Category Archives: compassion

What I see, what I feel, what I do

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

You wouldn’t know it from the weather here, a few miles above the 49th parallel, west coast, but it’s the middle of summer. If it briefly hovers around 20 degrees on that infamous Celsius scale and it isn’t pouring rain, we’ve hit a heat wave!

Some things I’ve noticed recently. For one, our mosquitoes absolutely refuse to adhere to the new social distancing measures. In fact they seem to be more numerous and nastier than ever. Why don’t they give them a seasonal jail term or at the very least, quarantine them to their swamp where they come from? My American friends may complain that their Orange Twitter Twat hasn’t done much in draining their swamp but the swamp ain’t drained up here either, neither in the slough at the back of my house nor in the House of Commons (which has never housed a common to my knowledge but I’m not going there). So due to fortuitous circumstances for the little blood suckers, they’re having a great time vaxxing all and sundry, and to hell with the consequences.

Good, bad, or indifferent, there is a definite lack of enthusiasm from the consuming sheeple these days. Are they all suffering from consumption? Over consumption? Boring consumption? There’s the odd ones wandering from aisle to aisle, their expressions veiled by their muzzles which they insist on wearing as a sign of their accepted martyrdom on behalf of the common good or is it on behalf of the common who shop for goods. It is truly sad when no one gets excited over a head of lettuce or a “President’s Choice” jar of fake Dijon mustard. So sad, I’m seriously thinking of relocating to Namibia and pitch a tent in the middle of Etosha national park. I’d like to get away from it all, the only problem is, it will probably find me there as well. What’s that saying? “You can run but you can’t hide!” I’d be willing to bet that the Etosha mosquitoes are at least as effective as vaxxers as are our Canadian ones.

That’s it, I’ve used up my mildly funny-funny. Time to turn serious. No, really, I’m serious.

I’ve also noticed that some bloggers I have had great and serious conversations with are not blogging recently. Is it that, like me, they have become hesitant about sharing their thoughts on the times? Why expose our thoughts to a world that is programmed to listen only to the rich and infamous? OK, admittedly it is a waste of time. But what if there is a bit of time to waste?

I’ll say this, and this is truly mine, no one else’s. For some time now I’ve become more aware of a sense of, what shall I call it – doom? I don’t know. How about a feeling of pain that isn’t mine but imposes itself on my consciousness? I call it sorrow. It isn’t about me, my current days are relatively blissful and my future is assured so what I am feeling, which often causes tears to flow, is the pain of this world. The pain can be physical, as in hunger or deep loss, or it can be psychological, as in fear. Many things can cause fear, of course, and with 7.5 billion people tossing their feelings into the ether, there’s plenty for the empathetic mind to feel.

I knew, some time ago, that choosing to become a compassionate being would entail awakening empathy. I was also warned that to be an empathetic being on a world such as this in which so much pain is deliberately induced would be a difficult thing to bear.  I was also carefully taught that I would know joy in the midst of the sorrow and that would make one bearable while preventing the other from becoming nothing more than a selfish pursuit of personal happiness in dissipation or the drive to become successful.

The teachings and warnings are proving correct. There is sorrow but there is joy. Between them, interfacing with them, is the compassion I am slowly, perhaps too slowly, learning to express to this world. It’s at this point that detachment comes into play. What I feel is generic sorrow, not immediately personal, therefore bearable.

Bearable is OK, I can do bearable. I will post this and return to observing and feeling. It’s what I do.

 

Antierra Manifesto – Blog Post #107

I watch her working her mind to find names for the other women.  She frowns deeply and certainly works hard to find fitting names.  She knows these women, a couple of whom are just small girls barely thirteen I’d wager, someone having faked their brands to expedite their sale and make a quick buck.  They likely went over the edge from sexual and other physical abuse, torture, overdosing on chakr or from having witnessed horrors their young minds could no longer absorb.  It could be all of the above.  The most dangerous part of any young fighter’s life is the trip from the crèche to the fighter arena.  I try not to imagine watching these children being set upon by males to be dismembered while still alive and their parts thrown over the walls into the crazed crowd, but the image remains nevertheless.  This is one more horror I must remember, in case the temptation to forget becomes too seductive.

