Coming of Age and Finding My Voice

What would happen if women, 51% of the world population, devoted the same commitment to nonviolent peacemaking that armies devote to war?

 

This is a clarion call to all women to take the lead in personal conscious evolution—and in so doing, in shaping an emergent planetary culture united in peacemaking.

 

Peacemaking in this Age of Evolution is not a form of activism, but a leap in consciousness. A leap into an intentionally framed perception of daily reality called “peace awareness” rather than “war” awareness. And by implication, “war” also means warring, violence conflict, exclusion, divisiveness, conquering, subjugation, humiliation, shaming, prejudice, and all forms of social and environmental interaction that create separation and suffering. And “peace” refers to the underlying frequency of contentment that vibrates throughout our entire being when we are living in harmony with this “thing” called life.

 

Waking Up to Dreams

Many women have had the experience of being in a frightening dream, and when we call out for help, we find we have no voice. We keep trying to call out or scream, hoping someone will hear us and help us, but we can barely eek out a whisper or a squeak. We feel helpless, powerless, afraid, and at the mercy of malevolent external forces.

A recent dream I had spoke volumes—for me personally, but I believe also for many women like myself who are, as I call it,  “coming of age” in finding our voices of leadership in conscious evolution.

The Age of Conscious Evolution

Most of us can read the writing on the wall:

 we just assume it’s addressed to someone else. ~ Ivern Ball

 

This is the Age of Conscious Evolution, the historical epoch in which the human species realizes that everything is energy; everything has consciousness.

There may or may not be an objective reality to run into; all we can ever do is experience our mind’s interpretation of what we perceive.

When we learn something new, or remember something ancient; when we have an insight, or reflect on our own patterns of mental and emotional activity…nothing outside of us changes.

What changes, dramatically, is our perception of ourselves and the world.

Conscious evolution is thinking about and responding to those unexpected experiences of perception, from which we then reshape our visible and invisible realities.

In modernity, paying attention to this ongoing dynamic of awareness and response is often defined as a core aspect of the spiritual process, informally referred to as “waking up.”

In the cosmic context, waking up is an open-ended process of learning that is the impulse of evolution itself. It is a metaphysical principle of reflexive consciousness: indistinguishable from that moment when existence gazes upon itself.

Unity consciousness. Oneness.

The Age of Conscious Evolution is defined by this radical shift in thinking and perception to the realization of one’s own self-directing conscious presence—to one’s evolutionary nature.

When conscious presence is the fundamental frequency from which we broadcast everyday awareness and response, we harmonize with an immeasurable source of constructive and creative energies. Participating from within this larger system is the only real and legitimate purpose in the Age of Conscious Evolution.

There is no such thing as a problem-free world. Problems are a dynamic of evolutionary tension, inherent to existence. Life without problems means life without dreams or commitment. The problems of today are of our own awakening.

The promise of tomorrow is one in which today’s problems are essentially absent. To realize tomorrow is to attend to the cause of today’s problems—how we perceive and relate to our inner and outer worlds.

The Age of Conscious Evolution is a quantum leap of thought, action, and actuality, so that it is the character of our awakening that determines the character of our problems. It is a time of illuminating human perception, so that the problems we do create arise as an expression of our evolutionary vision and creative passion.

Long-term survival demands a revolution. A positive revolution, by ordinary people: not with guns and resistance, but with simple human perceptions. What we think, and hence do, echoes in eternity. There is already a swelling conscious and unconscious sense of urgency for a commitment to conscious evolution—for waking up to conscious presence.

In this Age of Conscious Evolution such urgency transmutes into resolute purpose, wherein the process of self-realization, self-transcendence, and evolutionary participation is what defines humanity’s course.

The Age of Conscious Evolution is the time of awakening the commitment to presuppose the promise of tomorrow, and persevering to make it so.

Tomorrow begins today.

 

 

She didn’t know where she had been.

She didn’t know where she was going.

She only knew she was on her way.

