Category: Arthur Guirdham

KILLING FIELDS' ANTIDOTE "... visit the wild places within..." "...THE 'BOO' MOMENT..." JANUARY 31, 2019

1/31/2019

ANTIDOTE TO ALL ILLUSORY
(BUT SEEMINGLY REAL)
KILLING FIELDS
<
CENTERPONT OF AKASHA TAO CORE STILLNESS
AS THE DERVISH WHIRLS
<
EXHANGE RUNAWAY WHIRRING
GERBIL WHELL/WHEEL CAGE
for
DERVISH WHIRL
<
SOUL TAO CORE CENTERPOINT
OVERFLOWING THRU
FLINGING OUT OF
THE HOLY FOOL DERVISH
FORMLESSNESS IN FORM
FORM IN FORMLESSNESS
THE ‘BOO’ MOMENT*
ew
4:27 AM-1/31/19
*
ew
4:27 AM-1/31/19

*There is nothing you need do or understand.
God will just pop up one day as you amble along,
jumping out when you least expect Her
with a BOO loud enough
to stop your mind and your heart forever.
http://www.sentient.org/lookingwithin.html
(above source link no longer exists…
this quote saved in dmm archives many years ago)

See Read More...below Afternoon photos

THE IMMORTALITY OF REAL LIFE
SUSTAINS
AS
TAO’S SILENT CORE
∞
SINCE BEFORE/DURING/AFTER
THE FOREVER IMMORTALITY
OF
HUMANS’ PURE EVIL
IN ALL EONS AND DIMENSIONS
ew
2:42 AM-2/6/18

See this OceanSpeak for Lengthy and Excellent quotes/descriptions by Arthur Guirdham- HOSTAGE TO THE DEVIL & More:
https://dorotheamills.weebly.com/oceanspeak-youthanasia-sanctarii/the-forever-immortality-of-humans-pure-evil-milestone-february-6-2018

“…do what I might, I was destined to receive into my heart
the spears of the world’s evil....

...I knew I had done it in the high temple so many hundreds of years back,
that it was given to me to absorb in my being
the evil and tension that made others sick,
and, under the beautiful, indifferent moon,
I was afraid but in a distant and impersonal way
because I knew
that there was nothing I could do to avoid it.”
page 92
Arthur Guirdham
The Island
https://ellisctaylor.com/2016/01/09/new-years-eve-without-arthur-guirdham/
MORE QUOTES ON ABOVE LINK

AFTERNOON

Poet's Obligation

To whoever is not listening to the sea
this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up
in house or office, factory or woman
or street or mine or harsh prison cell:
to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,

I arrive and open the door of his prison,
and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,
a great fragment of thunder sets in motion
the rumble of the planet and the foam,
the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,
the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,
and the sea is beating,
dying and continuing.

So, drawn on by my destiny,
I ceaselessly must listen to and keep
the sea's lamenting in my awareness,
I must feel the crash of the hard water
and gather it up in a perpetual cup

so that, wherever those in prison may be,
wherever they suffer the autumn's castigation,
I may be there with an errant wave,
I may move, passing through windows,
and hearing me, eyes will glance upward
saying "How can I reach the sea?"

And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,
the starry echoes of the wave,
a breaking up of foam and of quicksand,
a rustling of salt withdrawing,
the grey cry of sea-birds on the coast.

So, through me,
freedom and the sea
will make their
answer to the shuttered heart.
Pablo Neruda
http://peacefulrivers.homestead.com/PabloNerudaWord.html

The Prison of Certainty
- John O'Donohue

When we domesticate our minds and hearts,
we reduce our lives.
We disinherit ourselves as children of the universe.
Almost without knowing it,
we slip inside ready-made roles and routines
which then set the frames of our possibilities.

We acquire sets of convictions in relation
to politics, religion and work.
We parrot these back and forth to each other,
as if they were absolute insights.

Yet for the most part
these frames of belief function as self-constructed barriers,
fragile cliches pulled
around our lives to keep out the mystery.
The game of society
helps us to forget the unknown...

The control and ordering of society is amazing:
we comply so totally with its unwritten rules.
In a city at morning,
you see the lines of traffic
and the rows of faces all on their way to work.
We show up.
We behave ourselves.
We obey fashion and taste.

We have a deadening desire to reduce the mystery...
We bind our lives up in solid chains of forced connections
that block and fixate us.
This silences the voices within us
that are always urging us to change and become free.
Our sense of uncertainty and our need for security
nail our world down.

We confine mystery within
the prison of routine and repetition.
Your response to the invitation at the edge of your life
becomes reduced to a series of automatic reflexes.
We live so much of our one life
with the same automatic blindness of adaptation.

