20080803 dreamscape_trebuchet

3/08/2008 dreamscape_trebuchet


20080803 Dreamscape_Trebuchet

This afternoon I attended the local Spiritualist Church & borrowed the book by Joan Grant, “Time out of Mind”. As it turned out I have read it before, but, as has happened before, I am led to a book, feel some compulsion to read or re-read it, then part way through am interrupted by the emergence of a far-memory episode.

Through Peter

^The reason the book was rendered attractive to you was that the opportunity thereby arose to remind you of an activity that has been missing for some weeks now, and that is the tradition of enduring as well as enjoying a visit to this physical domain.

The physical domain has a variety of unusual characteristics, one of them being that the dream that one is physically real, is as potent as the dream that one is physically unreal. Neither are true.

The dream that one is physically real engages the attention and all of the senses, and diminishes in a way that is proportional to the evanescent mist that rises from warm water in cool air.

The dream that one is not physical is just as real within the physical domain also. The dream that one is not real occupies the attention during sleep, and during that time there are many opportunities to exercise the mind and faculties in such a way as to provide input for the growing identity through its sojourn into the spiritual domain adjacent to the physical realm. For typically, the spirit does not depart for far-away places, but retains its location relatively close to the physical form which it ordinarily occupies.

So the physical domain as experienced by the exited form, the spiritual consciousness and awareness, seems to it to be a dream territory; seems to it to be a location which can be modified by any whim, and it obligingly does so, for the localised spiritual self in the spiritual domain adjacent to the physical domain, has a capacity to render that physical domain to its liking.

Therefore, the willingness that it shares with the sleepwalker and the dreamer, is to find that it can conjure into itself and for itself a variety of dream domains, willing as it is to create for itself such surroundings as it desires. This is not always the case however, for occasionally there are other hands at work than their own awareness. Into this space can come others who have just as magnificent a capacity to modify the dream territory at whim.

So, when a dreamer finds their dream interrupted with strange or unexpected events, all that may be happening is that someone else is in proximity and constructing their own dream-space. So it is neither necessarily foreign, necessarily dangerous or necessarily glorious that one has entered into someone else’s dream territory.

We begin in this way as an introduction into a third phase of the second book. The second book in this instance is the previously mentioned [Argonaut]. (Interrupted by Galinda by telephone to say he had my stuff ex BBCTech)

In this way we request your accompaniment into our territory again, for this weekend has been an opportunity for you to settle more comfortably back into your own identity again rather than imposed identity, as is necessary for you for the duration of the working week. It is unfortunate in some degree that the working week has stretched itself again to five days, for that opportunity to relax back into ones own inner identity instead of the assumed identity of the personality is one which is a limiting factor in these conversations. Nevertheless that can be worked with, as you have followed the impulse today in refraining from excessive invitation and mixing with others, so you have successfully been able to prepare yourself for mixing again in this way.

So we come on this opportunity, as you have now spent considerable time on consorting yourself with an author for which we have the most profound respect and affection, that of the woman Joan Grant, which was the name that she was known by during her last incarnation. She is not currently in an incarnation but will do so again shortly, but naturally have to survive her first years and decades, so as to come again into the awareness with the capacity as teller of stories by which to invoke the attention from others so as to continue her work. For her work is as the storyteller, and a necessity as a storyteller is first to live a life, for who would listen to the stories of children.

So enough emotional and mental capacity must be developed as to be able to accommodate the mature personality and to generate a storehouse of knowledge by which to clothe the essential and essentially interesting components of the realities of life and times of other places, a knowledge not normally acquired. For the abnormally acquired stories are invariably fascinating to all individuals not so indoctrinated as to render them fallacious in their eyes.

That being her path, we describe that as a contrast to the path assumed by yourself, who has the capacity to mix much more with others of like mind and to influence them positively as has happened with the woman of today, the medium at the local church, who has taken note of their perception of your being, and will delight in the connections she finds herself able to make with you.

This is an opportunity of particular significance, for hers is a significant talent, and a future capacity and life of growing influence in the local community. For that, she has trained hard, lived hard, loved much and earned the respect of all who know her.

So we show you these things as preamble only. what is to come in these coming minutes will be of interest also.

(in preparation, turned off the lights, closed the curtains, took off my glasses, put on earmuffs, and settled back in my chair to await what was to come. The following is narrated mostly from the perspective of the character I was then, of unknown identity or time.)

X So, I am above and behind ramparts on a colonnaded castle in the south of France. In the flat land stretching out before me on the causeway or road along the edge of the coast, there is military material being assembled as a consequence of an imminent engagement between the occupants of this embattled fort and the intruders, who would have their way with us. And in that context, that means so as to kill us all.

This is a profoundly unsettling prospect for me, for I have not long been in the role of seducer of the young female, and by that is meant I am but a teenager still. Nevertheless the prospect of battle is something for which I have been trained at some length, and have acquired some skill, no doubt as it being a role familiar to me in many prior lifetimes. So these occasions are once more to place myself between those protected and those threatened, so as to deflect or to rout the attacker.

