Qigong to this end which they also regard as a kind of immortality (albeit not physical).

I sense that my continuing to add stories to this rather ad hoc collection may well be coming to end soon. I still wait until over a hundred people have read a new entry before I add another. But as soon as that reading stops, I stop as well. I simply notice that the interest is falling away, as anyone would normally expect once the novelty wears off. But for today anyway, there’s a new one. I’m actually still in the process of reading this particular book. It’s by an actress that I've seen a number of times on television, (but was never particularly impressed by one way or the other), called Rebecca Front. But her familiar face on the book’s cover attracted my curiosity, and aptly enough, it’s a collection of anecdotes of her life entitled, “Curious.” In the extract below she weaves together an intriguing television interview of Maggie Thatcher that she saw, (a Youtube link to which I've added after the end of this excerpt) – along with some unusual and insightful ideas on peer pressure,… plus a number of incidents from her own life. All these ingredients the author blends together with such finesse that in the end, I think the final result is absolutely irresistible. * * * The End of the Peer Show When Margaret Thatcher died, amid all the eulogising and demonising, a small curiosity began doing the rounds of the social networking sites. It was a video clip from an interview the Baroness had given, after her retirement from public office, to a Scandinavian broadcaster. The journalist conducting the interview, having come to the end of the serious stuff, was left with just the quirky, off-the-wall, ‘And finally … ' question, meant to lighten the mood and show a softer, more cuddly side to her subjects. ‘All the people that I interview,' she began in her nearly flawless English, 'I ask them to do something for me.' And you could tell from the awkward, beseeching lean towards Mrs Thatcher that she knew this was going to be a long shot. 'It's a kind of gimmick on my show and it's ... to make a jump ... just to stand up and make a jump up in the air.' Before she could elaborate any further on this concept, the Iron Lady was bringing down the shutter. 'I shouldn't dream of doing that,' she replied. The interviewer gamely pressed on, laughing an increasingly high-pitched, nervous laugh at every one of Mrs Thatcher's flat refusals, while admitting that they'd had a bet in the office beforehand and she'd told them this was never going to happen. The former Prime Minister was adamant, immoveable, true to her formidable reputation. She said it was silly, puerile. Why on earth would she do it ? 'Gorbachev did it,' the journalist ventured. It was a brave attempt, but a stupid one. Mrs Thatcher gave her a withering look. 'You amaze me,' she said, bristling with schoolmistressy disapproval. 'I wonder what he thought of the politics of a free society if that's what they ask you to do.' The interviewer gave it one last go, explaining that many people found it fun, a chance to show a different side of themselves. 'I'll tell you what it shows: it shows that you want to be thought to be normal or popular,' countered Mrs Thatcher. And that, unmistakeably, was that. I think the reason so many people liked this little snippet was that it reinforced the lack of humour they had long suspected of their erstwhile leader. A jump, a little jump. What possible harm could it do? Some people really need to lighten up. The problem for me watching it, as someone who resolutely disliked what Mrs Thatcher stood for, was that I couldn't help applauding what in this instance she wouldn't stand for, what she was never in a million years going to stand for - to leap around in an asinine manner on a chat show. The very intransigence that I'd always found so alarming, so mystifying, so unsympathetic, was in this instance something I could only respect. A jump is not a chance to show a different side to yourself; it's a chance for a TV producer to show that they've got one over on you. 'Even once-mighty people will jump when I tell them to,' the producer can declare, 'for I am Oz the great and powerful and nobody wants to look like a party pooper on camera.' When my children were small, I spent a great deal of time and energy warning them about peer pressure. It seemed to me that the roots of many of life's problems lay here – in the desire to fit in. So l would diligently explain to them that nobody could make you do a dare, for instance, or try a cigarette or take drugs, and that being different wasn't the same as being unpopular. In my own childhood, I had seen how the need to fit in had made people do things they were uncomfortable about, even ashamed of. It seemed to me then, and it still does, that you could place most of the ills that afflict young people (bullying, gangs, the sexualisation of young girls to name just a few) squarely at the door of our pathetic desire to be accepted. So surely, if we could tackle that at its source, if one of the first things we taught our kids was not just to say 'no’, but to say it forcefully and with a smile on their faces - 'no, that's a stupid idea, why on earth would anyone do that ?' - then perhaps a whole lot of misery could be avoided. But of course it's not that simple. Peer pressure is endemic in our culture. Take the Mexican wave, for example. Come on, indulge me a little. I know where I'm going with this. When my son was about seven, I took him to see his favourite band play at a huge arena. In the hiatus between the support group finishing and the main act arriving on stage, somebody on the other side of this cavernous space decided that we, the audience, should become one. We had to bond, we had to abandon our individuality, break down the invisible barriers between us, and become a cheering, stomping, amorphous, music-loving mass. One by one, then row by row, block by block, thousands of once-proud, inhibited, easily embarrassed English people leapt to their feet, arched their backs, threw up their arms in a near-orgasmic gesture of submission and shouted 'Woah'. I saw it coming towards us with a threatening and unstoppable momentum, and so did my son. 'Oh cool,' he exclaimed. 'Oh shit,' I muttered. 'Can we join in?' he asked, delightedly. 'We'll probably have to,' I replied, grimly, and then not wanting to sound like a killjoy, I added unconvincingly 'which is great.' For me, the Mexican wave was a symbol of oppression, a metaphor for the mindless subservience of the herd, the very definition of a futile gesture. Here was my chance to make a point, to put the case for individuality. Right here, right now, I could teach my son that we all speak with our own voice; that even if the rest of your gang are racist or sexist or homophobic or smoking crack, it's OK to go against the tide, to sit down and be counted. You are not just part of a greater 'Them', you are and always will be 'You', my son. He, however, was poised on the edge of his seat, desperate to join in with something greater than he had ever known. He wanted to be part of the machine, and worse, he badly wanted me to be too. The wave was, by now, hurtling towards us. What would I do ? I joined in. Of course I did. I'm not a total arse. It was, after all, a Mexican wave, not the Cultural Revolution. The only lesson my refusal would realistically have taught him was that his mother took herself too seriously. He was happy, I was momentarily embarrassed - neither of us lost our identity. But the Mexican wave was just the beginning. At the other side of the auditorium, the crowd had started doing the moves to 'YMCA’. People will do the most ludicrous things if they think it'll be more embarrassing not to. Go up to one person in that audience on their own and ask them to leap to their feet and shout 'Whoa', and I guarantee they wouldn't do it. We don't mind being a bit 'crazy' as long as everybody else is being 'crazy’, because then it doesn't seem ... well, crazy. In fact it would be crazier not to. A Mexican wave is as harmless as it is pointless, of course, but it is in its way a mass movement, and like all mass movements, to join in with it is an abdication of both responsibility and power. Because, there are only two ways you can have power in this scenario - if you're the one who starts the movement or if you're the one who stops it. Most people, as Mrs Thatcher said, will join in in order to be thought 'normal and popular'. Audience participation relies on just this sort of peer pressure, which is why I hate it so much. I've seen it from both sides: as a performer - demanding, expecting, relying on audience members to behave in a certain way - and as a punter desperately hoping not to be picked on. So I understand how the dynamic works. The performer is 99 per cent confident that whoever they select will do what they want them to do, just for the sake of a quiet life and not falling foul of the herd. But trust me, if you decide not to join in, you are the one with the power. Now I admit, it sounds pathetic even to think of it in those terms, but when you sit in an audience, you very often don't want to be singled out. And yet when you are, it can feel like you have no choice but to go along with it. Picking on members of the audience - however amusingly and inventively done - is ultimately the recourse of someone short of ideas. I apologise to my comedian friends for saying that, especially since some of them are quite spectacularly good at this spontaneous interaction - and if the audience members involved are happy with that, then great. But the performers need you more than you need them, and if you refuse to join in, you expose this. It's a mean trick, sure, but then so is dragging some poor sucker up on stage and humiliating them. I discovered this during a comedy show at the Edinburgh Festival. I'd just come off stage from my own show and was tired and hungry, so not in the most receptive of moods. But I'd heard great things about this particular comedian, so I thought I should try to catch him. A short while into his act, he announced that for the next section he was going to need a member of the audience. I desperately didn't want to be picked - after all, I'd done my performing for the night, going back on stage would have been something of a busman's holiday. So I lowered my head and tried to avoid eye contact as the comedian went from table to table weighing up his prey. Finally, of course, he picked on me. 'You’ll do,' he said, and I knew I was supposed to give a weary look of resignation and follow him onto the stage. But I really didn't want to, so I smiled and shook my head. 'Come on, on your feet,' he said. It seemed a fait accompli. The audience was already applauding me. And that, I realised, is what makes people do it: your whole peer group, relieved that it's you and not them, is willing you to obey orders, partly so that the show can go on, but also to make damn sure he doesn't change his mind and pick on them. I knew it would be easier to play along, but the more pressurised I felt, the less inclined I was to do it. I'd come to watch a show not to be in one. With as charming a tone as I could muster, I said, ‘No thanks. You'd better ask someone else.' But he wouldn't move on. It had become a power struggle between us. I hadn't sought it, but I certainly wasn't going to cave in. He had one more tactic up his sleeve. My shoulder bag was strung over the back of my seat, and he suddenly grabbed it and ran up to the stage. He threw it towards the curtain at the back and then, returning to centre-stage, said triumphantly: 'That'll get her up here.’ It had an odd effect on the audience, some laughing and applauding, but others audibly gasping, tutting and siding with me. He was right, though. I had to go up on stage now. So I did. I walked past the comic, retrieved my bag and went to sit back down with it. But as I passed him he tried to get it off me again. We tussled in this undignified fashion for longer than we should have done. I think we'd sort of forgotten about the show; we were now just two strangers having a fight in public. Eventually, and without really knowing what I was doing, I whacked him hard on the arm with my bag. He looked genuinely stunned, let go of the strap and I walked back to my seat to a round of applause. It was a pyrrhic victory. I'd ended up part of the show after all, looking far more ridiculous than I would have done if I'd just played along. But his refusal to let me just sit and watch had become a kind of bullying, and my not giving way felt pathetically like a win. The odd thing about this whole episode is that I'm someone who obeys rules. I don't have a rebellious nature. But I have to believe that the rules are there for a purpose, that they've been imposed by someone who broadly has my best interests at heart. To do something I'm told to do purely because it will make me look like an idiot offends even my eagerness to comply. It's the Mexican wave problem all over again - a seemingly harmless bit of nonsense with faintly sinister overtones. I can't be the only who worries about these things, and it makes me wonder if we shouldn't all routinely refuse to do stuff that society tells us to do, just for the practice. I'm not suggesting we break laws; heaven forbid. Little acts of rebellion – wearing odd socks, red wine with fish, milky Earl Grey - might just be enough one day to save us from tyranny. Take it too far though, and you risk cutting off your nose to spite your face. I could give you a long list of things I have refused to experience - plays I've deliberately missed, films I've eschewed, books I've spurned and on and on - for no better reason than that everyone else was reading it, watching it, doing it, banging on about it, and I refused to bow to the pressure. It includes seeing Les Miserables, taking drugs, skiing, eating bacon sandwiches, buying a motorbike, having sex on a first date, reading The Lord of The Rings, listening to Van Morrison and squash (the game, not the fruit drink). It was this very resistance to peer pressure that stopped me getting my ears pierced as a teenager … well, that and a faint suspicion that making holes in bits of flesh that didn't originally have them was a flawed idea. For years and years, I proudly flaunted my unmutilated lobes, preferring instead to suffer all day from the unique dragging pain caused by clip-ons. But then, when my daughter - as a result of peer pressure, I might point out - got her ears pierced without any fuss at all, I decided to give it a go. I was forty-five and it made me feel young again. It's a toss-up now what I'll try next - sex on a first date is tricky when you're married, but more appealing than reading The Lord of The Rings. Maybe I'll opt for squash. Refusing to go with the majority for the sake of being different can be every bit as mindless as following with ovine conformity. Somewhere between Mrs Thatcher's refusal to be 'normal' and jumping off a cliff because your friends tell you to, there's probably a healthy attitude. In an ideal world, we would all take decisions for ourselves, based on the best available information, and without feeling the need either to join in or stand alone. This is not, alas, an ideal world. I recently went for a walk in the country with my family. It had been unseasonably rainy, so the route was muddy and, in places, impassable. I was following along at the back of the group, whistling a little tune to myself in the manner of Winnie-the-Pooh, when we reached a swamp where there had previously been a field. My son weighed up the situation and decided on the best place for us to cross. 'It's not too deep here, but I'd do it fast if I were you" he called over his shoulder, and bounded, gazelle-like across the deep mud. Phil followed, perhaps more stag-like than gazelle, but still pretty impressive. Then my daughter, dancing across like a young Leslie Caron. I stopped and looked around me. I had a feeling this might not be the best place. It looked pretty deep to me, and we'd passed somewhere further back that seemed altogether more sensible. But they'd all done it and I didn't want to seem like a wuss. I stepped gingerly across, too slowly, allowing my weight to settle into the bog, contrary to my son's advice. By the time I reached the other side, my boots were squelching with a thick internal coating of mud and my trousers were soaked to the thigh. We carried on a little further and this time had to cross a stream. I was quite some way behind by now, not least because I was carrying within my footwear copious quantities of turf, but since Phil and the kids were in the distance, I could please myself. I decided I wasn't going to succumb to peer pressure. I'd failed to follow my instincts first time around, and look where it had got me. I found a place where I would be comfortable crossing, and carefully picked my way across the stream, feeling the water seeping through into my mud-filled boots. True, my trousers got wet all over again, but I didn't fall in and I felt pretty pleased with myself. I'd chosen an independent course and followed it. I caught up with the others. My daughter turned round and looked at my sodden legs. 'What happened?' she asked. It was then that I noticed her trousers were completely dry. 'There was a bridge just up to the right,' she explained. A bridge ? Why didn't somebody tell me ?' 'We just assumed you'd do what we were doing,' she said. 'You know, like a normal person would.' * * * Link to Swedish Interview :