End blog post #106
—————————-

Start blog post #107

I know Tomia will give them appropriate names or titles and know the ploy will work.  Always it has.  For we are also the names we bear and the more names we use the broader become the personalities we may properly express, for each name is associated with a partial through our remembrances.  Each partial, associated with one or several past lives, carries a vital part of who we are.  These partials will be with us in the arena tomorrow and how much we will need their presence and strength then!  Goddess help these ahyas tomorrow when I no longer can!

When the servant women return to clean up after us and feed us I seek out the messenger.  She comes over but before she speaks I ask her if she desires a secret name if she hasn’t got one yet.  She indicates she has no name, just her branding. 

“I name you Angelia.”  In their tongue it’s pronounced ‘aneya.’  “It means special messenger.  Do you have message for me from goronda?” 

“Goronda say, ‘Your friend is well on planet Koron.  Now she is teaching a new course in ethics at the high academy for philosophers.  Also she is being studied, at her insistence, by medical authorities for possible cloning.  We are excited at the possibilities and everyone who knows her loves her.  The President of the Koron World Court has given her a special citizenship.  She is citizen of the entire world of Koron, not just one of its fifty-two countries.  She can freely travel to any part of the world she wishes and no one can question her as to motives.  She also expressed her undying love for the fighter Antierra to be conveyed to her whenever possible.’ 

“That is what goronda say.”

“Thank you Angelia.  You are a perfect messenger.”

“Thank you for name.  May I share with goronda?”

“Yes you may.  She will understand and help you with it.”

“I know you die tomorrow.”  There are large rolling tears on her white pinched face.  “I not know to say proper, wish you not die.  Wish you stay to teach more.”

“Listen Angelia.  No one really die.  Just body die, give much hurt but after, one alive again, free.  Maybe I return and teach you when you training for fighter.  I look different but it be me.  I make sure you know.  Take my hand, hold tight.  Touch me and take from me what is left.  You be the last fighter to take Antierra power.  Use it well, Angelia.  Be not sad.  Is good for me go away tomorrow into timeless.  I come back: this believe.  Now is good for you learn name, practice self-empowerment.”

“What means self-empowerment?”

“Ask goronda to explain.  She know you better.  She mind touch, explain with power.  She very good ahya.  Trust goronda, Angelia.  Go now, or guards punish you.”

She slips through the returning trainees and disappears. 

It is always especially quiet in the cages any night before an orgy.  Tonight seems even more so.  I can just make out the silhouette of Tomia sitting quietly.  I try to focus on her thoughts but I encounter the white noise again.  She has shut down, just waiting.  I swing my gaze around, see the two little trainees lying down.  One is crying, whether in knowledge of tomorrow’s horrors or from some other nightmare, I’ll never know.  I wish I could reach over and hold her.  We can’t even comfort one-another.  These people’s cruelty seems boundless.  Yet how many times have I encountered the same, in quality if not in quantity, on Túat Har?  The people there had the same lack of awareness of the pain they inflicted on others, including millions of non-human sentients who shared planet space with them; the same lack of empathy towards those of their world who died every day so some could become rich and be comfortable.  This is nothing new, just more of same in a concentrated bitter brew.  Indeed, that is the lesson of the stack worlds, isn’t it. 

As below, so above my teachers insisted on telling me.  Here you no longer doubt the wisdom of that saying.

I must sleep now.  Tomorrow I will be empowered, one last time, to use every technique, every trick with weapons I’ve ever learned and used or can remember.  I will be free to grab an opponents weapons if I so choose and use it against him, or them.  There are no rules tomorrow.  I plan to use Tomia as a bulwark against the attacking males to protect the two young trainees for as long as we can, if the girls will let us.  At least that will give us a common purpose, apart from just tearing men apart and being torn apart by them in turn.

Tomorrow is our future.   

 

 

 

End blog post #107

What do “I” want out of Life?

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

What do “I” want out of life? The stock answer is found in a scan of some sort of mental list, or to look back over a thin memory and say, well, I want this or that which my situation hasn’t allowed me to have yet. Some missed opportunity at riches or notoriety; re-living and “fixing” a failed love affair, traveling the world, being one of the first Earthians to walk on Mars, the usual.