The attacker in this instance, I notice, is accompanied by some machinery unfamiliar to me. I have heard it spoken of, but not personally experienced its works. Trebuchet are not yet common in this part of Europe, and we have little appreciation of its potential for raining down upon us missiles such as to smash people to pulp. That not having been seen before we are relatively unafraid, although there have been stories which I have listened to, and shuddered somewhat at the gory detail which has been presented by the one eyewitness present who has seen these machines in action previously.

So it is with some trepidation that I stand on this parapet, and look down on the assembling army. Probably on the morrow we shall battle, and there shall be blood and dead bodies to the left and to the right, and of course I expect to come through unscathed, or with only a superficial wound. Little do I know at that point that it is me who is to be pulped.

And so it is with some surprise that there seem to be stones of various size being transported towards us.

The machinery of war and its attendant forces stop just out of arrow-shot range. There being no point in wasting good ammunition at such a distance, there is no exchange of fire at this time. The gunpowder-driven missiles are yet to be brought present into this part of France, although I have heard that other strange machinery can send small projectiles very far. But we have not experienced that either, and consider it to be something of a myth, and have no understanding of the chemistry behind such a weapon.

So the time hangs slowly upon us. There is activity of course, checking weapons, assembling all available, putting them to hand, having backup personnel. For I am in front-line duty, and it is my task to be an example to those others who may follow me, or fill my place should I be despatched in any way, either to other duties, or toward heaven, for that, of course, is my final repository. For these armies are both Christian. But we are out of favour, and we are defending what we believe is our territory, but that which has been taken from us from a higher level by unfamiliar hand to which we owe little allegiance at this point. So we are determined to fend off these would-be invaders who believe they have rights to this land, and of course we believe they have none, but are mere usurpers, invaders and enemies.

And so we wait for the dawn. Sleep is not good. Noises startle us; snoring and cursing, a little drinking but not much, for everyone understands that a brain is fogged by too much inebriant.

The cock, of course, is the first to alarm us awake, some already either having not slept or having woken even earlier, the better to prepare. We notice sounds from outside and below, and are somewhat startled to find that some contraption has been brought rather closer than we thought. It is in the grey light of dawn that the attack begins.

The missiles are slow to arrive. Not very accurately aimed, necessarily. Some strike the stonework and bounce off harmlessly, but some sail into the compound behind us, and create a degree of panic as a consequence of their impact. We discover that a mere stone, thrown with enough velocity to come into, above the stone walls, when they come into what lies behind, which is mostly wooden, they can smash through three floors of structure, killing people at every level. There is consternation now.

The machine takes some time to be re-armed, and our best archers take some of the operators, for they have moved within arrow-shot, and yet most of the arrows fall wide of their mark, for there is some wind, and those men are far away.

It is on the forth or fifth such missile shot that I fail to realise the accuracy with which that most recently lobbed missile is coming directly towards the parapet on which I stand. It just grazes the parapet, and I am directly in its path, and instantly demolished as a human figure.

I stand now beside the place where I stood before, and there is consternation around me, but I feel nothing. I see with regret the smashed form before me, for that missile rock has gone on from its destructive work on my now ex-body, and clattered down amongst the stonework, wreaking destruction as it went. Fortunately, only one or two others are only slightly damaged by its path. It’s main effect was on my own now ex-body, spread thinly in places, and smashed to pieces, Those around me are shocked into immobility. They have never seen this effect. They are competent with knife-wounds and sword-wounds, for they inflict them occasionally on one another. But they know there is no repairing that body, and out of the shock comes redoubled anger, but also a sick feeling within them that they too may be next.

And so the impact of a machine of war leaves a lasting impression in me as to the efficiency and effectiveness, which shall carry forward several lives to the present one, and a deep knowing of the capacity of that particular machine of war, and a deep distaste for all such.

P Well that was unexpected!!!

^And so we show you these things precisely because of the impact accumulated over lifetimes is to drive an individual into unremitting pacifism. While familiar with the tactics of war and warrior, nevertheless abidingly unrepentant of the abhorrence of war itself. These are the characteristics of the pacifist, to have reached their most genuine and heartfelt opinion on the basis of first-hand experience. Remembered dimly though it may be, to identify clearly within themselves an unwillingness to participate in the misery, and to reject outright all claims to glory, for they know differently.

The brutality of ambitious man on other men is a characteristic which is literally beaten from the soul. Ploughshares may be made from weapons, gods may be invoked by all sides or none, but it is the brutality, savage, insatiable at times, thirsting for blood on the animal level that drives men to destruction, mayhem, pillage, rape and torture again and again, until they grow sick and weary to their very depths, and will have none of it again.

Beyond that lies refreshed appreciation for life. Life in all its forms. Life in its circular benevolence. Life in the oxygen cycle and the carbon cycle and the nitrogen cycle and all the constituents of all of the bodies, billions upon billions of bodies that are given an opportunity to experience life. And to find their peace and prosperity and goodwill generated by a loving heart, and to know that that is what matters. And to disassociate, implacably disassociate from those brawn-filled anti-heroes who would take that life, and rip it asunder.

[2381 words]


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Peter Calvert - AgapeSchoolinz

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