After a while, unknown to you,
a wall has grown between you
and the native forces of your experiences.
You go through life only half aware...
This subtle conditioning
becomes so effortless
that you are only half present in your life.

[But] Everywhere around us mystery never sleeps.
The same deep nature is within us.
Each person is an incredibly
sophisticated, subtle,
and open-ended work of art.
We live at the heart of our own intimacy,
yet we are strangers
to its endless nature.

Each of us needs to travel inwards
from the surface constraints
and visit the wild places within us
and answer the question: Who are you?
Who are you behind your role?
Who are you behind your words?

Who are you when you are alone with yourself?
Who are you before
you slip back safely behind
the mask and the name
by which you are known during the day?

If you can awaken the eternal beauty and light of your soul
you will break through the prison of certainty
and bring light wherever you go.

John O'Donohue
From: Eternal Echoes
POSTED HERE:
https://mysticmeandering.blogspot.com/2019/01/the-prison-of-certainty-john-odonohue.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+MysticMeandering+%28Mystic+Meandering%29

See Read More Below
More re:
The "BOO!" Moment
Additional Photos

0 Comments

FOREVER IMMORTALITY OF HUMANS' PURE EVIL...& REAL LIFE Milestone February 6, 2018

2/5/2018

0 Comments

THE IMMORTALITY OF REAL LIFE
SUSTAINS
AS
TAO’S SILENT CORE
∞
SINCE BEFORE/DURING/AFTER
THE FOREVER IMMORTALITY
OF
HUMANS’ PURE EVIL
IN ALL EONS AND DIMENSIONS
ew
2:42 AM-2/6/18

(see Read More
below afternoon photos
extensive quotes/resources/notes
re:
Hostage to the Devil
- Arthur Guirdham and more)

AFTERNOON.................

Excerpts from:
The End of an Exorcist
Michael Strong - Conclusion

Hostage to the Devil
Malachi Martin

“Believe me, once you mess with Exorcism,
and above all if you don’t pull it off, something departs from you.
And the rest of you yearns to depart also.”

It did not seem a good moment to pursue his “waiting” to “depart.”
So I asked him about the Confrontation with Evil Spirit
in an exorcism.
What was it like?
What effects had it?
It was a meeting, he said, a personal meeting.
What the exorcist met in person was something that existed
in a state where the all-important,
the only, reality was a “living not.”

I wanted to stop and ponder that for a while,
but he went on to talk of a reality that is not beautiful,
not true,
not holy,
not pleasant,
not bright,
not warm,
not large,
not happy,
not anything positive.

I started to say that all this sounded like Hell
or how people used to describe Hell.
“No,” he interjected distinctly and firmly.
“That is Hell.
Just to be utterly alone and immutably without love.
Forever.”

In the exorcism the exorcist knew that what he was up against
existed in that state.
He just knew it.

The effect of all this?
I asked the question still very tentatively,
not wishing to increase any pain he had.
Did he feel he was in a box or a prison?
Did it make him dispirited and lose initiative?

The effects were far deeper, he said.
Years before in the seminary, he loved music, flowers, a good book.
He could laugh the loudest of all;
he enjoyed swimming, tennis, a good meal, and so on.
He loved children.
They made him happy, just to hear their voices.
And many other things he liked also-
singing and dancing and long walks,
and the sound of waves on the shore,
and smells such as new-mown hay,
flowers and grass after a light shower,
a turf fire in the early morning.
And he slept like a top.
Always he woke up ready for the world,
rain, hail, or shine.

After Thomas Wu’s exorcism was over, all that had changed.
No, it wasn’t age,
he answered some unvoiced remark of mine,
but something else.

The housekeeper appeared, and he nodded to her.
It was time for him to turn in.
She left.

I asked: “What does it really mean?”

He was standing up now.
The moon had risen over the back wall of the garden.
We both looked at it with upturned faces.
“You are never quite at home in this human world
ever again after an exorcism,”
he said slowly.
He sat down again and explained.

After an exorcism the exorcist hears and sees
and thinks and talks as he always did.
But now he perceives on two planes.
Spirit is everywhere.
Flesh and matter is only “our picture” of what’s there.
And it’s not all good.
There’s evil and good hidden in that “picture.”

After an exorcism you always know, if you didn’t know it before.
You are now walking with double vision,
a second sight,
as the old people used to say.

And the exorcist never really sleeps, not as he used to.
He dozes off.
Some deep part of him is keeping watch,
always watching,
and doesn’t want anything to escape him
even momentarily.

All sleep is escape.
And he knows that escape for him is impossible.

He eats, he must in order to stay alive.
And he breathes.
His heart beats on.
But he has a terrible option always:
not to breathe,
to let his heart stop.

