The Conjoined Twins

 

I was deep.

Out of the infinite possibilities, a cave presented itself and I knew that within it was what I needed to have an understanding.
The entrance was small - only room for me. Crouched and cold, I proceeded. I was drawn back into its darkness knowing someone with an explanation waited for me. I knew I was headed to the right location because the pain in my chest was intensifying. 

It was more emotional than physical. Tightness with an ache. Hard to breathe. Hard to move. Fear was in it. But so was shame. It was something old and carried for a long time. I had held this rock in my chest for as long as I could remember. 

Every time something new and exciting lay before me, this pain would arrive. Business opportunities, new careers, new relationships, new love. Any opportunity that might lead me to expressing my true self and stepping into the life I felt meant to inhabit, would activate it like a guillotine cutting me off from myself. Confidence was impossible. Complete chaos replaced my logic. It severed me from anything that might be love of myself. It had the stickiness of guilt mixed with self-doubt and loathing. It would arise in response to my excitement - one emotion triggering the other. It had the power to paralyze me. 

It filled me and drew me like a magnet. So I went back into the cave, knowing I was to find its origins.

I wanted to understand it and release it if I could. I wanted to be free of it. I knew this was the only way. It terrified me but it pulled me, nonetheless. In a few hanging, painful seconds, I found myself in a torch-lit chamber with him.

Before anything else, I saw the shame in his eyes. He no more wanted me there looking at him, than I wanted to be there facing him. I felt like Scrooge seeing himself for the first time through the teachings of the ghosts. Knowing the past had finally caught up to me, I saw him. Then and there, in that dark cave there was no escaping myself.

And, like Scrooge, there was no choice but to let it play itself out.

In purple robes, crown on his head, sat a manly beast. Hair, not fur, was covering every inch of his skin, but clearly a man beneath. Blue eyes and crooked teeth. Old and obviously at the end of his life. His small stature contrasted the enormity of the throne. His face revealed the same self-hatred I felt in my chest. The same self-hatred that would arise in me each time life presented me with my dreams.

With a heavy breath he reached out his palm to me. Surrendering, I placed my hand upon it.

Instantly I saw the whole of his life, like I had lived it myself.

As a unique and wise child, he was loved by the village. He was possessed by a love for others that compelled him to serve. Kind and compassionate, strong and intelligent, he spent his days working hard in the mill and his nights by the fire, where he taught the young ones. They saw past his appearance and into his heart. Everyone saw him as a blessing to their community. 

Knowing he was different, he accepted that his path would not be like others. Eloquent and insightful, like a monk reincarnated to serve, he accepted his loneliness as the cost of living a great life of service.

When the local monarch abandoned this village to themselves as valueless and unproductive, the peoples’ need of leadership, order, and safety from roving marauders, caused them to look among their ranks for one who could be trusted with their best interests. Someone who could organize and take control of the villages resources. Someone of vision to guide them to abundance and peace. 

No one was more trusted than the special young man who had always put others first, and the interests of the many ahead of the interests of the few. No one had ever before lived a life of service without self-interest as he had.

He was the natural choice to be their king.

In the first few years, the village flourished and the people experienced bounty and safety like never before. Knowing the fear and loneliness of not fitting in, he purposefully selected those young men who lived on the periphery of village life to form his company of peace keepers to train in the protection of the tribe. After the second successful defence of the stores from armed bandits, those men were rewarded with their own training grounds and lodgings. Soon young ones aspired to be part of their corps.

So grateful for the safety, security and leisurely lifestyles they had come to enjoy, the King began to receive gifts and banquets to honour him. The best of the food, the finest of their products were brought to him. He made sure any surplus made its way to his chosen troops.

As it does, not long after, the King began to think of himself as deserving of honours and deference. His need to see himself as righteous and flawless, exposed his weaknesses and insecurities. Soon he spent less time in the counsel of the elders and more on his own, focused on serving his own needs. He no longer asked for what he required, but demanded capitulation to his whims. 

His former heart of public service turned instead to his ego needs. He took what he wanted. He gave to the loyal leaders privileges and advantages. That which had expanded under his leadership was now dividing into factions. Some began to speak out which only created a righteous and harsh response from the loyal corps.

I saw rebellions quickly put down. 

The wisdom and intelligence that had served those he loved were now the tools he used to subjugate them.

As I touched his hand I saw the exploitation and selfishness of his later years.

The people had given him the opportunity to serve - to love and be loved. Their needs became his power. His talents that once lead to affluence for all, became his ability to control. The love was gone. 