 

An Open Letter to the “Big Three” Network Media

I do not have cable, so my television news channel choices are restricted to the network stations and PBS (hooray for PBS!). And truthfully, I enjoy much of the network programming. However, I am, like many Americans, disappointed that the news coverage generally is cookie-cutter, fast-food, sound bite, sensationalized drivel. In particular, watching the coverage of the Occupy Movement (on any of my local stations) is like watching lemmings jumping off a cliff– all focus on the somewhat superficial local ordinance concerns of people staying in a public park– TO THE EXCLUSION OF THE REAL social ISSUES THE MOVEMENT REPRESENTS.

Dear Network Media: Do you understand what this movement is about? It is about the majority of the honest, hard-working people of this country getting a fair deal and a chance to improve their lives. It’s about no longer being willing to allow the hijacking and stripping of fundamental ethics in our society and culture: common decency, fairness, truth, honesty, integrity, et al.

Here is a quote that summarizes it: “Wall Street owns the country…. Money rules…. Our laws are the output of a system which clothes rascals in robes and honesty in rags. The [political] parties lie to us and the political speakers mislead us.”

In fact, this is a quote from populist orator Mary Elizabeth Lease during the prairie revolt that swept the Great Plains in 1890. But it could be a quote from today’s Occupy Movement! How long this has been going on!

We the people, and I’m assuming this includes most Network employees, are done with being lied to, manipulated, ignored, dumbed-down, silenced and impoverished– and all this so that the relative minority can prosper! This is the real issue at hand: the “meta-bowl” within which many specific injustices and related issues are contained.

Not only are “they” financially prospering, but in many instances humanity’s life source, Earth, is being wantonly and irrevocably destroyed on the fast road of personal fortune for the select few and seductive consumerism for the masses. Among the many reasons why such blind recklessness is unacceptable, there is more than enough hard evidence that such myopia will not bode well for anyone’s survival on the planet over the long term.

It’s time (long overdue, actually) that we have a fundamental paradigm shift in our consciousness, in our economic and social systems, and future vision. This WILL occur eventually and inevitably—and it IS occurring, hence the Occupy Movement—whether or not the Network Media brings light to it, but why get left behind? Why endorse and perpetuate the deliberately crafted corporate-induced mindlessness and obfuscation of the Truth that keeps citizens afraid, poor, ignorant, and scrambling for daily survival, so that we barely have a moment to think about what is really happening, let alone be responsive or proactive about it? As it has been so aptly said, “If we’re not part of the solution, we’re part of the problem.” (Note to self: Rewrite this. No need to publicize your naive optimism that the Network Media isn’t part of the problem or that it might actually give a shit.)

To put it very plainly, what I am asking from the Network Media is that you do what most people know in their heart, mind, and pocketbook is “the right thing,” rather than pandering to the deceptive practices of the puppeteers jerking our strings.

Please won’t you step up and cover the REAL issues at hand –and demonstrate the kind of media-engendered leadership that will help Americans to help ourselves: to restore balance, dignity, and a culture of hope.

Thank you for your time and considered response.

 

The Truth About Consciousness

I am both thrilled and dismayed that “consciousness” is coming into vogue. On the one hand, understanding consciousness—that is, understanding the dynamics and principles of awareness and responsiveness to our own existence—is key to human evolution. On the other hand, we humans have a propensity for taking basic truths and twisting, contorting, extorting, and diluting them so that the meaning we end up with only faintly resembles what was initially unearthed in our dawning awareness. The “truth” of consciousness becomes complicated and thorny—something to be uncovered and resolved rather than upheld and exemplified.

I recently saw the documentary film, Chasing Madoff: the story of how the Boston accountant Harry Markopolos and his team spent ten years struggling to expose the truth of Madoff’s massive Ponzi scheme. At the end of the film, and when Madoff turns himself in (undone by his own greed), Harry was revered and put on a pedestal, touted as a hero. But Harry had a different perspective: “People call me a hero. I don’t like that. I’m not a hero, I’m just someone who does the right thing.”

Now there’s an example of someone who never lost their thread of connection to Truth.

In application, consciousness is, very simply, about doing the right thing.

