Spirit Dressed Up As Human

I woke up with a smile on my face and a tiny sheepish feeling crept over me as I wondered where I’d been in my sleep so that waking up was so much fun, to say, if the full memory of where I’d been dancing or playing was vague, the emotional body was certainly on it. I'd long since given up on trying to know simply everything that my curiosity feasted on.

Guilt is fear that punishment awaits, sheepishness is fear, dressed up in illusion, putting on a little show for you. Sheepishness is doing something you’re glad you did, even it was the wrong thing to do. It’s a part of this world and if you have some guilt, and who doesn’t, others may find it and use it against you, trying to get rid of their own secret guilts, by pointing out yours. It doesn’t work. That’s not the way unity works. That’s to say, it’s not 5th dimensional consciousness that uses your guilts against you as gain to themselves. I doubt it’s even 4rth dimensional game field. We're onto it. These days are the best days of our lives.

Suddenly I heard the 16 cylinder trash truck rolling by on the other side of my street. It must have 16 cylinders to be that loud. What? It can’t be Thursday already! I had got caught in Tuesday and remained there and lost Wednesday altogether. I anxiously looked for Wednesday in my mind, hoping to get it back somehow, as if something had been stolen from me.

I dropped whatever I was doing and raced to put out the barrel before the monster truck did my side of the street. Trash day is like a huge event in my life for some reason.

I’m always busy recycling something or deleting things I’ve written down that I swore I would publish one day. I sometimes de-friend somebody on FB with relish. I stop to laugh at myself as if FB really mattered. It matters sometimes. Especially with certain souls that fire up your brain cells with something real and true. We sometimes discuss how FB doesn’t matter, but find we don’t have other means to meet if not this way.

I don’t have any deadlines except for measuring time by the arrival of the trash trucks, one on Monday that is just trash, one on Thursday that is bottles and cans and plastic, and maybe that old toaster that caught on fire.

On Tuesday I sat the barrel by the gate, so I wouldn’t forget to put it into the street on Wednesday night. But then if you lose Wednesday, you would be awakened to reality by a monster truck early Thursday morning. First I raced to the computer to see if it were really Thursday. Yup. Thursday it be.

I was pretty sure everything was going to be all right when I woke up that morning, although to be honest, some days occur where it seems everything is going wrong; those days, thankfully, are few and far between. Some regretful tears had occurred the day before and I simply never give in to tears. Not in my character. Now this morning I went to a friend, and once more I was soothed, all on the internet, as I’ve not met my friends face to face. Life for me consists of the Internet. Yet I know, something is going on at night when I sleep; I know there’s no reason my spirit cannot fly at night, making it’s rounds, checking on friends, making subliminal rondezvous.

A passing thought occurred I should read once more Unobstructed Universe, by Steward Edward White & his spirit wife Betty White. We lived in an obstructed world. I got that part OK. Betty had died and came back to speak through her husband Stewart in a book. Betty had an extraordinarily scientific oriented mind which offered me all sorts of challenge.

The unobstructed world was the other side of life. There was not much there by way of obstructions, to trip over. For instance you never stubbed your toe after you were dead, or if you did it wasn’t painful, if indeed you still had toes to stub.

Me, I was all for evolution to stop giving the human body toes in the first place. I wanted webbed feet. With webbed toes, you could swim better, as well your toes invariably caught each extension cord on the floor when walking here; you couldn’t run through the house like a high spirited Bambi, you had toes to be conscious of. Check it out, it happens all the time; it’s like your toes are greedy, reaching for every obstacle they can find, a mind of their own, desiring to trip you up, just when you were on a roll. It's a conspiracy I tell you.

We lived in the obstructed part of reality and it gave us plenty of grouse time. Grouse time is a way of wasting time; we do it as it’s pleasurable to compete with one another to see who can bring forth the most unique sounding grouse. All our voices sounding forth in the universe gave a choir director the absolute shivers and not the pleasant shivers. There was music somewhere playing; you just had to be listening for it.

My neighbor wins on the grouse meter, a number 10 score. She offers her face as a punching bag in exchange for money. It’s not for me to decide for her, but I’ve mentioned plenty of times how fighting in public disturbs the peace. No it’s not me that punches her, unless a word or two carries any punch. It’s another story who punches her and how many take turns punching her. The number is not few.

A practicing non-grouser like myself generally speaking is soon left alone to practice their art. I may grouse in private that is, I am not that popular in truth to hang with if in fact I line up low on the grouse meter and refuse to gossip. Believe me it does take self discipline to be in the frame of mind where there is no wrong, there is no right. It all just is.