His death was imminent and would be celebrated. Loyal sycophants were waiting in the wings.

I took back my hand.

He pointed to the corner. Conjoined twins stood there - one beautiful and loving, the other twisted and angry.

I understood. Authority and corruption are inseparable. Service to others is beautiful. The ego’s fear of losing power becomes ugly. The love of service when rewarded with tributes becomes the intoxication of power. The ego flourishes. The love of power becomes the fear it might be lost. Fear causes us to do unspeakable things.

I had come all this way into the cave. How do I benefit from this remembering?

Stay focused on loving service. Compassion is the opposite of power.

Dwell in love.

I thanked the King for the lesson I had failed to learn.

I forgave him. 

The pain in my chest eased while I cried.

Choice

I told her that I didn’t want to waste my time.

She corrected me.

“It’s not time that you want to protect—it is life. You must focus on not wasting your life.”

“Time. Life. You know what I mean!” My frustration was showing.

She took a deep, calming breath. It calmed us both.

“I want to be gentle, but precise. This is not poetry. It is accuracy.

“It can be a gentle shift that changes everything, if you are open to it.

“A reframe, if you will.”

She looked for my nod.

I gave it.

She began, “Life is not lived day by day, week by week, year by year.

“It is not even lived moment to moment, though the eternal present moment represents an adequate description of time as it truly exists.”

She paused to see if I was following. The words were certainly demanding my attention and focus.

“Time has nothing to do with living—no more than size, shape, or colour. Metres. Litres. Grams. Depth. Breadth. Height. And minutes. They are calibrations of measure, contrast, comparison, differentiation. Just one of the 5Ws. They are the tools we use to separate the parts and pieces of the whole. The parts create the whole. It is the whole that matters.” She smiled.

“Consider your game…”

She detoured into my love of baseball.

“It is the game you love, isn’t it? It’s not the time it takes to play a game. It’s not the innings or the outs or the hits. These are measurements of the play,” she sang. “The play is the beauty, the magic, the reason you watch.”

I started nodding again.

“Think of your music,” she continued. “You would never think that the length of a song, measured in minutes, can have any meaning when you are engaged in the beauty of the melody. The depth of the harmony. The journey of the notes—no matter how long in time—carries us as long as the song continues. Time disappears. It’s lost. It’s meaningless…”

I was deep into her poetry now. She knew it. She saw my trance. Then she shifted. Her words took on a dismissive staccato.

“Time is a tracking device—arbitrarily divided spaces roughly akin to the length of a thought or a beat of the heart,” she pointed at me, smiling, “which, like time, vary in speed with the intensity of emotion contained in each.”

I exhaled and fell under her spell. I could feel myself willingly releasing old ideas. She continued her reasoning.

“Time is a satisfactory measure for previous or future existence,” she lengthened the word to make her point. She straightened her posture. “Past. Long past. Last week. Last year. Next year. Next week. A thousand years from now.

“No matter. Past or future. Both are referenced and measured as a contrast from the present moment—the only moment. The only real one. Time links memory to imagination, resentment to worry, gratitude to dreaming. They are little more than machinations of the mind. Judgments of events that exist nowhere but in the mind. Neither past nor future exists right here, right now.

“Time can be a useful measure of existence, but not of life. Past and future should be used like a map—to know where you have been and where you might go. But the map is just a symbol, a representation of where you stand. And where you are—the moment you are in—HERE and NOW is all that is.”

She stared into my eyes, reached for her tea, sipped, and replaced the cup. Then she began what she really wanted to say.

“Life, when it is lived—and it should be lived—is lived choice by choice. You may not want to waste your time. But you waste your life when you do not make choices. When you simply exist. When you go through those minutes mindlessly, repeating the same old actions, the same old habits, following the instructions of an empty voice that is not yours and that you don’t recognize.

“Habits, routines, obligations, and schedules—those are the drivers of existing. You know you are only existing when your actions are determined by a clock. When you are afraid of being late, or yearning for something that happens tomorrow or next year. Or when others are the beneficiaries of your time and energy based on an hourly wage. That is not living.”

She paused.

“That is a waste of life. That is how most get through the days and weeks and years. Only discovering ‘later’ that their life happened, and they didn’t live it.

“You can’t have time. It is a measure, not a thing. You can’t have litres or pounds, but you can have water or cheese. You can take time, waste time, use time. But it is the living—or not living—in that time that matters. You are living and breathing right now. So what will you do with that life?”