At the Threshold

At the Threshold

by Joan Seager

 

I am ready: you be ready too, my love

but please, no fuss, no horses with black feathers,

no orchestrated sobbing –

Perhaps a few balloons, some pink roses and

you bring the chocolate biscuits.

What else?

Laughter, of course, on the summer air and could someone

hold my hand? I would like that but just until we reach

the Threshold,

A splendid sunset has been reserved – they are so well-

organized – and the tumbletide is waiting.

Don’t be afraid, darling, we have done this before

but you have forgotten.

The world is full of wonders and I know two-

that garfish have green bones, that my love is curled

like a silver snail inside your trillion trillion cells –

the best gift I could find.

 

The old woman reaches the Threshold and waves to

her children, wearing her white fuzzy, pink-lined rabbit’s

ears which she always wore to embarrass them at

the airport or the station (it worked every time)

And then -

One Final Gift

Joan Seager, July 17, 1922 – July 9, 2011

For two and a half years I have been full time caregiving my mom, here in my home in Portland, Oregon—my mom being in her late 80’s, barely mobile, and with moderate dementia. It was more complicated than some arrangements since we are Canadians, and while Canada does provide national health insurance, there is a limit to how long citizens can be out of the country and still remain covered. My siblings and I long ago had made the decision that we could not take the financial risk of keeping Mums in the United States once her Canadian health coverage ran out: at that point we—she— would then have to return to Canada permanently.

She was winding toward the end of the out-of-country extension period, so I had purchased the plane tickets for this final departure. I had no real “plans” for how the future would unfold, but simply a commitment to care for her, which meant I had to leave my home and husband (and kitty) in Portland and live in a small one-bedroom, high-rise apartment with my mom in Toronto. One day at a time.

She had been on a wait-list for one of the nicer facilities in Toronto for three years, but it was still uncertain how soon or long it would be before she was called for placement—and when they did call, could I could actually break her heart (and mine) and leave her in a strange place with strangers, when all she ever wanted in her final years was to be with family?

As was my habit when an event or change in routine was pending, I would begin telling my mom about the trip (or hair appointment, or a family member’s visit) long before it occurred. Even though her short-term memory was practically non-existent, I believed that with enough repetition she had a better chance of remembering, and even if she didn’t ever recall, she was still very much alive and deserved to be included and treated like the intelligent, wise, and caring adult she was, regardless of the functions she had lost to Alzheimer’s.

It was about six weeks before our departure date when she carefully shuffled to the table for her usual salmon and mayonnaise on an English muffin breakfast, when I reminded her again.

“Mums, you and I are leaving for Toronto soon, and we’re going to live together in your apartment.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Well,” you don’t have any health insurance here, since you live with me in the United States, and we have to go back so you can keep your Canadian health coverage.”

“But I’m not sick,” she said plaintively.

“No, you’re not, you’re actually very healthy. Still, how do you think all this is going to end?”

“Doctors?” she responded, uncertainly.

“Yes, probably. Chances are pretty good that you’re going to need some medical care in the near future, and we have to have health insurance to cover that.”

The conversation took a momentary lull. Then I took a deep breath and spoke gently.

“You know, Mums, it would be a lot better for all of us if we didn’t have to go to Canada because I really don’t know what’s going to happen there—and I know how much you dislike traveling…It would be so much better for you, and for me, if you just went peacefully to sleep in your cozy bed here and didn’t wake up…”

Silence.

Then, with her refined British accent and characteristic stoical optimism she replied earnestly:

“I shall do my best.”

And so she did. A week later she had a minor fall, which precipitated her being confined to bed. Her appetite had been steadily decreasing and her sleeping markedly increasing in recent months; once in bed from the fall, she slept pretty much twenty-four hours a day and only roused when I woke her—for “feeding and watering”—as she would say. A few days later her appetite had dwindled to almost nothing and then her fluid intake began to decrease. I called home hospice.

Within three weeks she passed away, mostly peacefully, surrounded by her loving family, in what was now her own home, and wearing her favorite polyester, leopard-spotted pajamas with the breast pocket for her tissue.