Oh yes! So much like the Aboriginal viewpoint ! I agree. The underworld houses the peaceful dead, and others, until it fulminates again, regenerating the land and moving souls back into incarnation, where a new breath soul is bestowed to them. Their previous memories and learnings are stored deep in the recesses of its dreamlike nature... * " One day ... that big snake under the ground ... he gonna wake up ! His dream .... finished. All this < gestures out from the hill top to indicate the view .... thumps the rock we sit on ... points to himself ... leans over and touches me on the chest > ... finished ! " * I find that bit v.interesting. I read it somewhere, cant remember where .... Harpur ? ... someone like that. This concept about things being things being stored ... especially (in context of Aboriginal systems) ... " deep in the recesses of its dreamlike nature " ... or 'dreamtime' - the statement was that the traditions and mysteries cant be lost, they reside in this realm and can be reconnected to in the future. It is somewhat disheartening when great teachers die and no one follows on as their successor ... I felt very sad about that when Uncle Bill died "Me and Felix, only two left that know this stuff. The young ones, they arent really interested. We both be gone soon. Whose going to carry on?" So this gives me hope when I see the tradition and teachers dying all around me. But I have seen it in action. My last teacher knows so much, and I know it wasnt all taught to him by elders and in initiation ... I observe the difference and growth between visits .... I havent been able to ever ask him a question he didnt have a good , knowledgeable and insightful answer to ... right on the button .... I believe he is at a stage now where 'the earth itself' teaches him. ( years back, as a little girl, his mother didnt even know what a koala was, she saw one and thought it was a monkey escaped from a circus ... all that gained back in 1 generation ! That gives me some hope.

