This channeling knows no other dreamtime but that of the now, in the making, in the celebration of self which is all, of the act which is any act, of the words which are any words, of the motion which is ongoing however one might attempt to slice it into two or more segments of frozen time, time nonetheless beats on, wings and thunder.
Again the chorus speaks, the deal is struck, the provisional makeshift tent of the world circus is erected on the dusty square around the fountain, the gypsies arrive and the banksters retire and the camels smile in their dry dung aroma.Again the lines diverge, converge, swim in the undulations of a greater force. Again and again, I come to surrender my own dissatisfactions, the larger failings, the grievous state of affairs of affairs of state, to come home to this always this and only this moment in time no time between you all you and me not me to face the mirror of understanding which stands under the banner of All-That-Is.
No new god or religion, this sense remains provisionally attached to a conscious being who happens to pass by here long enough to get a read from the oscillating compass, the fluttering timepiece, and reckon where next the wind might buffet everything in its merry way.
Towns thrashing in the surf of the ages; silent apocalypses rendering all miraculous in the morning of the new day. Again the surf rises, and again the volunteers encounter and override their own resistance and fear, to join the incoming tide.
With the following I offer snapshots of three spiritually-oriented events I was privileged to attend, marking this solstice season:
Sitting with Claudio, Lemuria
The place was packed on the 21st, the morning of the world UNIFY meditation set to raise the planetary vibration by the power of mass intention. The usual speech was given to bring to our busy minds the peaceful acceptance that we are already universal consciousness, universal being itself, no other separate self except in our illusions, or for temporary entertainment. We are the ant, the papaya, the billions of galaxies.Beware the gurus in pointy hats and clown suits. Beware the hoary traditions thousands of years old, in which women are excluded from positions of power. Beware the fixations on this or that name of "God," the names themselves becoming idols of prejudice, limitation, separation.
The new world is the world we awake to any and every moment, the world available to us even if we forget or refuse to be aware. Any categorization of it as a new religion or belief system is fraught with inaccuracy, shades of contentious interpretation, endless commentary; so we must trust our individual expression of it to others as needed, in the new moment arising, spontaneous and therefore honest and direct - even if words themselves can only approximate direct experience, understanding, realization.
Activation with Kartron, Ha'iku
Inspired to manifest our highest possibility in the crystal light grid of electromagnetic resonant frequency in the star chamber of the god-gate vortex, azure-blue forty-four feet high and forty-four feet across to channel the necessary energies of transmutation overseen by Archangel Michael and St. Germain, a half-dozen of us came together on a rainy Ha'iku night preceeding the 1:11 ascension time of the solstice itself, bypassing the prescribed Mayan movement meditation on inverted triangles to activate the torsion magnetics of the soul template to anchor the eight-minute transmission for three months in which humanity will solidify on earth what has been brought from heaven...The delivery is English arch and comical, Monty Python meets Kryon the Interdimensional. Yet the critique is incisive, uncompromising impatience with powers manipulating earth and life itself, their time now finished and due to fade away, as we take courage to banish them, refusing their overtures, consigning them to prison or exile as consequences of their own dark choices.
We are the warriors of light, the initiates of god-training, who must embody and act upon the heavenly decrees of those who have gone before, those who watch from above and those committed over eons to see the fulfillment of the paradigm of harmony set to replace the paradigm of discord and chaos and worse, coercion and falsification of life's innate imprints for the wellbeing of all.
Zikr with Leilah, Makawao Union Church
This knowledge of soul unification is mystic-old, from the Sufi seers and spinners and poets, so we celebrated in large concentric circles and singing this practice of oneness with the spirit of all, Al-lah, but one of the names of all-that-is. The time come for the world of oppression and exploitation and separation to end, a separation or rather integration of that ruling paradigm into a new flowering of old wisdom.We bring to rebirth in our practice together the knowledge of inner truth, which connects in spirit all things and all beings. Our voices resonate with gratitude for such spirit, for the divine manifestation that we enjoy in this temporary stay in the garden of immanent splendor. Our prayers are our voices and swaying bodies, our joined hands and hearts. Our feet step the codes of grace and commitment, marking the journey not outward or away, but circling the territory of the sacred which we share.
And what of that supposed phenomenon, this world-staged upheaval and transformation, the signal to new time or no time?
It fades with the world it claimed to recycle, giving rise to what comes instead.
It brings nothing in its wake recognizable as a suitable replacement, because that very standard of replication has been relegated to the settling basin of the hourglass.
It ceases control as the objects and subjects of that ill-gotten bargain opt out for clearer arrangements, direct dealings over the trade of those tokens we value in advancing the game forward.
Projects multiply, sources corroborate, invitations beckon, dead ends sprout weeds, fallow fields grow what they will, and the chorus takes another deep breath before the chant of the new day.
The natural world serves as the testing ground for what is real: flowing currents, blowing breezes, burning sun, lava and coral, with its attendant life forms that judge our actions as valid or remote by sheer comparison. Last week we were escorted in turn by a couple of turtles for an extended swim along the coral: one turning suddenly to eye us face to face; the other, a six-foot giant, content to match us stroke for stroke for a full half and hour. Today the turtle that appeared out of "nowhere" under our plasticked noses lay mute and stone-still on the bottom, nestled in a trough of old coral, only blinking to signal its questionable hold on life. Was it poisoned, injured, dying? Scared, or bored? Or just napping, extending the long moment before its next brief breath? What story unfolded that eluded our imagining utterly? On the sign to the beach was depicted a cute couple lounging on the sand: monk seal with flipper on the leathery turtle by its side. So, missing that lost love? 
The taste of wild Pacific salmon mellow in my mouth, I reflect on the blessings of home that greeted me on my return to British Columbia five days ago...
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