And I can’t help thinking that this quite remarkable woman had managed to be captain of her destiny right to the very end, and in true keeping with her character, had given one final and enduring gift of love—the best one she had to offer in that moment.

 

 

The “New” Normal

Mother is almost eighty-nine years old and suffers a disabling case of dementia and short-term memory loss. Most of the time her brain can’t make sense of her surroundings or even if it’s morning or evening. When my siblings call her on the phone, she recognizes the voice but has few other memory anchors to them. It is only her habitual telephone patter—“I’m fine, all is well, where are you?…”—that sustains any semblance of normal conversation. She relies on me to make her meals, bathe her, tell her when it’s time to go to bed, to get up, to drink fluids, and so on. With all of this—and more—functional capacity loss, she still has her wits about her. She still knows what is true, what is right, what has meaning, and how to live with as much integrity as a winding-down body and mind permits.

The news recently has been particularly violent. Gadaffi brutally slaughtering his own citizens, ongoing warring in Iraq and the Ivory Coast, and now the latest atrocity: Afghans storming the UN compound in Mazar-e-Sharif, looking for—and finding—Americans to brutally kill, in outraged retaliation against an extremist Florida preacher who spitefully burned the Koran and You-Tubed the event. Watching these stories in succession on the television, and with a penchant for stating the obvious that the Brits are comically renowned for, Mother suddenly said: “We have to act as if it is normal, in order to survive.”

“Act as if what is normal?”  I asked.

“All this violence.”

Turning this over in my mind, I realized how far I personally have strayed from remembering that all the violence the mainstream media shoves down our throats is not “normal.” How much I have succumbed to the trance of a manufactured, superficial, fragmented, violent reality, and forsaken awakened independence and compassionate connection. Neither the violence itself, nor our fixation on it is normal. Yes, violence seems to be a common state of affairs in our post-modern world, but it is not normal. It is an aberration.

One thing we can be sure of is that the more escalation of violence, in our communities and around the world, the farther we are from “normal” on the scale of human nature.  That is not to say that violence isn’t in human nature: obviously it is. But it is not our nature. Violence is one of the more extreme ways we act out when we feel threatened, hurt, violated, unheard, unseen, isolated or undone. It is an indicator of imbalance, of inner pain, a lack of psychological maturity, dimmed vision, and constriction of the heart. In terms of solutions and survival, violence is short-term and a dead end.

The Wobble Point

The Wobble Point

When I was a child I was given a red, plate-sized, spinning top for Christmas. I can still remember—and remember the feeling of—the bright red color of the lower half, contrasted with the brightly painted design above (yes, the color was a feeling as well as a visual), and the wooden knob clasped in my little fingers as I pumped the metal swizzle-stem up and down to “activate” the momentum. When the time was just right (which I determined purely by a felt-sense of “now”) I would let go. The whirling, spherical blur of red and bright colors, in perfect pitch, transfixed me. Inevitably, as the principle of gravity prevailed, the top’s symmetrical orbit would begin to go off kilter, wobbling more and more—and eventually, it stopped.

I would endlessly repeat this simple exercise of pumping and observing, my young mind fascinated by the nuances of color, sound, space, and motion, and their relationship to outcome. Innocently and intuitively, I was learning that there was a direct correlation between me/my effort and the state of something “outside” of me, and their interplay within a larger matrix of universal principles–in this instance, gravity. I discovered, too, that if I intervened during the early phase of the wobbling, I could “recharge” the top and prolong its balanced spin.

The earthquake and tsunami off the coast of Japan, March 11, reminded me of this childhood treasure. For, even if our beloved planet earth is not literally wobbling (although it is rocking and rolling), human reality, both the visible and invisible, is precariously off kilter. I don’t need to cite the litany of social and environmental cataclysms within the last ten years alone, contributing to the scope of change being witnessed and experienced. When I envision the impact of this quickening of human experience, I see my wobbling, red-bottomed, spinning top.