But this all fake because it implies that I see, when in fact there is no I. There is only what's happening. It's like a dream, when you dream you get shot and dying or somethign...and you're all panicky and tragicky and then you wake up and realize that it was all you, lol.

yes ... it is very interesting to hear things set out in this way, I can relate to a lot of it. I believe it becomes frustrated if not acknowledged and allowed some form of expression - it cant be shoved under the carpet, it will surface in anyway possible, for some as 'breakthroughs' in the material realm, or perhaps 'perceptions of' breakthroughs. I agree with Harpur on this point, the frustrated 'soul' will be source of all sorts of trouble; from depression, to 'loss of soul' (which a shaman may be able to 'find' and restore ) to .... well, you name it ! At risk of being pelted with fruit I feel to re-quote Liber Librae here: " strengthen and control the animal passions, discipline the emotions and the reason, nourish the Higher Aspirations." But I would suggest 'control' is best applied by subtle and agreeable techniques other than force or oppression. The breath soul, as you describe it , seems similar to my ; superego (morals, mores and taboos that are not present in 'dreamtime' ) feedback circuit ( by and from 'soul' - the imaginative desire function ) regulated by Mercury ( air, breath . pneuma ) . A lot of this has some correlations to the Australian Aboriginal stuff I have been learning and practicing. Some is quite different - mostly due to relationship with 'country' - one's born from, living in and dissolving back into environment (which is also the spirit world - no difference - knocks on table; 'spirit' ... not real ... 'dreaming' ) and the whole concept of 'dreaming / dreamtime ' ( they should never have translated this concept with this word 'dream' it is sorta close but misleading ) but I am seeing some interesting correlations here . .... sorry about the weird words and terminology ... one has to use them at times .... like 'fetch'

I had a dream this morning - long after it ended I stayed in bed, half-asleep, worrying, strategizing, reviewing, and contemplating the dream, as if it were real. Waking life is very similar in that the events I've experienced have conditioned the way I relate to 'everyday phenomena' - from the walls surrounding me, to the food in the kitchen, and other objects I regularly encounter and interact with. I believe there are 'situations' that need dealing with and that these situations have more reality than, say, the apple on the table, and the moon and sky to which the apple is connected. It's like I'm mulling over a dream I've been having since I was four years old - the dream of a self possessed by problems, insecurities, and constant dangers. But the everyday phenomena I regard as secondary to my personal drama turn out to be the primary and singular reality, the whole thing is a meditation, your home, your grass, the texture of the clothing you touch, the warmth of your towel, the awe represented by the moon, the grandeur of the ocean waves, the ignorance that greets you in every face. The mulling process, the habituation to phenomena, these are synonymous with laying in bed, done with a dream, but still thinking about it as if it's something real to worry about. You're waiting to wake up, but there's no such thing, really. The dream is always over. There's a persistent reification of our old dreams that takes the form of thought. Don't believe that you have problems that need mulling over and solving. \\You're in reality already, the destination is reached, tap into it through beauty. Beauty is very ordinary. I guess this is sort of a heart-recognition.

Sifu Terry, Thanks for both replies. I tried the 2nd warm up ( 50-30-10) and then did " the sleeper" ever so slowly..the results were that the rest was better, the lucidity/control of my dreams was clearer. I was also aware of my surroundings to some degree, I believe. Everything is so subjective when I am like this it is impossible to be sure. I could be dreaming that I am aware of my surroundings while in the dream. (kind of like a hall of mirrors)....hard to put this kind of thing in words. I do have realizations and solve problems in this state, but unfortunately I am way to self centered to be able to solve any one else's. Plus they probably wouldn't want to hear it anyway. As far as the sense of heat request....hard to say. I tend to feel as if " intent" is the only thing moving during the form. ( I remember in the first warm up of the seated forms you alluding to something like this...so I try). Mostly lately, I feel calm, relaxed, and as if there is a blue flame around me. (after the meditations are complete) All for now...Please keep coming with the suggestions and the experiences. they are all very inspiring. the fool

I did read that post. It didn't help much. We know what dreams are - our mind playing games. When we wake up we are supposed to put the dreams aside and get on with our life. I have never wondered if I am a butterfly dreaming that I am Marblehead. One give-away is that butterflies don't smoke. What butterfly would dream of doing such a thing? The point I am trying to make, and it really is the only point I want to make regarding this section is that we must be able to discern between our dreams, illusions, and delusions and recognize what is really important in our life. Dreams are dreams. That's all. They are normally a very jumbled mess, just chemicals energizing various areas of our brain. To wonder if I am anything other than what I am is simply a waste of time and energy.

I think the story goes like this after ZZ's dream of being a butterfly. ZZ was wondering did he dream about himself as being a butterfly or a butterfly dreamed itself as ZZ. 庄子提出一个哲学问题——人如何认识真实。如果梦足够真实，人没有任何能力知道自己是在做梦。 ZZ had raised a philosophical question - How can human recognize reality? If the dream is real enough, then there is no way that one can tell oneself is in a dream. 庄周梦蝶似梦似真，但是归根结底就是哲学的一种表现，总的来说就是分不清现实与梦境。这也是道的一种表现形式，这是老庄紧随老子的一种体现。 ZZ's dream about the butterfly seems it could be real or a dream. However, it was only a revelation of a philosophical thought. It was about one not able to tell the difference between reality and a dream. Thus it was a way to show the manifestation of Tao.

While that is true, it was only his dream, not the butterfly's. Nor would it have been true for anyone observing him while he was dreaming. Chuang Tzu never was a butterfly nor could he ever have been a butterfly.

Oh, no... No reincarnation in my Taoism, thanks! The ZZ is full of (seeming) contradictions. That should come as no surprise...? But it's not really a contradiction. To be different and to be the same -- this is the underlying reality. There must be a difference between me and a butterfly. But I don't know what it is. I know I'm me, because people tell me I am, and because I feel that I am. But when I dream about being a butterfly, I feel that I'm a butterfly. How do I know which is real? How do I know I'm not both? Maybe the difference isn't as clear as I thought it was. When we realize that we and the world around us are essentially the same, this is a realization of an aspect of Dao. This is the merging of one's 'reality' and 'other' -- not a literal physical merge, but a sense that one can't always differentiate. In Analects 论语, Xunzi 荀子, Liji 礼记, and others, 分 refers to "different" or "separate" or there being a difference. I haven't found an instance, in ctext or my other sources, of it meaning 缘分 http://ctext.org/pre-qin-and-han?searchu=%E6%9C%89%E5%88%86 Xunzi 人之生不能無群，群而無分則爭，爭則亂，亂則窮矣 Man cannot live without a group; to group and not separate (roles) causes conflict; conflict causes disorder, disorder causes exhaustion/poverty 故無分者，人之大害也；有分者，天下之本利也 So to not separate (roles) is of great harm; to separate is of benefit to all Not very Taoist, but that's hardly the point. Also, if he were talking of reincarnation, why talk of dreaming about being a butterfly? Why not more explicitly state that he thinks he was a butterfly in a past life? And, again, but with my translation this time: 知天樂者，其生也天行，其死也物化 "Those who know the joy of Heaven, in life they move with Heaven, and in death they merge (with all other things)" 化 originally meant death. Another form of returning to the root. It means that we merge with the earth. We fully realize the ultimate inseparability between us and the rest of existence. edit: by the way, you know.. I'm not set on it being 'merging', but am trying to defend the position as much as I can. I am pretty set on it not being about reincarnation, but if there's strong evidence to the contrary, I'll witness it...

I'd suggest to read 此之謂物化 more as "this speaks of the transformation of things" rather than "this is called transformation of things." If Zhuangzi can dream of being a butterfly and not even know that he isn't, then it shows how the mind can be in any body and experience life. Zhuangzi's mind can experience life from the perspective of a butterfly. This points to the essence of mind, imo, which exists in all things, everywhere, and so enables "transformation" as all things have essence of mind in no matter what form. They can transform from this to that, but the essence of mind does not change, and this is why they can be the same yet transformed. The water trigram (yang surrounded by yin) speaks of this, and perhaps was even being subtly referenced. Water can take any shape without losing its essential nature. The internal yang line is solid, while the external yin lines are flexible.

Interesting... I have met a dog headed man and his children in a lucid dream watering his front lawn... I said hello, my name is.... I am from Earth... I don't remember much else...

Dream bliss, I just wanted to say I love you.

It is not about loosing them or holding on to them, running away from them or resisting them. It is all about being aware of them. You only know what thoughts you are thinking when you are aware of those thoughts. You can only change what you think when you have come off autopilot and become aware of what you think. It is in awareness that thoughts loose their power over you. You see them for what they are. You realize the truth for yourself. Nobody can give you this, you must take it. I am paraphrasing some of the teachings I have been reading. These are not my words. They feel right, they resonate with me. I think they pointed me on the right direction. So I share them with you. I am willing to release and let go of my thoughts about the future and the past. In fact I am in the process of this now, as I continue to practice awareness of them. I can only admit, allow and accept the thoughts I am thinking when I have become aware of them. Only from that distance away from them, no longer immersed in them, can I allow them to work themselves out as I let them go. Of course if a thought has become a habitual though pattern, and from there become a belief, I must seperate it from my identity, my sense of self, my "I." This is not easy, it is hard to "give up" a part of my identity. But as long as it is a part of my identity my ego will drive me to protect it at all costs, and that will cement me in this time rut, this vivid dream of the tar pit. If I wish to be free of that I have to rip away all these thoughts that have become a part of my sense of self.

