Just prior to this, I had an experience of a man appearing at my bedroom door. He woke me up in the middle of the night. I knew he was there to test me.

Turns out I have been “put to the test” in the last four years.

I had an old friend visit me in hospital (prison). He just popped in to reassure me. He once told me “everything happens for a reason”, which I thought was obvious.

Thanks for sharing another great article Jon.

In case any one missed it, my latest post deserves another airing (with your permission, Jon)

https://ozziethinker.wordpress.com/2015/05/12/denial-and-apathy-will-restrict-and-ultimately-halt-human-ascension/

Best
OT

This place we are in, it is a bardo!
I am stuck here now,
The past, present and future
They are all seem to be one…and at each other.
I keep moving between one and the other one, shifting, always shifting.
The light is the same, it just…I find my mind in one sometimes and my body in the other.

This house with it’s one hundred windows.
I’ve counted them.
I have walk along, room from room and looked out of each and every one of them.
And I see a different reality in each.
I’m alway looking between the cracks in them all.
Searching for what holds them together.
Someone said “we should’nt look out the window.”
It means “We are voyeurs rather than a participant in life”.

These poor things here, going about their business.
Slaved and entralled to the illusion of it.
Condemned by it.
Declared mad if they dare to look outside it.
Sometimes I rest far out there, on the way back.
I stop and I am held without the weight of my life.
Suspended.
Listening to the cacophony of noise rise from that little circle.
Into my inky blackness, and I look back to their home.
It took me a long time to realize I was different from them.
That I was not the clothes I was wearing.

On the inside… and the outside we exist in so many different places at once.
One so distinct, ridgid and suffocating, while the others flow like liquid.
The others…
The place of the self.
The place of the long lost and forlorned child.
With its struggles so much larger than itself.
The place of the man.
The place of the father.
The world of the lovers, in an eternal spring.
The place of the old one, ancient beyond belief, and time it self.
And impatient.
The place of the heart, still beating, all worn and battle hardened.
And full of long dead and lonely ghosts.
The place that is centered, and which all the rest surrounds.
And rotates, and spins.
The mandala.
The deepest place.

I have been here since the beginning.
I have seen so many empires built in the rising and then fall again and become dust.
I have been it all. And I will have none of it.
For none of it will satisfy.
I am not meant to be permanent.
Hosted by one thing.
But, to imagine the new and yet to discovered.
We are made for this.

I get it also, every time I sit by a river and watch it drift away