I see humanity’s future suspended in that timeless moment of wobbling anticipation: will we act and thrive—or will we remain inert and break down? The outcome depends entirely on us: what effort we exert, knowing when to intervene and when to let go, acting in unity with inner and outer, and attuning to the principles of creation.

Specifically, humanity’s future relies first and foremost on adjusting our individual and collective consciousness—and by consciousness I mean that quality of awareness and responsiveness to our own existence, in each moment of creation.

6 Degrees

6 Degrees

The idea of  “six degrees of separation” was let loose into the noosphere by a Hungarian author in 1929, in a short story he wrote called “Chains.” The essential premise is that everyone is generally six “steps” away from everyone else on the planet, “so that a ‘chain,’ a ‘friend of friend’ statements can be made, on average, to connect any two people in six steps or fewer.” (Wikipedia)

This notion was reignited in the 60s and has become a popular social perception, a meme, actually. A quick Internet search shows the name and concept of “six degrees,” now eighty years after its fictional origins, being used for a television series, a disaster relief website, business networking, social networking, a recording label, a magazine…and so on. These are the ways this thought has taken form in our physical reality.

I recently watched a National Geographic Society film, called Six Degrees Could Change the World (2008). The film explores the consequences of Earth’s core temperature rising; each successive degree wreaking increasing mayhem and havoc on our natural systems, and hence our planet and societies. The Earth—our home—our life support system—is already plus-one degree, and plus-two degrees would offer an upsurge of the already evident volatile weather extremes. At plus-six degrees, the conclusion is one of total ecological breakdown—and the renewal and rebirth cycle would begin again.

A Culture of Hope

A Culture of Hope

I regularly watch the news on television, not because I particularly want to, but because it allows me to join in an “activity” with my Mom, an Alzheimer’s pioneer. In fact, on any given day we will watch local news, national news (twice), and the BBC world news, in sequence. One story after another of death, violence, injustice, loss, pain, and devastation from the elements predominates the airwaves, sprinkled with a few sound-bite feel-good stories.

There is much I could say regarding the media manipulating our minds and emotions with fear-mongering, and all in the name of profits. But tonight I am clutching my heart in horror by this latest of human atrocities on the global stage: the Moscow airport suicide bombing that has killed at least thirty-five people and injured one hundred and sixty.

Well, that and the cold snap in northeastern North America which has burst water pipes and threatens power grids, the continuing flooding in eastern Australia, political revolts in Tunisia and Egypt, earthquakes in Pakistan, cholera in Haiti, Ivory Coast in-fighting, despots and crackpots, homeless victims, gang killings, psychotic vigilantes, baby stealing…

It is challenging, at best, to remain positive, peaceful, or optimistic in the face of what seems to be an incessant tide of human blood that the news offers. Like many of us, I want to scream, sob, rage, and get on my non-religious knees and pray for divine intervention. And while I realize, as we all do, that bad news “sells” and that the mainstream “news” only offers one biased slice of the human experience, this does little to console or soothe me.

So, I take a few deep breaths and recalibrate, stepping back, way back in my mind’s eye, and looking at the patterns which make up the bigger picture. And I remember. In the big picture, every event, especially those that are tragic, is an attempt and an invitation to restore balance.

Chaos, what we call chaos, is what happens when systems break down or disrupt or alter their relational rhythm in some way. The balance is upset. Chaos is the precursor to a new order, or what we humans call “change.” The more imbalance, whether it be within a human body, a corporation, a culture, or a galaxy, the more chaos that will ensue until a new order is established.

A new evolutionary order of human consciousness is being birthed and each of us can feel this to some degree, regardless of our ability to perceive it or even our belief in it. More specifically, the consciousness of humanity is undergoing a profound revolution; literally, a turning around on the spiral of creation to see where we have been, where we are, and where we are going.

Today, other countries — namely India and China — are forging ahead in economy, education, and innovation–and the U.S. is fading into the shadows of our former glory days. The present, and the future, seems dim and somewhat bleak-looking. What is the fundamental difference? India and China are cultivating a culture of hope.