If you see thoughts as a dream/not real, are you prepared to give them up for good?

The thought that, "It could be worst" is a time perception based on the past. You are looking back over the course of your life, all the things you think of as having happened to you, and you are looking at whatever your experience is right now, then saying, "it could be worse." Its oppsite, lookng at the future, based on te things you percieve as having happened to you in the past, is, "it could be better." How about we throw out all, "it could be worse" and "it could be better" then see what's left, right now. No thoughts about the past or the future. Just right now, in this moment. No comparisons, no critisizing, no judging. Right now, in this moment, with no comparisons, criticisms or judgments, what are you experiencing? Go further. Is there even a you experiencing anything? I have come to some deeper knowing, some deeper understanding. I want to say I get it now, but there may be more, and I wish to remain open. When I tried to manifest things I was doing so stuck in a rut of time. On one side my past, the other my future, based on my past. The past no longer exists except in memory, which is biased and caught in duality. The future does not exist either, I can only take what I bave experienced so far and surmise what I think to be my likely experience later. Sometimes its accurate. If I commit a crime, I know sooner or later I will go to jail. But nothing, even this example, is certain. The only thing I can really know for certain is what is happening right now, in this moment. In this moment, the only way my past can affect me is if I let it. In this moment the only way the future can affect me is if I let it. It is not the past and future that can have any affect on me. It is only my thoughts about the remembered past and the percieved future. If I am stuck in a rut of time of course I can not manifest anything, or if I do it is a struggle, I meet what I percieve to be obsticales or resistance. This is because the only future I am thinking about is my percieved future based on my remembered past. I create for myself the future I most think about, most believe in. All beliefs are habitual thought patterns, all habitual thought paterns are thoughts I kept returning to. I thought a certain way about certain things long enough it became the way I automatically thought about that thing. At this stage I am not aware I am thinking this anymore, and it becomes a belief. The proof for what I believe exists in what I experience. But I only experience what I do because of my habitual thought patterns. I am attracting to myself the exact future I believe in, which means the one I thought so much about it became a habitual thought pattern, and this all started as a thought I held on to. In other words how do I expect to manifest something other that what I believe I will experience? The only way to manifest something other is to choose to think about it until the point it becomes a habitual thought pattern, and then a belief. That is the only way. As long as I am stuck in a rut of time this is hard, if not impossible, to do. The only way to manifest something is to be outside of my thoughts of time. I must leave the rut, and I do this by being in the present moment. Here, in the present momnent, there are no thoughts about the past or the future. How do I know what my mindset is? By how I feel. If I feel that my life is a burdern, it is hard, it sucks, this is because I am in a time rut. I have a focus on the past, or the future, or, more likely, both. Not on the actual past or future, because these do not actually exist. Only my thoughts about the remembered past and the percieved future. Of course it is in such a state where I feel my life is meaningless and worthless, a burden, that I do not wish to live, that I become tired of living. By being trapped in a time rut I am being worn down. I am, figiturvely and literally, killing myself. I am commiting sucide. Furthermore I am justifued in my actions. My life sucks. It has always sucked, Because it has always sucked, it will always suck. I am almost 40. At best I have anotehr 40 years to live. I didn't get anwhere yet, so how do I expect to get anywhere in another 40 years? I may as well give up. This was my mental state, and the last vestiges of it remain, but thankfully I am aware of it now. Awareness is key! In order to change my mental state I must bring awareness to my thoughts. In order to manifest something I need or want I must be aware, and fully present, in this moment. I am now going to quote myself, as I have been writing about this today, "My path is clear. I know what I need to do. I need to release the past and the future. In the famous words of Ram Dass, I need to, “ Be Here Now.” I thought I understood those words. But today I think maybe I have come to understand them for the first time. I never really got it until today. If I want to manifest somethng in my life, I have to do it in the present moment. I am not in the present moment if I am in a state where my life is percieved to be a burden. In that state I am focused in the past or the future or both. In that state the present momeht is obscured by time and I am not seeing it clearly. If I am at ease, joyful and light, then I must be fully in the present moment, and it is in that state that I can manifest anything I need or want. It is in that moment I am fully aware, open and receptive. In any other state trying to manifest something will become a struggle, worse my inability to manifest will be used as evidence to reinforce a state where I am unable to manigfest anything. I will sneer at the teachings and say they do not work. I will call them “New Age Bullshit.” I will feel justied in this because I was unable to manifest anything. Furthermore my perception of the world seems to prove what I believe. This habitual mindset that has no more reality than a dream of a tar pit. I will get together with others, who share similar beliefs as I do, and who, as a result also can not manifest anything. There may be hundreds or thousands of us. Our collective belief energy and vibration will infect hundreds or thousands more. Then “reality” will become exactly what it is percieved to be right now, in this moment. We call this “reality” the real world. But it is no more real than a dream of a tar pit. Waking up fully from this dream is called enlightenment. When you are enlightened, then you experience the reality of the world. You don't need to be enlightened to wake up enough to see that the only reason your life is the way it is is because you made it that way. You can wake up, just enough, to enter, if only for a few moments, the present moment and a state free of the obscuration of time. In that state you can manifest something you need or want. You can start habitual thought patterns that become beliefs which support your manifestation. Furthermore, just as those who are not in that state can get together and infect others with their collecive energy, you can as well. You can help others enter the presnet moment, manifest something they need or want, and begin to develp habitual thought patterns that become beliefs which support manifestation. The more of you there are, the more “reality” and “the real world” change. It is really as complciated and as simple as that. What the majority of human beings experience right now is the collective energy and habitual mindset, solidified into beliefs, of humanity over the course of its existance. This is changing, but it can change much faster, the more of us that escape time and enter the present moment. Life does not have to be the way it is right now, in this moment. Our present moment experience can change, moment by moment. Which means our life experience can change, and that means our “reality” can change. The “real world” is no more a concrete reality than a dream of a tar pit. Any power it has is given to it by us. We can choose to accept it as our reality, or we can choose to reject it as our reality. Things can happen that can trick us, seem to enforce what we think of as reality. We can find a myriad things to justify our beliefs. But it is all a dream, it is all thoughts, and it can be changed, just as dreams change, just as thoughts change. Here, in the present moment, wee experience Truth." I do not know how well this will tie in with everything. I was using the example of an elephant dreaming of a tar pit, thinking it so real that it felt trapped and began to die. So that is what the whole tar pit thing is referring to. I see it now. In my time rut, where the present moment was obscured, I was unable to effectively manifest anything. My inability to manifest became my justification for my doubt of the teachings, and this all contributed to my continued inability to manifest. It both justifies my mental state and reinforces it. This thing is fucking devious! Even if you get through all that you will have to deal with the collective energy of others who are still stuck in their time ruts, still not manifesting, and somewhere in the back of your mind is a whisper that it doesn't work for anyone else, so why would it work for you? idiot_stimpy, do you see now? Have you been able to become aware of your time rut? If not that is OK. When you are ready you will. When you are fully aware, in the present moment, free of past and future, you should manifest something you need or want. Admit, accept and allow any doubts, fears resistance. Admit, allow and accpet your thoughts about past and future. Release all these and let them go. Check your emotional indicators. If you are feeling joyful and light, you are ready. Manifest. Then come in here and share your experience. These same instructions apply to everyone else. I am applying them as well. I write this as the start of the process for me. I have become aware of my mental state. I have come to understand these things. Tolle's ,"The Power of Now" helped point out the moon to me. I am now headed in that direction. I think I am at a pont now where I need to share this information, so I am considering writing a booklet and making it freely available. If you have any suggestions or thoughts, if you would like to help, PM me. We have always been free. It is true. It may not have felt that way. It may have felt as if we were in a tar pit, unable to escape. But the tar pit is a dream, a thought. The rut is a dream, a thought. Only our beliefs, collective and individual, in their reality made them real to us. Since we made them real to us, we can make then unreal. We can wake up from the dream. We can change our thoughts. No matter what our life situation, we choose what we think, without exception, whether we are aware of it or not.