She anticipated my questions.

“What is choice?” she asked.

I tilted my head and gestured for her to continue.

“It starts with the awareness of the potency of life. You—your very nature—are the potential, the endless possibility. The waiting void in which nothing exists, but anything could be.”

She sat up and seemed to inflate with excitement. Her energy carried me up.

“Whether you realize it or not, you chose to be here. That choice created a whole world around you.”

“You are talking metaphysics now, Nan.” She didn’t flinch.

“That choice was an explosive act of creation—putting in motion a whole world to play in. Your world, filled with creation and with not-yet-imagined creations for you to engage, experience, and expand. You are choice waiting to be made.” She pointed at my chest.

She locked her eyes on mine, seeking the moment of my enlightenment.

“So here I am. Ya-hoo! Look at me!” I felt befuddled, not enlightened. I wanted to cry. “What now?”

She sighed at my sarcasm and lovingly held my cheek in her palm.

“You are lost in a sea of ‘should.’ Thinking there is a right way and a wrong way,” she paused, “a safe way and an unsafe way.”

She walked to the fridge, took out the tuna and bread, and started to make us sandwiches. She took a deep breath.

“These are ideas that have been imposed on you by a thousand frightened children—seeking what might be right, afraid to be wrong—seeking to guide you with fear and love.”

“Ha,” I moaned. “You mean Mom and Dad and school and church and TV and…”

She ignored me and continued.

“You have been born into a culture. That is a challenge you chose. You have come to learn to choose in a world that punishes choices. You are not alone, but your individuality makes it a challenge you must engage for yourself.”

She looked me in the eye.

“Yes, this culture, this society, has been created around having instead of being. Believing that having makes you safe and not having makes you worthless. Having certain things, doing certain things—good. Not having, not doing—bad. It is a whole system of values that value nothing of value.”

“And it’s rigged,” I added.

“Yes, but you have to see through that,” she snapped back at me. “That is a distraction from the true goal.” She turned back to the sandwiches and continued.

“Others are running around in a panic, doing what others have told them to do and having what others have told them to have, and protecting what others told them to protect. They are constantly looking over their shoulder to see if others approve, and looking down to see if their pile of stuff is big enough yet. And they feel empty. They make no choices for themselves—about themselves—so they are not really living.”

She smirked and laughed. “And time passes, as it always does.”

She shook her head. She drifted off, thinking.

“So…” I started up again.

She looked at me, puzzled.

“How is Choice my alternative?” I asked.

She nodded and put the sandwiches down. They looked good.

She took my hand. I knew this was it.

“Inside you—if you quiet your mind and embrace your infinite potential—you can rediscover your Will. The incredible force of life. The joy. The love of living. Let every thought, everything, fall away, and in that emptiness you can find your desire to live. That Will is the choice that brought you here, now.

“Find, and sit in, your love of life. You will eventually discover that there are two compelling forces within your Will: curiosity and creativity.

“They will need to be reactivated. You have held them dormant, as all of us do.

“Curiosity is your uniqueness. The questions you have. The understandings you seek. The ‘What if’s’ of your unique preferences and desires. Your curiosity will compel you. Questions asked must be answered. They cannot sit unaddressed. They will eat at you—you can feel how they already do. That is the source of your sadness.

“Creativity is our common nature. We are expanding beings. We reach out and extend. We create. Our natural state is love. Love is the force of extension, of creation.

“Follow your curiosity. Choose to answer your questions. Create from your heart. Choose to create with what you find.

“Choice comes from your most authentic self, your most genuine desires—your need to create.

“Choice is the act of living.”

She walked to the tap and filled two glasses with water. She placed one in front of me while sipping from the other.

“Take off your watch, eat your lunch, consider the possibilities, pick something, and go for it.”

She kissed me on the forehead, smiled, and said, “I love you.”

Remembering

Especially on RD, I try to remember the dishonesty of war.

I don’t believe my choice belittles the sacrifice and suffering of those good-hearted and noble citizens choosing to enlist. I don’t believe it challenges their intelligence, integrity, or motives. I don’t believe it shows a lack of gratitude for the sacrifice so many have made. I don’t believe I am disrespecting those in my family who have experienced war. I don’t believe it is unpatriotic or subversive. I do not think that it requires elimination of our forces. I don’t believe this reflection makes us vulnerable.

I am not being naive.

I simply think, as humanity, we can do better. 

