Catpaws Cafe

Random musings from my virtual fountain pen

Archive for the tag “timetravel”

A different insight into multidimensionality

I was sitting at the table trying to make sense of the feeling curled up tight in the pit of my stomach. It had been there last night and returned this morning after I had a shower and breakfast. There was discernable dread, and fear, and anger/defensiveness, all for no apparent reason, plus an other one I had yet to pin to understand and make some sense of. I let the words flow onto the paper unsensored in the hope that at some point this purge would expulge the feeling of suck…

I felt upset, but completely out of proportion. I felt a sting of not good enough, but that was not it. I felt like I’d been labelled by someone else – wrongly – and now being judged because what it said on the label was not what was in the package… My hands were actually shaking at this point, and a part of me could not wait to find out wtf is really going on here… I felt fear and criticism somehow saturate my whole life experience all at once, expressed and withheld, imagined and experienced. My life condensed into an accordion-like tubular shape the size of a large soup-can, which I was looking at and feeling at the same time. A heavy dose of you’re not enough washed over me, and… I feel… PERSECUTED! That’s the feeling!  Persecuted!  Hounded.  BREATHE.  Just breathe. And again.

I closed my eyes. My high heart is fluttering. Like I’ve been fleeing on foot for miles. Keep a low profile. Live a quiet life. But the bastards will still find you and use you, and the would be protectors will never spot ya… I write the sentences down as I hear them in my head, without judgement, without demanding it make sense to my mind.

My solar plexus is aching.

I have all these good ideas and all for nothing? I feel hopeless. Held down, held back. I don’t even know what it is that I fear. It’s just that nondescript, indistinct fear permeating my torso, making my limbs jittery. Wtf?

Stones are being thrown. Mock spears of wood. I can’t flee. My feet are bound to this big boulder. The mob has made up it’s mind and nothing I can say will or can make it change it’s group mind. A stone the size of a mango hits my right temple. A bigger one my left shoulder-blade.

I try to reassure the frightened and bewildered me that I love her and I got her.

But if you love me why can’t you do something? Very good question for which I have no answer.

Now we’re both crying, my body heaving with the sobbing that knows nothing else at this point, no up down forward or past. I do not care who sees or hears me. My tears are her tears too, and if I’ve ever been in the moment, now is one of those times. There is no past, there is no future, there is only now.

She is almost unconscious by now and we’re both silently praying for it to be over soon.

The mob is turning away. It’s going to be a slow death process. Just little children left throwing little stones and gravel as hard as they can, the boys daring each other to kick the ”witch”.

So many wounds, so many broken bones.

Slow, cruel, painful, death.

(And you ask me why I do not like people, why I stay away from mobs and crowds. Are we all born barbarians to become whatever we’re taught to be?)

There’s a little girl still around when the others have got bored and left. She is hiding behind a tree and some scrubs and when she’s certain noone is watching she steals close and in her grubby little hand brings a few small forest flowers which she places near my face. She pushes my hair out of my eyes before she leaves.

Witch material for sure my current me observes. She is scarred, she’s only 5 or 6, she is horrified, but in her heart she knows what’s been done is wrong. I do not recognize her energy signature, nor am I aware of any relationship between me then and the girl.

 

I don’t know what the message here is. Maybe it just is. I don’t know what to do, to stay or go. There’s no etiquette book for these things and tho I would like to stay (because I think I would want that), this woman is too traumatized to care. There is nothing I can do for her, and nothing I can undo.

What is different to all the other times I’ve watched other incarnations of my soul or been downloaded with another life is that this one is somehow real-time… I just know this.  I feel it as it unfolds and there’s no fast forward. It’s painful and uncomfortable because I want to end it for me/ her/ us? And I can’t. There’s nothing I can do. I could sit here in a state and wait and keep vigil of sorts, but I feel that would serve no purpose. Still anchored to the dying body but no longer conscious and not aware of our connection, I choose to bring my attention back to the kitchen and the cat and my coffee. There’s nothing I can do that would make the darnedest bit of difference to body or soul anyway, and that’s hard to swallow.

The thought that at some point in time I could have been part of one of these mobs – willingly or just to save my own neck – revolts me. I don’t want to think about it, but nor am I denying the possibility of it.

Where else in my modern day life do I feel persecuted? I’m fed up living with fears, unspecified or specific. For what kind of a life does that make for? We made the connection for a reason – and I will try find a way to clear this within me.

I check back with her a few hours later and by then she is dead. I don’t know whether to be relieved or grieve, and I feel a bit of both.