. I couldn't resist adding another story by Michael Moore. I can’t say that I've ever read anything before quite like the anecdotes of his life written up in his fascinating autobiography, "Here Comes Trouble". Even though I grew up in an age of widespread political awareness and protest, I'm ashamed to admit that I never actually stirred my stumps enough to get involved in any of them myself. Reading his accounts of the way he decided to “act” when he felt outraged by some of the social injustices he encountered, really drove home to me how much our society needs gadflies like him in order to have any hope at all of remaining sane and healthy. The story he tells below I found as an almost perfect example of just how much good can develop from one person having the courage to stand up and publicly say,….”You do NOT have any right whatsoever, to treat other people in this way !” I’ll let him tell his tale, in his own unsurpassable way : * * * Boys’ State I had no idea why the principal was sending me to Boys State. I had broken no rules and was not a disciplinary problem of any sort. Although I was a high school junior, it was only my second year in a public high school after nine years of Catholic education, and not having nuns or priests to direct me still took some getting used to. But I thought I had adjusted quite well to Davison High School. On the very first day of my sophomore year, Russell Boone, a big, good ol' boy who would become one of my best friends, took his fist and knocked the books out of my hands while I was walking down the hall between fourth- and fifth-hour classes. "That's not how you hold 'em," he shouted at me. "You're holdin' 'em like a girl." I picked up the three or four books and looked around to see if anyone had stopped to laugh at the boy who carried his books like a girl. The coast seemed clear. "How'm I supposed to carry 'em ?" I asked. Boone took the books from me and held them in the cup of his hand with his arm fully extended toward the floor, letting the books hang by his side. "Like this," he said while walking a manly walk down the hallway. "How was I holding 'em ?" I asked. "Like this," he barked as he mocked me, holding my books up to the centre of his chest like he was caressing breasts. "That's how girls do it ?" I asked, mortified that for the first half of my first day in public school, everyone had seen me walking around like a pansy. "Yes. Don't do it again. You'll never survive here." Check. So, half a day impersonating a girl. What else had I done to deserve Boys State ? Well, there was that time a few months later on the band bus. Boone had fallen asleep with his socks and shoes off. Honestly I can't say he had socks. But there he was, barefoot, his leg propped up on the armrest of the seat in front of him. Larry Kopasz had his cigarettes with him and it was decided that in order to solve the riddle "How long does a cigarette take to burn all the way down if being smoked by a foot ?" he lit one and placed it between Boone's toes to find out. (Answer: seven and a half minutes.) Boone let out quite a yell when the hot cinder of the Lucky Strike reached his toes, and he didn't miss a beat from dreamland to wrestling Kopasz to the floor of the bus, which caught the attention of the driver. (In those days, as most adults and bus drivers smoked all the time, student smoking often went undetected because their smoke simply went into the same smoky air we were all breathing.) Somehow I got implicated in this brawl, as Boone held us all collectively responsible. (On that same overnight band trip, we snuck into Boone's room to run another science experiment: "Does placing one's hand while asleep in a warm bowl of water make one piss himself?" Answer: yes. And this time we took a Polaroid so we'd have proof to hold against him should Boone, the bedwetting tuba player, turn us in.) But that was it. Seriously. I got good grades, was on the debate team, never skipped school and other than a skit I wrote for Comedy Week about the principal living a secret life as Pickles the Clown, I had not a smirch on my record. As it turned out, Boys State was not a summer reformatory school for hoodlums and malcontents. It was a special honour to be selected to attend. Each June, after school ended, every high school in the state sent two to four boys to the state capital to "play government" for a week. You were chosen if you had shown leadership and good citizenship. I had shown the ability to come up with some very funny pranks to play on Boone. Michigan's Boys State was held three miles from the Capitol Building on the campus of Michigan State University (the girls held a similar event called Girls State on the other side of the campus). Two thousand boys were assembled to elect our own pretend governor of Michigan, a fake state legislature, and a made-up state supreme court. The idea was for us boys to break down into parties and run for various offices in order to learn the beauties of campaigning and governing. If you were already one of those kids who ran for class office and loved being on student council, this place was your crack house. But after campaigning for "Nixon-the-peace-candidate" as a freshman, I had developed an early allergy to politicians, and the last thing I wanted was to be one. I arrived at the Michigan State dormitories, was assigned my room and, after one "governmental meeting," where a boy named Ralston talked my ear off about why he should be state treasurer, I decided that my best course of action was to hole up in my room for the week and never come out except at feeding times. I was given a small single room that belonged to that floor's resident advisor. He apparently had not moved all of his stuff out. I found a record player and some record albums sitting near the windowsill. I had a few books with me, plus a writing tablet and a pen. It was all I needed to make it through the week. So I essentially deserted Boys State and found refuge in this well-stocked fifth-floor room in the Kellogg Dorms. The album collection in my room included James Taylor's Sweet Baby James, The Beatles' Let It Be, the Guess Who's American Woman, and something by Sly and the Family Stone. There was a big coin-operated snack machine down at the end of the hall, so I had everything I needed for the week. In between listening to the records and writing poems to amuse myself (I called them "song lyrics" to make them seem like a worthwhile endeavour), I became enamoured with a new brand of potato chip that I heretofore had not encountered. The snack machine offered bags of something called "Ruffles" potato chips. I was amazed at how they were able to put hills and valleys into a single chip. For some reason, these "hills" (they called 'em "ridges") gave me the impression that I was getting more chip per chip than your regular potato chip. I liked that a lot. On the fourth day inside my NO POLITICS ALLOWED / FIRE AND RAIN bunker, I had completely run out of Ruffles and made a run down the hall for more. Above the snack machine was a bulletin board, and when I got there I noticed someone had stuck a flyer on it. It read: BOYS STATERS ! SPEECH CONTEST on the life of ABRAHAM LINCOLN Write a speech on the life of Abe Lincoln and win a PRIZE ! Contest sponsored by the ELKS CLUB I stood and stared at this flyer for some time. I forgot about my Ruffles. I just couldn't get over what I was reading. The previous month, my dad had gone to the local Elks Club to join. They had a golf course just a few miles from where we lived, and he and his line mates from the factory loved to golf. Golf, the sport of the wealthier class, was not normally played by the working class in places like Flint. But the GM honchos had long ago figured out ways to lull the restless workers into believing that the American Dream was theirs, too. They understood after a while that you couldn't just crush unions - people would always try to start unions simply because of the oppressive nature of their work. So the GM execs who ran Flint knew that the best way to quell rebellion was to let the proles have a few of the accoutrements of wealth - make them think that they were living the life of Riley, make them believe that through hard work they, too, could be rich some day ! So they built public golf courses in and around the factories of Flint. If you worked at AC Spark Plug, you played the I.M.A. or Pierce golf courses. If you worked at Buick you headed over to the Kearsley course. If you worked at the Hammerberg Road plant, you played at Swartz Creek. If you worked in "The Hole," you played the Mott course. When the factory whistle blew at 2:30 p.m. every day, our dads grabbed their bags from the car and started whacking balls around (they’d play nine holes and be home for dinner by five). They loved it. Soon working class became "middle class." There was time and money for month-long family vacations, homes in the suburbs, a college fund for the kids. Consequently, as the years went on, the monthly union hall meetings became sparsely attended. When the company started asking the union for givebacks and concessions, and when the company asked the workers to build inferior cars that the public would soon no longer want, the company found they had a willing partner in their demise. But back in 1970, thoughts like that would get you locked up in the loony bin. Those were the salad days (though I'm certain it was illegal to offer a salad anywhere within a fifty mile radius of Flint). And the guys in the factory grew to believe that golf was their game. The Elks Club owned a beautiful course that was not as crowded as the Flint public courses, but you had to be a member. So it was with some disappointment when my dad went out to the Elks Club to join that he was confronted with a line printed at the top of the application: CAUCASIANS ONLY Being a Caucasian, this should not have been a problem for Frank Moore. Being a man of some conscience, though, it gave him pause. He brought the form home and showed me. "What do you think about this?" he asked me. I read the Caucasian line and had two thoughts: 1. Are we down South ? (How much more north can get than Michigan?) 2. Isn't this illegal ? My dad was clearly confused about the situation. "Well, I don't think I can sign this piece of paper," he said. "No, you can't," I said. "Don't worry. We can still golf at the I.M.A." He would occasionally go back to the Elks course if invited by friends, but he would not join. He was not a civil rights activist. He generally didn't vote because he didn't want to be called for jury duty. He had all the misguided racial "worries" white people of his generation had. But he also had a very basic sense of right and wrong and of setting an example for his children. And because the union had insisted on integrating the factories as early as the 1940s, he worked alongside men and women of all races and, as is the outcome of such social engineering, he grew to see all people as the same (or at least "the same" as in "all the same in God's eyes"). Now, here I was, standing there in front of this Elks Club poster next to the vending machine. The best way to describe my feelings at that moment is that I was seventeen. What do you do at seventeen when you observe hypocrisy or encounter an injustice? What if they are the same thing? Whether it's the local ladies' club refusing to let a black lady join, or a segregated men's club like the Elks that has the audacity to sponsor a contest on the life of the Great Emancipator, when you're seventeen you have no tolerance for this kind of crime. Hell hath no indignation like that of a teenager who has forgotten his main mission was to retrieve a bag of Ruffles potato chips. "They want a speech ?" I thought, a goofy smile now making its way across my face. "I think I'm gonna go write me a speech." I hurried back to my room, sans the bag of Ruffles, got out my pad of paper, my trusty Bic pen, and all the fury I could muster. "How dare the Elks Club besmirch the fine name of Abraham Lincoln by sponsoring a contest like this!" I began, thinking I would lead with subtlety and save the good stuff for later. "Have they no shame? How is it that an organization that will not allow black people into their club is a part of Boys State, spreading their bigotry under the guise of doing something good? What kind of example is being set for the youth here? Who even allowed them in here ? If Boys State is to endorse any form of segregation, then by all means, let it be the segregation that separates these racists from the rest of us who believe in the American Way ! How dare they even enter these grounds !" I went on to tell the story of my dad going to join the Elks and refusing to do so. I quoted Lincoln (my mother's continual stops at Gettysburg whenever we drove to New York would now pay off). And I closed by saying, "It is my sincere hope that the Elks change their segregationist policies - and that Boys State never, ever invites them back here again." I skipped dinner, putting the final touches on the speech, rewriting it a couple times on the pad of paper, and then fell asleep listening to Sly Stone. The next morning, all speech contestants were instructed to show up in a School of Social Work classroom and give their speech. There were fewer than a dozen of us in the room and, much to my surprise (and relief), there was no one present from the Elks Club. Instead, the speeches were to be judged by a lone high