New thought: think of it this way: over 8 billion Earthians on one small planet doing its best to supply life but unable in the normal course of things.  The Earthians, instead of curbing their excess populations, resorted to building cities to cram their excess into. Now think: of the 8 billions, at least 6 of those are excess population; a population that can never, ever, know what it means to live a normal, natural, good life.

But even those who live on the outskirts of cities and even farther out, are living in artificial accommodations and surrounded by artificial means of life support provided/forced by scientists, technocrats, drug and medical cartels, bankers, agri-business, and the ubiquitous corporate elites’ dictates.

Now think: what if this massive majority of artificially-living Earthians have literally gone stark raving mad but there is no one left to point it out to them, or if there was, they have grown incapable of understanding what that means? What if the certifiable insane is now the sane, without any remaining ability to question it?

If a normal, natural lifestyle demands – yes, demands – that all the accoutrements of modern Earthian living be abandoned in order for the coming generations to re-discover how to live without the madness of their forebears, could the mad artificial folk of the day ever agree to such a tradeoff? A few might see it, but most would reject the idea out of hand as insane.  In the world of the crazies it’s the sane who are declared insane.

Now think again: where do you think the vast majority of Earthians mentally reside between the normal sanity of natural living and the madness of artificial survival?  I’m not good with graphs, but on a scale of one to ten, let’s say one being natural normal, and ten being the extreme unnatural artificial, i.e., the creature that has no chance of surviving without artificial means in nature’s wilderness, where does the majority of Earthians lie?  From my point of view, I see it at the eight mark. At that I believe I’m being too generous. It should probably be a nine-point-five to a ten.

So out of morbid curiosity about myself, what do “I” want, leaving “expectations” out of it?

Suppose I go back over this one life and look at what I’ve mostly always wanted.

I wanted to live in a sane world with some rather basic rules. No laws, just obvious rules. The first one was, if I possess something in excess and I know of another who needs it then that no longer belongs to me but to the one who has need of it. I also knew that once that whatever left my hands, I no longer needed to exercise any control over it. Whomever “had it” was now responsible for its use. I also knew for a fact that anything I thus gave up I could never claim back. If I give something away, the recipient owes me nothing, not even recognition. It’s just natural flow.

Mostly I wanted to live in a thoroughly peaceful world. My world had no place for conflict of any kind, least of all for war or preparation for war. These concept are totally anathema to my understanding of life. War is anti-life, however it is done or reasoned. War is evil from the get-go. Those who plan for war in any form, are evil people. What to say then of those benighted individuals who “join up” to fight evil men’s wars?

Mostly I wanted to live in a world where there is no such thing as predation. In my world nothing is killed for the survival of another. This goes from a sub-atomic particle to a galaxy. In my world all of life, however it manifests, is sacred and no one, or nothing, would ever claim to have the right to absorb, abuse or destroy that life.

Mostly I wanted to live in a world where “evil” is unknown; where it never had a foothold. A world without fear; without oppression; without danger, fears, tears or sorrow. A world without pain-filled loss. A world without death unless it is desired as a means of reaching greater understanding and greater awareness.

I didn’t want to live in some Utopia. If you’ve ever read the book you’ll know why. I just wanted to live in a good world. A safe for all world. A clean natural world. A world suitable for children to play in, grow up in, have children of their own in and know all of it is “never have to look over your shoulder” safe. A world in which violence is anathema.

I think that in my many “wanderings” and mental/spiritual quests I have found that world. My intent is to go there once I’ve completed my turn of duty here. I know it won’t be a permanent place for me, but it will give me a much needed and welcome break from experiencing these lower astral worlds.

I wanted something this world would not give me so I found another world that would. Over the years many have asked me how I did that, or how I could be so sure I had done it. The closest answer I could, or can, give is a sigh and a shrug. There is no answer. It’s a question of self empowerment; of self confidence; of inner spiritual force and accepted guidance. It’s a question of “investment” of decades of one’s life to seek out a path based on one’s redefined nature. It might even be a question of learned and practiced humility…?

But how do I really know? Well there is a self test I can use. The whole thing hinges on how much I have been able to change myself in going from basic Earthian selfishness to living the compassionate life. To the compassionate being all good worlds are open, evil worlds easily detected and avoided. As of today I can’t think of a better way to live a lifetime than to spend it learning how to become a compassionate being.

