4/30/2012 10:12:12 AM
"Thinking has become a disease. Disease happens when things get out of balance.
For example, there's nothing wrong with cells dividing and multiplying in the body, but when this process continues in disregard of the total organism, cells proliferate and we have disease."
_ Eckhart Tolle, "The Power of Now"
Reading this wise passage this delightful spring morning out on our patio, I saw a perfect analogy to our current communications technology.
The Internet and cellular communications technologies have the same potential and destructiveness as thought, on which they are based, and which they spread. They can bring us beautiful spiritual teachings such as the above (and save trees) or they can help us keep in touch with people all over the world. Likewise, cell phones and surfing the net connect us with each other, often in positive ways.
But they can also become an addiction, keeping us from being fully present with those who are actually around us, with the beauty of the day, and with our own souls. When communication technologies get out of control and in disregard for the well-being of the total organism that is Planet Earth, they, too, become a cancer, flooding us and all of nature with dangerous microwave technologies that break the blood-brain barrier, damage DNA, depress all the neurotransmitters, upset sleep and cardiac rhythms, cause infertility and much more. And it's spiraling out of control, as one professor said it, "the greatest biological experiment ever conducted on humanity."
The communications microwave technology that enables all this can even be (and is) used as a stealth weapon, purposefully directed at our so-called enemies or potentially at activists and dissidents (see this moving interview with Barrie Trower, a concerned physicist trained in microwave warfare). In the same way, our we can and do direct negative thoughts at others that can function as a form of "negative prayer," as Larry Dossey MD describes.
Or, pulsed electromagnetic radiation at the same frequencies as those of the Earth (known as the Schumann frequencies) , the therapy known as PEMS, can also be used to heal bones and much more. Just going barefoot and connecting with the Earth brings us these same frequencies. And at the level of mind and thought, spiritual healers and directed prayers have been found scientifically to make a difference, sometimes miraculously, for the better.
The words we think, say and email can harm, or they can heal. Thoughts can confuse, depress and distract us, or they can help us accomplish many useful tasks and create beautiful and useful things. The same goes for its technologies.
It's up to us how to use this double-edged sword of Mind and its incredible technological creations.
Microwave technologies, used carefully and sparingly, can bring us access to a wise book on our E reader or a great YouTube video via our (hopefully) wireless-disabled, ethernet-enabled computer. Yet, as well known health writer Ann Gittleman explains, they can zap us and those who are most vulnerable around us (babies, electrosensitives, elderly, etc.) with stress-creating frequencies that upset the normal electromagnetic functions of every cell in our bodies.
It's my hope that if you have found your way to this article, that you will follow up on the above links, educate yourself and make some changes.
I have also created a two page chart you can print out and share with others, which summarizes what I've learned from several months of study on this topic this year.
With love,
Susan
PS- Please share your comments and experiences.
4/18/2012 2:16:22 PM
A few weeks before she passed away in 2009, when it became apparent that the end was near, my mother and I took some time to talk about life's mysteries, and what may lay beyond the veil of death. Just a few months before, both she and my father had announced over a holiday dinner that they had lived long enough. They had had a good life but they were ready to go.
On their last visit to my studio they chose three paintings they liked for their home. All were, in my intent, symbolic of life after death. "Light Unfolding," for example, represents the tunnel of light reported in near death experiences. It was my mother's favorite.
Within a couple of months my father fell acutely ill and passed away peacefully in a hospice. He was not a religious or spiritually oriented person and these were subjects we just never really discussed in our family. Yet, his last day at the hospital, he had sat up in bed, reaching out in wonder and awe as though trying to take someone's hand. Later, he told my mother he'd seen his mother. And in our last ride together in an ambulance heading for the hospice facility, I held his hand and told him, hoping he'd hear me past his almost comatose state, that we were leaving the hospital to go to a better place.
"And after that," I added, "I think you will be going to a much better place!"