school forensics teacher from Lansing. I took a seat in the back of the room and listened to the boys who went before me. They spoke in laudatory tones of Lincoln's accomplishments and his humanity, but mostly how he won the Civil War. It was the type of stuff the mayor might say at a town's Fourth of July picnic. Sweet. Simple. Noncontroversial. Few in the room were prepared for the barrage of insults about to be hurled at the Elks Club. Take William Jennings Bryan, add some Jimmy Stewart, and throw in a healthy dose of Don Rickles, and I'm guessing that's what it must've sounded like to the assembled as I unleashed my invective disguised as a speech. About halfway through my rant, I looked over toward the teacher/judge. He sat there without expression or emotion. I felt my heart skip a beat, as I was not used to being in trouble - and the last thing I wanted was for my parents to have to drive down to East Lansing and haul me home. I occasionally glanced at the other Boys Staters in the room to see how this was going down. Some looked at me in fear, others had that "boy-is-he-gonna-get-it" look on their faces - and the black kid in the room.. . well, what can I say, he was the only black kid in the room. He was trying to cover the smile on his face with his hand. When the speeches were over, the teacher/judge went to the head of the class to issue his verdict. I slunk down in my seat, hoping that he would simply announce the winner and not issue any rebukes. "Thank you, all of you, for your well-thought-out and well-written speeches," he began. "I was impressed with each and every one of you. The winner of this year's Elks Club Boys State Speech Contest is...Michael Moore ! Congratulations, Michael. That was a courageous thing to do. And you're right. Thank you." I didn't realize it, but he was already shaking my hand, as were about a third of the other boys. "Thank you," I said somewhat sheepishly. "But I really didn't wanna win anything. I just wanted to say something." "Well, you sure said something," the teacher replied. "You'll receive your award tomorrow at the closing ceremonies with all two thousand boys in attendance. "Oh - and you'll have to give the speech to them." What ? Give what to whom ? "It's the tradition. The winner of the Elks Club speech gives his speech at the closing assembly, where they announce the election results and hand out all the awards." "Um, no, I don't really wanna do that," I said, distressed, hoping he would take pity on me. "You don't really want me to give that speech, do you ?" "Oh, yes I do. But it's not up to me, anyway. You have to give it. That's the rule." He also told me that for my own good, he wasn't going to mention to anyone the content of the speech before tomorrow. Oh, yes, that's much better, I thought. Let them all be hit with it fresh, like a big surprise, the kind which has the speaker being chased from the great hall, his prize in one hand, his life in the other. After winning the speech contest, my night went something like this: "Fire and Rain," bathroom. “Across the Universe," bathroom. "Hot Fun in the Summertime," bathroom. And when you're seventeen and you don't have a car and you aren't prone to walking long distances - and you live in a state where mass transit is outlawed - there is a sense of imprisonment. That's it - I was in Boys State Prison ! By morning, I had said my final prayers and made a promise to myself that if I got out of this alive, I'd never cause trouble like this again. The time came and thousands of Boys Staters were ushered into the university hall. On the stage sat various officials, including, I believe, the real governor of Michigan. I took a seat near the front, on the side, and quickly scanned the place for guys who enjoyed being white. There was virtually no long hair here in 1971, and way too many of them had that clean-cut, disciplined, aggressive look that would probably serve them well after a year or two in the Hanoi Hilton, if not the U.S. Congress. You will have to forgive me for the order of what came next because the event became a blur. My basic survival instincts had kicked in, and that was all that mattered. Someone was elected lieutenant governor or attorney general or Most Likely to Be Caught in the Senate Bathroom Someday. Somewhere in the middle of those announcements I heard my name. I lifted myself out of the chair (against the better advice of my excretory system) and made my way to the stage. The few boys I made eye contact with had that bored "Oh, shit another speech" look on their faces. For an instant I felt like I was soon going to be doing them a huge favour. This was certainly not going to sound like anything they were used to in third-hour civics class. That much I knew. I ascended to the stage and walked past the dignitaries settled in their comfortable chairs. As I looked at them one by one, I noticed a man who was wearing antlers. A hat with antlers. It was not Bullwinkle and this was not Halloween. This man was the Chief Elk, the head of all Elks, and he held in his lap the Elks Club Boys State speech trophy. He had a big, wide smile, a smile more appropriate for a Kiwanis or a Rotarian, with more teeth than I thought humanly possible, and he was so proud to see me take the podium. Oh, man, I thought, this guy is about to have a very bad day. I hope they did a patdown. Unrolling my pages of paper, I peered out at the mass of newly minted testosterone. Sixteen and seventeen-year-olds who should have been doing anything right now – shooting hoops, kissing girls, gutting trout - anything but sitting here listening to me. I took a deep breath and began the speech. "How dare the Elks Club..." I remember it was somewhere around that point when I could feel a whoosh of tension in the room, hundreds murmuring, snickering under their breath. Please God, I thought, could some responsible adult come up to the podium immediately and put an end to this ! No one did. I motored onward, and near the end I could hear the cadence in my voice and I thought this wouldn't be half bad if I were singing it in a rock band. I finished with my plea that the Elks change their ways and, as I turned my head to see the crimson tide that was now the face of the Chief Elk, his teeth resembling two chainsaws ready to shred my sorry self I blurted out, "And you can keep your stinkin' trophy !" The place went insane. Nearly two thousand boys leapt to their feet and whooped and hollered and cheered me. The hollering wouldn't stop and order had to be restored. I jumped off the stage and tried to get out of there, my escape route having been pre-planned. But too many of the Boys Staters wanted to shake my hand or slap my back locker-room style, and this slowed me down. A reporter began to make his way toward me, notebook in hand. He introduced himself and said that he was astonished at what he had just seen and was going to write something and put it over the wire. He asked me a few questions about where I was from and other things that I didn't want to answer. I broke away and headed quickly out a side door. Keeping my head down and avoiding the main campus path, I made it back to the Kellogg Dorms, checked the vending machine for Ruffles, rushed to my room and bolted the door. The machine was out of Ruffles, but there was the Guess Who, and I turned it up so I could have some time to figure out what in hell's name I'd just done. At least two hours passed, and it seemed like I was in the clear. No authorities had come to take me away, no Elks militia had arrived seeking revenge. All seemed to be back to normal. Until the knock on the door. "Hey,” the anonymous voice barked. "There's a call for you." The dorm rooms had no phones. "Where's the phone?" I asked without opening the door. "Down at the end of the hall." Ugh. That was a long walk. But I needed Ruffles, and maybe they had restocked the machine. I opened the door and headed down the long hallway to the one public phone. The receiver hung dangling by its cord, like a dead man swinging from the gallows. What I didn't know was that on the other end of the line was the rest of my life. "Hello?" I answered nervously, wondering who would even know where I was or how to reach me. "Hello, is this Michael Moore ?" the voice on the line asked. “Yes." "I'm a producer here at the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite in New York. We got this story that came over the wire about what you did today, and we'd like to send a crew over to interview you for tonight's newscast." "Huh ?" What was he talking about ? "We're doing a story on your speech exposing the Elks Club and their racial policies. We want you to come on TV." Come on TV ? There wasn't enough Clearasil in the world to get me to do that. "Uh, no thank you. I have to get back to my room. Bye." I hung up and ran back to the room and locked the door again. But it didn't matter. This became my first-ever media lesson: I don't get to decide what goes in the morning paper or on the nightly news. That night, I was introduced to the world. "And today in Lansing, Michigan, a seventeen-year-old boy gave a speech that took on the Elks Club and their segregationist practices, shedding light on the fact that it is still legal for private clubs in this country to discriminate on the basis of race …" The next day the dorm phone rang off the hook, even as I was packing up to leave. I didn't answer any of the calls, but I heard from the other boys that there were reporters phoning from the Associated Press, two TV networks, the NAACP, a paper in New York and another in Chicago. Unless it involved them offering me free food or an introduction to a girl who might like me, I did not want to be bothered. My parents were waiting outside in the car to take me back home. This much I'll say: my parents were not unhappy with my actions. When I got home, the phone continued to ring. Finally, a call came from the office of Michigan senator Phil Hart. He wanted to talk to me about coming to Washington. The aide said it was something about a bill that would be introduced, a bill to outlaw discrimination by private entities. A congressman would be calling me about testifying in front of a congressional committee. Would I be willing to do that ? No!! Why were they bothering me? Hadn't I done enough ? I didn't mean to cause such a ruckus. I thanked him and said I would discuss it with my parents (though I never told them; they would have wanted me to go!). I went outside to mow the lawn. We lived on Main Street, on a corner, across the street from the town fire station and kitty-corner from the town bowling alley. Over the din of the mower's engine I could faintly hear the honk of a horn. "Hey, Mike !" shouted Jan Kittel from the car that had just pulled up to the curb. With her was another girl from our class. I had known Jan since fifth grade in Catholic school. In the past year she and I were partners on the debate team. I loved her. She was smart and pretty and very funny. I waved. "Hey, c'mere ! We heard about what you did at Boys State !" she said excitedly. "Man, that was something ! You rocked it ! I'm so proud of you." I was ill equipped to handle the range of feelings and body temperature I was experiencing. I had absolutely no clue where to go with this other than to stutter out a "thanks." They got out of the car and she made me tell them the whole story, complete with the near riot I caused, which resulted in a lot of "right-ons !" and "far outs !" - and, yes, a big hug for my efforts. They were running an errand and had to get going, but not before she said she hoped to see me again that summer. "You and I will kick ass in debate this year," she offered, as I glanced in relief at the EMS unit parked in front of the fire station. "It'll be fun." They drove off and I finished the lawn. It dawned on me that doing something political had brought me both a lot of grief and a girl who stopped by to see me. Maybe I was too harsh on the class officer types who populated Boys State with their geek-like love of all things political. Maybe they knew a certain secret. Or maybe they would all just grow up to populate Congress with their slick, smarmy selves, selling the rest of us out at the drop of a dime. Maybe. The following year was not a good one for the Elks Clubs of America. Many states denied them their liquor licenses (the unkindest cut of all). Grants and funds became scarce. Various bills in Congress to stop them and other private clubs were debated. And then the federal courts in D.C. dealt them a death blow by taking away their tax exempt status. Facing total collapse and the scorn of the majority of the nation, the Elks Club voted to drop their Caucasians Only policy. Other private clubs followed suit. The ripple effect of this was that now racial discrimination everywhere in America, be it public or private, was prohibited. My speech was occasionally cited as a spark for this march forward in racial fixing in the great American experiment, but there were other speeches far more eloquent than mine. Most important for me, I learned a valuable lesson: That change can occur, and it can occur anywhere, with even the simplest of people and craziest of intentions, and that creating change didn't always require having to devote your every waking hour to it with mass meetings and organizations and protests and TV appearances with Walter Cronkite. Sometimes change can occur because all you wanted was a bag of potato chips. .