 

Sorrow and Joy

[a poem by  ~burning woman~ ]

What do you look at
When you lie awake in the night
Eyes wide open watching
Tumbling clouds hiding stars and moon?
What keeps you awake, so restless?

I see Sorrow
Walking bent over
Along graffiti’d walls in some city street:
She wears a worn black coat
Broken shoes without socks
And hunger is eating her.

Her eyesight is failing,
With gnarled hands she touches
Doorways and stoops
Seeking a home to hide in,
Perhaps just a place to rest.

But though she is many,
For her there is no place
And she must wander on
To the end of her strength,
To the end of her reason.

She is so far away,
Why should you care?
Why lose precious sleep
Over such a pathetic vision?
What is she to you?

She is everything to me,
My sister, my twin, my heart.
We were separated at birth,
Rejecting her, they called me Joy!
I must recall her from her darkness.

Though we were destined
To live ever separate and apart
I will no longer allow this curse
To rule my life and ruin hers.
I will to share her fate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stars in the Night Sky

(remembrances from   ~burning woman~ )

Have you ever wondered what “listening to the voices of the dead” and “hearing the music of the spheres” have in common?

When you look in the night sky, what do you see?  Stars?  Yes, mostly stars for only stars emit enough light to travel those quasi-unfathomable distances of space to twinkle in our little firmament.

What does that twinkling represent?  A sort of Morse code, yes?  The “spheres” talking to us, perhaps calling some of us back; reminding us that we are not utterly lost as we walk in weak finiteness on a dark non-star matter world that can only reflect a sun’s light.  For we are the star dancers, beings of eternal combustion, burning to give light, as did our ancient worlds of origin.

If you know yourself to be a star dancer, do you know the language; the music, from your starry worlds?  Do you remember any of it?  Do you know why you are here on this cold world in semi-darkness, the closest thing resembling your ancient home that tiny ball of fusion in this world’s sky?

Look back through your great remembrances and see the waves of migrations as your home worlds burned themselves out, leaving you orphaned, refugees scattering in the endless immensity of space.  Remember how you closed yourselves up and “died” to become seeds that would find homes – or not – here and there in the great vagaries of worlds in collision.  Remember.  Remember the unthinkable.

Eons later, through millions of transformations and mutations you find yourselves here, looking into the night sky.  It is filled with pin-pricks of light from your star worlds.  Do you hear them, their voices?  Their sad songs?  Do you realize now that what you are hearing is the voices of the dead?  Those lights, so many, are but the remnants of what were once our living worlds.  We were star beings living within our star worlds.  Then they burned out.  We did not.

We are the cast out.

We scattered, as seeds from a dandelion head, blown away in the fiery winds of their demise.  But our worlds’ light kept on its path through time.  These lights we see; these voices calling us, they are the voices of the dead, star beings; voices of our dead worlds, the wind whistling through tombstones and denuded trees in man’s graveyards.  We can never go back home again.  We must accept this.

What we need not accept is that we are now permanent residents of cold material worlds.  We have seeded our wisdom and knowledge here and there throughout the universe.  We suffered more pain and loss than any language could ever reveal.  We re-created ourselves into semblances of quasi-intelligent life, not only to survive, but to teach.  We have seldom been accepted or welcomed; mostly doubted, held in suspicion, suppressed and killed.  Our role, if such it was, has cost us dearly.  Many of us to avoid martyrdom slipped into the predictable monotony of a matter-world’s life patterns.  We put our minds to sleep; we disconnected from our innate compassionate and empathetic nature.  We did not want to suffer anymore.  We wanted rest.

We found death instead.

Look in the night sky again!  We are awakening!  We have a new power now, we can make new worlds suitable for us and all our kin.  We shall make those worlds to last forever.  When our children hear the songs and music of these new worlds they will be the voices of the ever-living.

Come, let us prepare to leave this dying world and go home.

Stars, too, were time travelers. How many of those ancient points of light were the last echoes of suns now dead? How many had been born but their light not yet come this far? If all the suns but ours collapsed tonight, how many lifetimes would it take us to realize we were alone? I had always known the sky was full of mysteries — but not until now had I realized how full of them the earth was.  – Ransom Riggs