"I've already been there," he whispered, the first words he had been able to say for the last day or two. "Several times...!"
Moments like this come rarely, a moment that touches the heart so deeply it is as though one has stepped behind the veil of time to go backstage behind the appearances and roles we all play.
"Thank you for being my father in this life," I said, knowing that these were indeed roles we were all playing.
And then as though I saw behind all the roles he'd played, father, husband, Republican, businessman, perennial creator of fixit projects, giver of opinions, joker, nag, I spoke straight to his soul, the divine behind the appearances, ".... You trickster."
He laughed, eyes still closed, barely there, and said feebly but clearly, "See you later!"
Somehow this precious moment was worth every difficulty I ever had with my father, who could be hurtfully cantankerous and critical, even as he was also loyal, responsible and often pleasant and fun.
It worked out well that he went first. In the three months that followed his passing, I had the opportunity to spend some special one on one time with my mother, helping her in her grief and in handling the details of the funeral, the finances and a bizarre series of exploding pipes, doors falling off their hinges and broken locks.
We wondered at times if the Trickster was trying to urge her to get on over to the other side.
She was a healthy 86 when he passed away, but as they'd agreed the prior winter, she was ready to go. And when the first signs of cancer suddenly appeared, she confessed to me that she'd been praying every day to die. Sure enough, just one short month later, she did.
But in those sweet times we spent together in the last few weeks, before the pain killers shut her away in a dream world, we had a number of deep conversations about life and about what might lie beyond this life. One time I asked her if she would let me know, if she could, if she survived death. She agreed, though we laughed about just how that might be done.
Sooner than any of us would have guessed, she was gone, with "Light Unfolding" hanging in her hospice room. I'd spent several nights by her side but she passed, late at night during a summer thunderstorm, the day after other relatives had gone back home after their final visits, and just minutes after I'd left the hospice to get some sleep... and, it seemed, to give her the space to go. The nurses said it was often especially hard for mothers to pass away and to leave their children when they were there with them.
In the busy year that followed, I did not make a special effort to look for signs, but occasionally I had a distinct sense of her loving presence, particularly at crucial decision points. But nothing concrete. It could have been my imagination.
Closing out a family home of 50 years is something to take one's time at, if possible. We were able to do that, over several visits, as it was only a two hour drive away. As sisters and nieces and nephews packed and shipped away the bits and pieces of trips abroad, Christmas gifts, wedding silver, that big rug in the living room, as we boxed up photos and yearbooks and their love letters from World War 2, and as we sold the last pieces of unclaimed furniture, gradually it became a home more like the model home they'd seen in 1959. Clean, open, with a few of the best pieces to give its next family a sense of the possibilities.
By December we had sold the family home. We'd spent our last night on the beds they had lain ill on not long before, selling them to a Craig's List buyer as we packed up the next morning to go home. And now we had come to their summer place to clean out the final items not wanted by the buyer. It's a hard process, deciding what to keep, what to distribute to others, what to give away and what to leave behind.
It was a cool July evening in the mountains at the dream castle my parents built in the early 1970s in the pine-studded mountains of Northern Arizona. My husband and I had just trodded up the narrow stairs of the "tower" to take one final look at the stars. It was our last night there and a time to say goodbye.
As we sat looking at the stars on the bench my father had built with his hands, where we had all sat together many times late at night watching satellites and looking for the rare distant meteor, I had a sense of my mother's presence, smiling happily on us.
Telling my husband what I felt, I added, "But you know, I'd really like a sign! This would be the perfect time for them to make an appearance."
"How about a meteor?" he suggested.
"Wow..." I pondered. "That would be great... But I don't know if they are up to that!.... Maybe God is...."
Two seconds later a giant meteor shot across the sky, the biggest we'd ever seen there.
There had been none before and there were none after. The skies, a neighbor assured us the next morning, had been quiet.
And somewhere, somehow, I know that my parents and God have all had a happy reunion and that someday we will meet again.