To really honour those who have given so much, we should try to do better. If we truly appreciate their loss, it should become unthinkable to allow such losses to ever happen again. To truly remember the horror, pain, suffering, and loss, is to try harder than ever to ensure it doesn’t happen again. It is inevitable that such pain and loss will be experienced by our children unless we are lead but such sacrifice to learn, and grow, and become better.

To remember should be the commitment to end all war, forever.

This is no different than curing disease. This no different than the invention of the seatbelt. The idea of vaccinations. The advancement of science. The new efficiencies in the economy. Better nutrition. Better education. The pursuit of the greater good.

As beings, are we not committed to making tomorrow better than today? Shouldn’t we be diligent in our efforts to make the world better for the next generation? Isn’t our motivation for such, the remembering of previous suffering? 

Why do we allow war to continue?

I believe in my heart that humans are better than this.

I believe in my heart that humans are not naturally warring. We are gentle beings seeking peace. That those who have enlisted for war have been convinced that it is the only answer to others, evil others, who would take away their freedom and peace, is the proof of the dishonesty.

Years and years after wars have ended and lines on maps have changed, and wealth has changed hands, and oligarchs have been empowered, and arms manufacturers have been enriched, our historians tell us the truth of why we went to war. Seldom is it what the soldiers were told at the time. Seldom was freedom at risk. Seldom would anyone have agreed to pick up arms had they been told the truth. 

The first casualty of war is truth. But truth always comes out. The bigger the war, the longer it takes.

Seldom did the decision makers, those inciting war, those declaring war, suffer the losses we remember on November 11th. Seldom did those who profited from war suffer the losses that we pause and remember today. 

The kinds of losses we honour today. 

The kinds of losses we should never allow again.

There are many ways to solve disagreement. There is no way to solve greed.

The only way to have an enemy, is to be an enemy.

War is madness. We are better than this.

Today I remember the dishonesty of war.

I choose something better.

Control

Consider Power.

As you consider, examine your emotions.

Power can be strong, yet there is fear.

Power requires emotion to motivate.

Power reaches, yet there are limits to that reach.

What puts limits on power’s reach?

Power is not a thing to be amassed.

It is not an office to be pursued.

Power is not money.

Power is not armaments.

Power is not position.

Power lies not in the one that would use power.

You cannot bribe one who cares not for money.

You cannot threaten one who is not afraid to die.

You cannot hold office forever, if the people remember they put you there.

All of the power that anyone would ever use to control, influence, or seduce you, lies in your experience of your own needs.

The source of all power is some form of need.

The depth of the power is the depth of the need.

Power targets choice.

Choice resides in your mind.

Choice never goes away, though the power attempts to take it from you. 

Although the mechanisms of power may appear outside you, that power only exists in your mind.

Power, exerted over others, is experienced within their mind as control, influence or seduction.

Power attempts to control, influence, or seduce your choice by creating an emotional response within your mind.

If you can see past that emotion, you are free from the power and choice remains.

There is always Choice.

Peace.

Consider Peace.

What is Peace?

Peace is quiet.

Peace is calm.

Peace is without movement. But is not stationary. It moves outward from its source.

Peace shines.

Peace is noticeable by its contrast to the disturbances of life.

Peace ignores.

Peace allows. 

Peace forgives.

Peace knows that others will act upon, and express, their emotions. 

Peace knows that it can only be disturbed by the thoughts of the one that holds it. So, Peace holds firm, knowing that it cannot be threatened, except with permission.

Where does Peace exist?

It begins in the mind of one.

A quiet, calm, and accepting mind.

A mind that chooses not to be disturbed.

A mind that chooses to allow and forgive.

A mind that disregards the events around it, as those events are less important than the peaceful state within.

How does peace extend?

Peace moves outward from the mind of the one, into the world of the others. Perceived as calm and quiet and allowing. Differing from that which may perceived as normal. 

Sometimes this expression of Peace is recognized as Peace. 

Sometimes it is misunderstood, as it disturbs the others from their activity, grabbing their attention and provoking them. It can aggravate those who do not value Peace in the same way. Or in that moment.

Peace can disturb the minds of those who have other intentions. 

Peace can be offered.

That would be done through forgiveness and compassion.

It might then exist in the mind of the forgiver.

It may not yet exist in the mind of the forgiven.

Peace can be invited.

That would be done by calming emotion, and ceasing judgment, and accepting.

It might then only exist in the mind of the accepter.

It might not yet exist in the mind of the accepted.