“Father Michael, how are you?”
He said he was fine. He had a request to make.
Before my visit ended, I should remind him of it.
But he wanted first to say something further to me about the effects of the exorcism on him.
“It helps me to talk about it all”
-this by way of explanation.
It was the double vision: he had not defined it properly, he said.
I waited, because, as Michael spoke,
a wave of misery swept over his face.
The veil of immobility was withdrawn for an instant,
then fell back again.
For that quick instant I had seen a load of pain and sadness
framed in lines of a gently resolute hope.
His whole expression said:
I will not give up my trust,
although I have nothing to rely
on but that trust.

Then he went on to describe the double vision.
It was not like seeing another table beside the real table
or another wall beside the real wall.
It was not a vision of eyes or a hearing with your ears
or a touching with your hand.
It was another level of reality.
An exorcism sharpens your awareness of that reality, he said.
You know what stands behind and around
and beneath and above
all that is visible and tangible.
The intertwining cords of spirit appear everywhere.
Good and bad spirit.
Beauty and ugliness.
Holiness and sin.
God as a tremendous majesty.
Personal evil is a formidable force.
Nothing escapes those cords.

He fell silent at this point.
After a pause,
I could not resist asking him directly about his failure
to complete the exorcism of Thomas Wu.
Did it entail any special liability within this sphere of his double vision?

“Of course.”
The words were loaded with an ache and a distress which silenced me.

Once pronounced,
they hung in the air between us as silent signs of his suffering.

“I can now hate. I can choose to hate,” he said drily.
Before the exorcism of Wu, he had never even thought of hating.
Now, to hate was a living option for him.
Before the exorcism, he never even imagined
what it would be like really to despair.
Now it was a real option. “Real.” “Real.”
He repeated the word several times.
The idea of rejecting Jesus as a charlatan
now came to him as a real choice.
All those choices and others too unspeakable to mention
were like plates of food placed in front of him continually.
His pain was that he was forced to consider each one as a possibility.
Before,
he had them all banded together and thrown into a box,
and he had thrown away the key.
Now he had to take a taste of each one.
Slowly.
Realistically.
He stopped at a certain point, groping for an image.
It was, he finally said,
as if a mad wolf were allowed sniff and smell and nose
around his naked body,
always threatening to bite and crush,
always moving, moving, moving.
He bent his head on his hands.
There was a pause of about five minutes.

And all the waiting, I finally asked, why all the waiting?
He had failed in the exorcism,
but he had not accepted Satan or evil or hate.
Why, then, the perpetual waiting?

“Simply put, my young friend,” he said thickly,
“evil has power over us, some power.
And even when defeated and put to flight,
it scrapes you in passing by.
If you don’t defeat it, evil exacts a price of more terrible agony.
It rips a gash in the spirit with a filthy claw,
and some of its venom enters the veins of the soul.
As a price.
As a memory.
As a lesson.
A warning that it will return again.”

It was time to go. I stood up. He said nothing.
I touched him lightly on the forehead.
It was cold.

As I went out, Breeda smiled at me:
“Now, young man, don’t worry about Father Michael.
He knows what he’s doin’.”
Somehow, this old woman understood more that I had ever understood.
Then I heard his voice calling after me:
“Malachi!
At the end, be sure and read Paul,
First Corinthians, Chapter 15, verses 50 to 58.
All of it.”
I hurried back into the study.
But he told me to go with the usual silent wave of the hand.

Conclusion

....there was a tiny rattle in Michael’s throat.
The lips smiled faintly.
The eyes lost all light.
I felt sure Michael had partaken in Jesus’ victory over death
and that he had escaped death’s sting.
But he had, indeed, paid the price for his failure of years before.
We will never know the exact note of suffering
such a man as Michael Strong must undergo at dying,
for it lies in the spirit unattainable by our logic,
unimaginable by our fantasy,
impervious to any clever methodology we can devise.
But each exorcist could well have as his epitaph
the most noble phrase Jesus ever pronounced about human love:
“Greater love than this no man hath:
that a man lay down his life for his friend."

Excerpts from:
Hostage to the Devil
Malachi Martin
https://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/vatican/esp_vatican27t.htm#Conclusion

(see Read More
below for
extensive quotes/resources/notes
re:
Hostage to the Devil-Martin Malachi
- Arthur Guirdham and more)

also see MORE from Martin Malachi and
The Smiler Archetype...the greatest of all "evil":
https://dorotheamills.weebly.com/oceanspeak-and-more/orgasmic-stillpoint-from-its-place-on-high-utter-banality-of-all-existence-february-9-2018

0 Comments

KILLING FIELDS' ANTIDOTE "... visit the wild places within..." "...THE 'BOO' MOMENT..." JANUARY 31, 2019

FOREVER IMMORTALITY OF HUMANS' PURE EVIL...& REAL LIFE Milestone February 6, 2018

Categories

Archives