I am writing to you from as close to a forest as I could get.
It’s winter now so I looked around for anything beautiful or of interest in the landscape and would you believe that for the first time in my life, blades of grass seemed rather remarkable? Some of the widest blades of grass I have any memory of seeing, I promise you. And green — so, so green amidst a spindly brown winter’s scene. I said it out loud too: “My God, that’s some beautiful grass.” No one was around to hear me, thankfully, but it was worth saying even if only the plants and animals heard the reverberation.
Actually, I remarked about the grass because it jogged a memory. It’s not an experience I actually remember. It’s more like a memory that exists only in the absence of something else you do remember. Once you see the inverse of what you are expected to remember, you suddenly remember what you didn’t know you had forgotten. I hadn’t remembered what grass is supposed to look like until I could contrast the lush blades with the dead patch across the way from it, or with the pygmy grasses I had up to this point accepted as normal. It reminded me of a place on the other side that I couldn’t remember forgetting.
I thought nature would be the only place I could escape to finally be free. Do you feel the energetic web that is tightening and tangling around every soul left here, increasingly as each day passes? There is a part of everyone who is still spiritually alive that cannot be loosed in “normal” society because of this web. The web likes to catch people and contrary to popular belief, it comes for everyone eventually though previously, its focus has been on the spiritually living. I thought in nature I could escape this fear of captivity. I hoped it’s the place where nothing inside a person is any longer tensed, stressed, expectant of judgment, reactive to judgment, worried about being punished, or able to be punished. But even nature is owned here and there are rules to encourage only certain kinds of experiences which makes it hard to relax because, in meditation, you never know where you may travel. It’s when the mind is not thinking about rules or restrictions or maintaining an appearance that is acceptable to others, or being busy and “engaged.” It is where the mind goes clear, the body relaxes and the other side is perceived while in this meditative state. Do you know what it is like to have to hide this person all day because there have never been rules or protections to encourage this?
It is not easy to let the “real” world go for a few minutes at a time anyway. Generally, it demands all of our attention because the constant upkeep requirement due to entropy is so intense. A world of entropy will fall apart if all members are not forced to uphold the tenets that keep it barely alive. If you think most laws are designed with some sort of fairness or safety in mind, there will be no explanation should you remain a law-abiding citizen but realize you are punished for being different or relaxed or slow or perceptive. Perhaps you are not able to uphold the societal norms which are energetically enforced as though they are laws. If the laws were designed for me, or us, or with us as humans in mind, then why am I punished for having non-normative, yet completely legal experiences? This includes remaining in the meditative state perpetually. There may be a less clunky way to say that, which is, why must I remain scared about being punished for having different experiences from others?
Another way to say it is this: the giant blades of grass are a memory of a place where it is safe to give birth. It is safe to give birth there because everywhere one goes within this alternate reality is a sign of life, rather than death. There is no one who interrupts the birthing mother right before she is ready to push by forcing themselves into her consciousness in a negatively unforgettable way — or no one who prevents her from getting into active labor in the first place. There are no questionable characters to dodge, no intentions to decipher. The environment is lit from behind, rather than above, because it is soothing to the senses and that means there are no true shadows. In this place, everywhere I look is a point of stimulation and joy. It is neon and buzzing yet silent and serene. There is a place for everyone to follow their own path, delightfully. There are no loud, sudden, overlapping noises to contend with. No, instead it is organic which means while it was designed, it was done with beautiful asymmetrical, yet harmonizing precision to detail so that the reality and all in it control and embellish themselves because there is no expectation otherwise. This is what makes it eternally interesting and a place a living soul would certainly like to be.
In the forest I write to you from, on the other hand, in what used to be the river and to my left is a spare tire, half buried in muck with a green bottle sunken in the middle of it. Stagnant water keeps the scene intact. There is no movement on the water other than occasional wind so I would surely not want to touch, bathe in, or drink it. There is too much trash even for me to name. Probably a 40/60 mix of trash:nature. Furry algae blooms have attached themselves to rocks and stones on the riverbed floor. When I found a quiet spot to write, a man with a beer can walked past me with a smile I didn’t trust. He saw me typing, walked twenty feet from me, sat on a log, and made a speakerphone call. It was just him and me for acres so I got up and walked to a more quiet patch of trees because whatever art was coming out of me got soldered shut with that look of his. That’s when you go back in your mind, write over the nuisance or pain and find a way to melt open the fear with truth.
Embedded into the code on Earth is death. It walks with an authority that terrifies me. It goes around sniffing out all signs of life that the life/light might be stolen, feasted upon and/or extinguished. The result is both the man with the beer and no boundaries and the river that no longer functions or serves any purpose but decomposition. The death code is covertly embedded down through the generations and into the environment alike. “Someone else will take care of this death,” they say. “Eventually everyone will forget what life looks like and we will all be unable to perceive there is death around and in us at all.” Since death is embedded as the underlying experience, death is what we subconsciously perceive and feel and what we accept as a point of reference. Anything better or greater than death is considered fantasy or delusion.
If, on the other hand, life were to be embedded into the underlying experience of the reality, the ability to remain in a constant state of safe, calm, meditative expectancy is stable or growing. It is in this state that one is able to safely, securely process, accept and project positive organic code. There is no survival fear response that is triggered by an embedded death code in order to prevent one from giving birth to forms of enlightenment that arise naturally due to the spontaneous response to the embedded life code. In other words, it is difficult to find enlightenment in a forest that is already mostly dead because what on Earth would remind you of life if it is no longer a frame of reference? Just a patch of grass it seems.
If you want to become enlightened while surrounded by death, you have to be very brave by overcoming your own response to death, which means, hypothetically or so the trauma-driven parts of the brain tell us, you could die by something you could have perhaps prevented. You could be caught in the web of captivity. If you are caught, they can find any reason to punish you and extinguish you so no birth occurs; so that death remains in power forever.
If you want to overcome death, you must realize you are strong enough to be able to, at first, handle or tolerate the organic code since it is living (the living word) as opposed to pre-programmed dead code that you have seen a million times and expected without real thought. This leaves you with a choice. If you see something out of the realm of what you have been taught is ordinary, are you willing to confront it in order to discover just how real it is? Your programming will tell you that this organic code is scary because it requires you completely release control and fly into the great unknown with nothing reactive or trauma-driven to protect you like you have needed on Earth for so long.
I took a walk around the New Earth and I will tell you: there is no death there. It is robust. It is alive. It is always fascinating. And it is always, always full to the brim, no lack whatsoever. And mostly, it is a living, organic experience that you must meet head on.