Such a person finds the social life to be some far memory of a butterfly act. Except in a court room where we are introduced to a semblance of justice as concerning what’s right and what’s wrong, but even there a judge or a jury can be struggling with what’s right, what’s wrong, where their remedy for the wayward is either too lenient or too stringent.

For instance, it’s well known, well liked persons can beat any rap at all. They can and do, get away with murder and rape, if congenial enough in the public eye. Of course, on the positive side, our DNA science is so well honed these days, so that crooks will have to stop and think it over at the least, that they may slip up and get caught.

The crooks usually think they are right. Everyone thinks they are right, if they have an ego. You can’t get rid of an ego, it’s a process and it falls away on it’s own, after god-zillion lives lived. You can however play a game and try to convince others for fun, you don’t have an ego. It’s the fun part when they don’t believe you, so you get to engage each other on private foibles, a terribly human thing to do in the 3rd dimensional realm and quite forgivable really.

There are dark nights of the soul and 40 days on mountain tops to live through, or even several years on a park bench like one of my friends did, just before he wrote his masterpiece. Soon enough, if you can, try to imagine a world where we don’t live by a timetable, by a clock, by a deadline, although those things, the measurements of time are necessary for awhile yet. As well our languages are full of past, present and future tenses, so it would be a challenge to consider where language is simply not there to get misinterpreted and instead is replaced by your signature buzz note. Unlike the ego, the signature buzz note is eternally yours.

There is a land where it’s Tuesday, if you want it so, or Saturday if that’s desirable. In this place there is order, but it has nothing to do with clocks and deadlines, and having to remember what day is dawning with what name on it and what is to happen or, supposed to happen on that day.

There is order though, while here, it may appear chaotic, for chaos has a root also, an inception point we do not grasp at first. There are desires over yonder, and there are something akin to appointments, such as visiting a certain school of thought which you never had the chance to do while living a singular physical life.

On the other side if you desire to find a certain friend, it is done by thinking of them. There are no cell phones, thank God. The thought/desire gets taken up by a sort of grid in operation; this thought is then taken up by certain messengers who are employed in service to you, the creator of the thought/desire. The message is delivered to your friend instantly in some cases. In other cases there is a delay which you don’t usually notice as no one on the other side is in a hurry. It’s the clocks here that make us feel in a hurry. The messenger takes up your friend’s response and puts it on the grid.

The postal service is a facsimile on this side how this works, with the conveyor belt sorting mail out as the symbol of how it works on the other side. Everything here, is indeed like a symbol of reality, on the other side. You know the saying "as it is on Earth, it is in heaven." The conveyor belt on the other side is like an electric current, or even an escalator we can step on and ride, that is to say, if you still look down and see feet under you.

Those you are close to, whom you’ve formed a bond with, it’s easier to communicate with. You may be able to bypass the process of putting out feelers to meet up with them due to this bond idea. The bond of love. You can think, and have it be so, instantly with them and conversing, for they make room for you, even if busy with something else. That's how love is.

There are others, not close friends exactly, but those whom you have to ask first before just showing up. Where it’s not polite to just pop up unannounced. So you wait for an invitation after sending out an inquiry and it may come or not, or a situation may occur with the response whereby you receive an invite to a group being formed to see said person. If your desire and/or intention is strong enough, you will arrive at the time and spacial point with no effort of remembering and no special travel arrangements need be made.

There are rest periods, somewhat similar to our 8 hr. sleep period, but these rest periods are only for the purpose of assimilation of what was learned in the classroom, to say, a soak it in period. Some require no rest period; life as a spirit has no need to regenerate a physical body in the night hours. Very little rest is actually required. The orderly aspect of the universe is more of a natural state of affairs, while the man-made clock is merely a symbol of this other order.

Your humanity does not die, but your attachment to that humanity, your desire to change the world into something more fitting your ideals, that is what dies.

Your spirit is eternal. Your Oversoul exists. You return to your Oversoul and add your experiences, be they ever so small, into the depository belonging to the Oversoul. The Oversoul consists of many lifetimes with various egos, personalities, experiences all combined.

We are here to go for the gusto. Just like the beer commercial said. And over yonder, trash day is everyday, and we don’t wait for Thursday and monster trucks to haul away what we’ve wrapped our life up with. We don’t ask why, we’re just glad we can play here.