Sometimes, Peace can be recognized for what it is. When recognized it can be an attractive alternative to one's present state.

Hence, Peace can only exist in the mind of one who desires it and releases that which needs releasing. Accepts that which needs accepting. And calms that which needs calming.

Peace can only exist in the mind that values it and seeks it.

But one can feel the Peace in others.

 

Peace cannot be imposed. 

That would not be peace. That is control. 

Peace allows that which is not Peace, but remains Peaceful.

Control allows very little.

That leads to the opposite of Peace.

I am not this body.

I am not this body.

This body could never contain me.

Sometimes, however, this body gets in my way.

Sometimes it distracts me with its needs and urges.

Sometimes it stops me with sickness and pain.

Sometimes it frightens me with its weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

Sometimes it deludes me into only seeing other bodies.

Sometimes it controls me with illusions that baffle me.

Sometimes it is my nemesis, tricking me with the idea that I am here to protect it, rather than it being here to carry me.

Sometimes it deceives me that size, strength, colour, gender, age, things, matter.

Sometimes my eyes don't see, and my ears don't hear, and my skin does not feel, and I miss the beauty of it all.

Sometimes its insistence in holding my attention limits my awareness and being.

I am not this body.

I am mind.

Connected to all mind.

An essential part of the wholeness of mind.

Capable of awareness. 

Capable of knowledge.

Capable of choice.

Capable of creation.

Capable of compassion, forgiveness and all other forms of love.

My mind, not my body, creates my experience and gives meaning to everything.

My focus is to be on my mind, not my body.

My attention is to be upon the activities of my mind and not those of my body.

I am not this body.

I am mind, and the only true activity of mind is the choice between love and fear.

A choice when there appears to be no choice.

 

They say the first casualty of war is truth.

We have seen for the past decade that journalism does not exist anymore. No one is informing the populace by sharing facts. They are simply seeking viewers and clicks. The best source of clicks is fear. And when the fear is optimized, we are offered distraction from our fear – everything from celebrities to sports to recipes to pornography. Media, in all its forms, has become a time-consuming, attitude enforcing, addictive intoxication.

In my past life, I valued being informed. I aspired to be very informed and a source for others to be informed. I have mistakenly convinced myself that being informed is important in a world where being informed has become impossible.

Certainly, I can claim to know more than others. That may build my feelings of superiority. It will give me the chance to sound intelligent. It may allow me to condemn the others who do not engage social dynamics and label them as the problem.

But in the end, my blame and hate and condemnation are simply the tools that profiteers use to sell everything from insurance to investments to weapons. They are the thought-tools we use to convince that war can be justified.

Can you feel the fear and hatred building in you? Have you come to the conclusion that war is necessary yet? Putin convinced his people. Are you convinced yet?

Journalism is not used to inform you. It is used to shape you and lead you to the need for war.

This is not the first war. History is filled with them. War has always resulted in significant profits for some. Have we forgotten that war is a multi trillion-dollar product and service industry?

I have decided to abstain from the war news. It brings me to fear and worry. And worse, it brings me to hate and thoughts of attack. It is fed to me to enrage and terrify me. I will not allow myself to be convinced by propaganda that any war is justified. I will not be seduced into thinking there is a way to win. I need to remember that developing strategies for attack is the sadly naïve belief there can be winners in war.

Attack thoughts are the true pandemic disease today. Attack never results in resolution. Attack is the antithesis of peace, and isn’t peace is what we all seek?

No, I will not read the war news any longer. But that does not mean I will be passive. I will not do nothing. I won’t just be distracted.

I will use the time formerly employed in the consumption of news to join in with one of the dozens and dozens of united prayer-meditation-contemplation exercises conducted all around the world as we speak.  

A simple google search will find for you, dozens of studies that have been done that show these meditations efforts have had empirically measurable and statistically significant effects in war zones.

 Here is one to consider - https://www.bmedreport.com/archives/10821

Is it propaganda? Maybe. Isn't it all propaganda anymore? 

But at least it is propaganda for peace. It does not make me hate.

I will actively use my mind to send forgiveness and peace rather than to collect propaganda that tries to convince me to be afraid and hateful.

It is impossible to be informed. It is impossible that war results in peace. It is ridiculous to discuss this in social media. None of these will accomplish anything for anyone other than the politicians and profiteers. It is a waste of my effort.

Instead, I will calm my mind and send my emotionally loving wishes and prayers for calm and reason and peace to those I would otherwise consider my enemies and attackers.

I pray you will join me.