Tibetan Ice, For the first four days, after about 5 minutes in each session, a kind of wave occured and in the background, behind the focus on the sound of Buddho, I could see visions and what appeared to be dreams occuring. Actually, I recognize them as dreams because if I grasp at any one of them, I find myself in a lucid dream.. And it is typical to feel that "wave" take place which usually anounces that REM is about to occur. The visions are just another attempt by your subconscious mind to distract you… Note…your subconscious mind is in the spirit world… ordinary dreams take place in your subconscious mind.. lucid dreams take place in the spirit world, so can be used as portals into the spirit world… you go into the lucid dream, then don’t follow the flow of the lucid dream, and walk out of the lucid dream into the spirit world… Note... it is the delusion in your subconscious mind, that creates blockages in your chakras... For the last couple of days the dreams/visions no longer occur. Instead, I'm seeing abstract patterns of lights in the background, beautiful colors and patterns. Nothing like I've ever seen before. I suspect that by maintaining focus on the breath and the mantra it is stirring up winds. I think that performing a mantra (even silently) is kicking in the throat chakra, which then creates the dreams and visions (these types of visions). I do admit, it is easier to maintain consistent focus on the objects of awareness (the breath and the Buddho) when they are combined because each new breath brings a new batch of thoughts, but if you are focusing on the sound of the mantra, the new batch of thoughts comes in and then goes out because you are not grasping at them. So, in a way, you are precipitating the natural dissolution and release of thoughts and visions too (when not focused on them). This is sort of like Dzogchen's remaining in the natural state. Is the point of this Buddho practice to purify the subconscious? You use the bhuddo practice, observing the breath as a way to strengthen your concentration…The point of this buddho practice is to keep your concentration strong enough to systematically destroy delusion… (1)… to silence the voice and gain control of the conscious mind… (2)… to then use the conscious mind to purify the subconscious mind starting with “anger”… (3)… then to reach equanimity… (4)… doing body investigation to understand that there is no “us” except the subconscious mind… (5)… destroying the delusion that controls our subconscious mind… and attaining awakening and nirvana… What is the next stage past the abstract light patterns that I am seeing? Will they gradually slow down and fade away when I achieve shamatha? Will I need to drop the mantra at some point? Everybody is different… some people see and hear nothing… some people see visions… some hear beautiful music… or see beautiful patterns of colors… You do the mantra and observe the breath, to keep your concentration strong enough to destroy the delusion… but after you destroy delusion it doesn’t matter… …………………………………………. The only way to permanently purify the subconscious mind (6th chakra) is to destroy the delusion that controls the subconscious mind… and only the conscious mind (7th chakra) can do that by systematically turning the delusion into neutral awareness… 1)… First by “learning to control the “voice of delusion” in the conscious mind, and developing the strength of concentration so that we can turn off the voice” so that our mind is quiet and empty… allowing us to rest our mind… this is simple concentration (Samadhi)… One pointedness is total concentration… the first time I reached one pointedness, I was staying in a Buddhist monastery, living in a monks hut and meditating… I sat down with a clock in front of me, the time was 8:30 AM and I closed my eyes and started meditating… a few minutes later I heard loud noises outside my open window and opened my eyes to see what was going on… it was some workmen throwing some boards in a pickup truck to haul them away…I glanced at the clock, and the clock said 11:15 AM… I thought the clock must be broken, so a got up and got my watch… when I looked at my watch, it said 11:15AM… nothing made any sense… I couldn’t have been meditating for two hours and forty five minutes… I had only been meditating for five or ten minutes at most… then I started looking around, and was amazed at how beautiful everything was… and how peaceful and rested my body felt, and how much energy I had… I went outside and started walking around, gawking at everything because it was all so beautiful… the next morning after breakfast, I went to do some walking meditation on a walking path that was about seventy feet long, and shaded by trees … it had rained all night. so the leaves of the trees were wet and dripping drops of water… I stepped onto the beginning of the path, and paused to empty my mind, and the tree I was standing under dropped all of its water on me… then as I slowly walked down the path, each tree dropped its water on me as I passed under it… by the time I go to the end of the path, I was soaking wet, but laughing with my heart full of joy… the monk that was my teacher said it was the “devas” (heavenly spirits) congratulating me on reaching one pointedness…for the next two weeks, it was like I was walking around in a Walt Disney movie where everything has little sparkles on it… then came the ceremony to mark the midpoint of the “rains retreat”… it started at dusk in the sala (big open air hall) and lasted for about 2 hours… I was not going to go, but everybody said that I should go, so I went… I got there when it was supposed to start and there were not many people, so I sat in the middle of the hall… but people kept coming and coming, so the hall filled up… but people kept coming, so it got crowded… and more people came so the sala was jammed with people… you could not even see the floor…it was so jammed that to leave, I would have had to walk on peoples bodies… I could hear every little sound in the sala… I could smell every little smelI in the sala…I was sitting in a meditation position… and could feel the knees of the people behind me… there were three fat women sitting in front of me who kept wiggling around and trying to scoot back, pushing against my legs (I could smell that one of them was having her period)… to the right of me two women kept talking in wispers… to my left was a mother who kept trying to silence her petulant child… and the abbot’s very large english bulldog was walking around “on” the sea of bodies, drooling on people and trying to sit in their lap… while some woman in the front was offering 5 gold bars to the abbot who was sitting up front…this is when my concentration crashed and burned… I spent the whole night in my kuti sitting with my back against one wall, facing the abbot who was sitting against the opposite wall with the woman offering the five gold bars over and over again… with the two whispering women on my right… and the mother trying to silence her petulant child on the left… while the abbots english bulldog ran about the kuti… I finally got rid of them and regained my concentration just before dawn… and it has been solid ever since… but I learned a lesson… I had not allowed my own delusion to talk me into going to the rains retreat ceremony… but I had allowed other peoples delusion to talk me into going…never again…! 2)… Then by investigating, understanding, and “letting go of anger and greed”… so we never get angry again… (righteous indignation is also anger)… If you get angry, it is your fault you are angry… because you decided to get angry… no one can make you angry but yourself… it is the conditioning in your subconscious mind that causes you to get angry… because you have been taught (conditioned) as a small child that if people say this or that, or do this or that, you should get angry… your subconscious is already preparing your body to get angry, before you even decide to get angry… there is a split second just before you get angry, when you can decide NOT to get angry… in other words, you can turn off your anger by simply letting go of it when it starts to arise… if someone is angry and being rude to you trying to make you angry, and you get angry, they have stolen your energy… if instead, you calmly look at them and say something like; .”whoa man, how long have you had this problem”.. (making it their problem, not yours)… then look at your watch and say “i gotta go now or I will be late, see you later” as you walk off… as they shout, “I don’t have a problem”…!!! You have simply refused to get angry… and if you have to deal with this person, you do so later when they are not angry…anger is a negative emotion… it is a defilement that blocks your spiritual development… and when you get rid of anger, greed falls away too because it is the other side of the coin that is anger… 3)… Then by “reaching equanimity”, and accepting other people and their beliefs just the way they are… their business is their business, and our business is our business… and we never have another argument… we are all the same… it does not matter who we are… it does not matter if we are a man or woman, rich or poor, smart or dumb, beautiful or ugly, young or old, etc., etc., etc…. we are all the same…we are no better, and no worse than anyone else… so we should respect other people as much as we respect ourselves…thinking you are better or worse than others, blocks your spiritual development… that means having respect for other people’s beliefs and way of living, because it is none of your business… if you mind your own business, you will not have the time and energy to mind other people’s business… you must accept other people and their beliefs, just the way they are… and if someone tries to bait you and argue with you that they are right and you are wrong… just tell them that “neither opinion is right or wrong… they are just different… and if you were minding your own business, you would not have the time and energy to try to mind my business”…if they still try to argue with you, just say “you are wasting my time”, and just walk away… it takes two people to have an argument, don’t be one of them… 4)… Then doing “body investigation”… and realize that we are a “spirit (subconscious mind) with a body”, not a “body with a spirit”, and realizing that our “body” and “personality” are not “us”, they are temporary just for this life… that our spirit (subconscious mind) is the main event… because it is the eternal “us”… Most people think of themselves as being a body and a personality… and they think of their awareness as being a part of their body… they consider that their body and personality is their self…so they think that when their body dies, their awareness dies with it…they are scared of death, and want to live forever, but don’t realize that their subconscious mind does live forever… that the subconscious mind is the self… the body investigation is a process of analyzing the physical body looking for a self… you can only realize and conclude that the body is a non self that will die and rot away… that your mind is the self… and since your conscious mind can’t remember your past life, but your subconscious mind can… that your subconscious mind is your “eternal self”… and that it is full of delusion, and needs to be purified… 5)… Then by “holding our conscious mind in “neutral awareness” (the middle path) until our subconscious mind accepts it as reality… causing our delusion to shatter amid loud rumbling noises, and flashing lights… and we feel as if we have just awakened from a long hypnotic dream… and now the delusion seems so obvious, that we wonder how it could have fooled us… Delusion is entirely a result of the concept of “good” and “evil” (bad)… labeling everything as good or bad is delusion, because the only thing that is good or bad is the intention of our actions…everything else just is, and is neutral in itself… the world must be seen entirely as neutral cause and effect… our intention (good or bad) is the “cause” and “karma” (good or bad) is the effect… if our intentions are neutral, we make no karma… this is why an awakened person makes no karma… and this is why we need to hold this mind set in our conscious mind until our subconscious mind accepts it as reality… in order to reach awakening… 6)… We have purified our subconscious mind (sixth chakra) permanently and destroyed the delusion in it, so there is no longer a voice of delusion… so now our conscious mind (seventh chakra) is blissfully empty, serenely peaceful, and all we can hear is silence…the sound of one hand clapping… Once you destroy delusion, your subconscious mind is permanently purified… Dawg