 

Catpaw on Huxday, September 2012

[I did go looking for more back ground a few days later and I found some. For now I’ll just add that to me she is Sally, not entirely correct but close enough.]

Dreamtime parallel worlds

YESTERDAY I slammed back in the body from where/whenever I had just been thanx to hubbys mobile phone ringing, resulting physically in a sore body, stiff neck and a headache.  Why am I even writing about this?  Because the ‘’dream’’ I was having was no ordinary dream.

I no doubt came back after a visit to a parallel existence.  Here’s some of it:-

 

One of the first things I that impressed me was how clean and scrubbed everything was, like if no dust ever happened here.  We were all outside, a random group of people were making music, and there were people sitting at large round tables, big enough to comfortably seat 6-8, and heavy wood-like chairs.  As a visitor I was free to choose or move between the groups of people.  On the ground thick grass, to the north tall trees, pleasantly warm and no mosquitos.  After a while I had a walk around exploring and found an old LP cover pinned up on  an inside wall in what could only be described as a kind of open air museum.  I noted that I recognized one of the songs and found, somewhat surprising, I could not remember all the words or I could have sang it as a contribution to the 30 or so people gathered.

In this peaceful place I experienced two sunsets – or was it the same one twice? – and when the sun set, it was yellow and the same size as when we see it in the sky (and not as seen through the slightly magnifying lens of our earths atmosphere, pollution aiding in making it extra colourful, check with the Slooh scientists if you don’t believe me).  For the last minute or so the sun was beaming symbols  like a slow strobe,  not morse code nor hieroglyphs but very distinct none the less.

I remember pointing out to no one in particular that the sun was sending us a message in code.  At the time I was sitting in at a meeting taking place on the second floor of one of  the buildings to the left, and Rene (very wise and radiant and looking 10 years younger) said –Write it down so you know the first time you saw it, it might become important to know.  And I got the idea that not just for my own records but as proof of something one day.   

As a gift I was given a small gadget which told not the time but the date and month (no year).  The date was 9 April but the 12 April also showed as I tried to figure out how it worked.

I also looked into an other of the ‘’cottages’’ (not the right word but the best I can find to describe the wooden buildings, old both in age and style, think early 1900, but well preserved) where there appeared to be some kind of sewing workshop.  Again very clean, bright and airy (sky-windows) in the relatively small space, room following onto room, the brands of the machines unknown to me, models I’ve never seen (like the 2 tier one!)  The last room featured a large glassed in balcony that looked out over a rather narrow empty beach and what I knew to be the sea… Strange how the building appeared to be a portal; from the tables on the inside you could see none of the tall buildings set a little bit back the beachfront, nor hear the sea. 

I heard something about prisoners working doing the sewing, and to that I say I would not have minded working in such a nice place prisoner or not!  A few sample outfits were hanging up, all very well made and nice looking.

I also saw a man drown, and very peacefully die in the arms of his friend (another prisoner) both getting caught in a wave on the beach they were not supposed to be on.  On the seaside so much looked so grey, whereas on the other the colours were rich, even the white wood.

I went back through the (former) house (?) to the tables and the friendly discussions taking place at them, and that’s where I was when the phone went off.

 

When I entered the kitchen to make some coffee and write this down, our resident muse purred and chirped new cat words  in a whole new frequency I’ve never heard before…  curiouser and curiouser…

What got my attention occurred later in the day as I was scrolling through my fb newsfeed, as there was one of the ‘’symbols’’ having appeared as a crop-circle that very same night!  (17th June near Frome in Somerset, UK)  Later in the evening I came across a photo of another, this one a couple of weeks old and from Italy, on the page of an other friend.  And no, I do not pick friends on the basis of being interested in this particular topic.  I am not what you’d call a crop circle person, and altho I appreciate their beauty I have never experienced one first hand or had much of an interest in this phenomenon.

Generally speaking symbols and symbolism is a bit wasted on me.  I have little (read no) visual memory and I’m a word-girl, not an image one.  That said, when these showed up right in front of me I recognized them somehow.  Don’t ask me how.

I admit to have scoffed a little (in the relative privacy of my own head) at these recent and in comparison rather plain crop circles… ‘’easy to make with a plank and a piece of rope’’…  Now I’m not so sure, and even if they turn out to be man-made what is to say the inspiration didn’t come from the same source.  With all the solar flares, storms and general solar activity, maybe the sun herself transmitted the message.  Maybe one day we will know.

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