In memory, all experiences settle into an equilibrium for me. Some are remembered consciously and mundanely, most not, they just fade. Some are so vivid, exacting in detail and intense that I expect they will remain vivid as long as I have magnetism of mind. Of those that are remembered, they all have an equality of value. With a strong memory recalled vividly and in detail, it doesn't matter if it took place in the dream state or waking, nor if it took place 41 years ago, (I'm 45 currently) or yesterday. It also isn't that important to me if it took place in the 'real' world, or the dream state. If it impacts my consciousness, it has value in memory for me. The way I respond when lucid in dreams is the same mechanism I respond to stimuli in the waking state. When in the dream state, the experience is as real as anything I've ever experienced 'out here'. It is only when I wake up that I was conditioned to disregard the dream stimuli as not valuable, because 'it wasn't real'. To that I must loudly proclaim BULLSHIT. Not out of any malice, just that this is sincerely not the case for me. Stimuli are stimuli. This started at a very young age (four) and as I've grown, has instilled in me a deep, steadily growing and unshakable sense that one day, I will become lucid in the waking state, the same way I do in the dream state, nightly. If an experience has the resonant impact on my consciousness of being stored and recalled in detail as memory, then it stands more or less on equal footing in my memory with all other experiences of a similar intensity and impact. It matters not to me much any more what the 'source' of that experiential memory is... waking or dreaming. What matters to me is what is revealed in the experience about my consciousness and my true nature. Both the real and the dream serve to illuminate my nature by my reaction to the conditions present to my awareness. In short, dreams and waking state to me, are on equal footing as I experience them as memory.