Saturday, 7 June 2014

Healing Raj

Finding Raj was far easier than finding Marilyn. All over the collective perception, inside the physical, mental, subtle and formless realms, there were helpful signs to his whereabouts, because what we commonly knew of him was no different to what he believed himself to be. This was unlike Marilyn, whose real state of mind, and thus true being and character, had rarely been seen by anyone. All the signposts pointing to Marilyn lead to nothing – and it must be said that there were millions more signposts for her than for Raj – while the signposts pointing to Raj lead to familiar illusions of his life in which he was still playing his role to the best of his ability, insisting he was happy, fulfilled and enlightened, bigger than God.

Healing Raj was another story though, and would be far more difficult than healing Marilyn. As our work progressed, we saw that those whose thinking sided predominantly with ‘worse than’ self-concepts were quicker to accept a new, loving story to live by, and so heal their lives. In many respects, the only way was up for those suffering severe inferiority complexes, and so whenever we arrived to help them understand what had happened in their most recent life, as well as assist in unravelling the knots of lies that had caused them so much pain, they were more than happy to go along with us. They had nothing to lose.

In contrast, those whose thinking sided predominantly with ‘better than’ self-concepts, like Raj, had to be first persuaded that there was something very wrong with their most recent life, because they refused to see it. This preliminary step of facing up to the obvious suffering they had endured and caused over a lifetime – that which we were able to skip with Marilyn and those like her – often took some time.

We found him in the middle of an enormous orange marquee, sitting cross-legged on a raised dais surrounded by a throng of beautiful, very young, blond girls who were tending to his every need. One was gently caressing his long, black, wavy hair. Another was giving his left foot a deep and sensuous massage. Others were throwing handfuls of rose petals over him, gently and rhythmically. To the side, a band played frenetic dance music to which many thousands of devotees, all young, blond and dressed in orange robes, whirled about erratically, grinning madly.

We approached him slowly, steadily, moving through the imaginary dancers and the illusory mini-harem, and sat down before him, the scene continuing around us. Noah began.

“You know you are dead Raj? This life is over and has been for some time.”

The music stopped. The dancers swirled their last, fading into a grey mist. The beautiful young girls disintegrated back into the pure mind canvas, the marquee disappeared and Raj shed the strong, vital, thirty-year-old body he had been wearing, replacing it with the grey, balding, and emaciated sixty-year-old one he was wearing when he left his unhealthy, drug-addicted, megalomaniac’s life. The three of us sat cross-legged, facing each other in the pure silence of unhooked mind space. Raj looked irritated.

“But this is Samadhi. Don’t you know anything?! Foolish faithless! Don’t you know who I am?” At that moment he started to draw up from deep inside his chest the mucus that had been gathering and turned to hawk it into the mind space emptiness.

“And, whatever you think, I’m having fun. Why should it be over? You people are always so serious.”

“But Raj, are you really having so much fun? You have been here for centuries now. What are you doing exactly? Are you fulfilling your tasks?”

“But I am loved. They love me. Even now, downstairs, they love me still.”

“Well, Raj. Does anyone even remember you downstairs anymore? It was a long time ago and there were just too many repeat performances. We started to learn from our mistakes and yours were particularly stark. It was just so tiresome in the end, continuous suffering viciously defended, and especially the sexual abuse – we really had enough of that. Your image downstairs was a lie anyway. It was never the real you. You know that. That is why you refuse to move on. You are scared Raj, aren’t you? You are scared that you will have to accept many difficult things about yourself and that we will tear down your marvellous, bigger-than-god image.”

“Liars!” He stood up and stomped away. We would have to leave him again. That would be enough for now. He would sulk for a while, and get high most likely. Communication would be impossible until he had processed our meeting. Maybe this time he would accept that change was needed.

The next time the Boss put the Raj healing into our in-tray we found him in one of his fleet of golden Rolls Royce’s.

“Raj, hi,” we said, sliding down from above to sit either side of him.

“God, you two again.”

I spoke this time. “Yes. Hey, Raj, you know that these cars are a joke downstairs. If you drove any one of the hundred that you bought with your devotees’ money you’d be laughed at, ridiculed and thrown into prison for a few months too.” Quietly, I added, “You’d still make the news of course.”

“Why should I care? Look!” He pointed outside the car to a large crowd of dirty blond, white-skinned, beautifully suntanned youngsters who were shouting, bowing and cheering as he drove by slowly. “They love me, see. See!?”

“Raj, it is an illusion. This is your mind’s projection. Why do you waste so much time on this?”

As before, the crowds disappeared into thin air, the antiquated vehicle dispersed into nothingness, Raj’s appearance changed for the worse and we were left sitting, the three of us, cross-legged facing each other, still and quiet in the untouched mind space once again. Noah spoke.

“Why are you blind to the trickery of the mind, you who apparently understood it so well? Why are you blind to the liar that controls the thinking of mind space leaders like yourself with the fiercest grip of all? The liar in the mind challenged anyone who had the power to make true, lasting and loving changes in our sick world. That is why you gurus usually failed spectacularly. Can we show you a few things?”

Raj sighed. He was approaching the sulk that he had used to avoid anything important in the past, but he hadn’t quite succumbed yet. We may have a good opportunity here. I went on.

“There is nothing unique about you Raj. You are the same as everyone else, everyone great and everyone common. You are the same as Noah and I. But you believe you are a god, alone and special to be worshipped like a deity. You believe this because the liar in your mind tells you this is what you are. But it is an illusion. How could it be true Raj, it is against your own teachings?” His eyes widened as I spoke.

“And your devotees, they believed the same falsehood. When the liar persuades us that specialness is real – that there is someone better than or worse than us, in any way at all – we are safely locked up inside its maximum security wing. This basic lie, taking unlimited forms in our thinking, influenced everyone; but the error had minimal effect in the world until larger groups of people believed a particular form it took. Why do you think it all got so troublesome?”

“They loved me, they still love me,” he peeped in his high-pitched whine, looking at his sandals. Noah, rising, motioned him to stand up.

“How about we take a little tour of suffering gurus Raj? A small sample of those people who have felt, like you, powerful and vulnerable at the same time? Human beings – like us all – who failed to understand the fear arising from this ambivalence, and failed to find the perceptual tools required to resolve it, and so instead threw the fear onto others in an attempt to escape it. This is your story too.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. You’re obviously lacking the mental capacity to understand the divine.”

Noah and I flanked Raj, each taking an arm. In an instant we were flying through the pure mind space. We swooped up steeply and then dipped, knowing exactly where we were going. We came in low, hovering over the first scene.

A crowd of men, women and children were gathered in an open air structure. The air was warm and sticky. It was morning and the children were running around chattering and playing. A group of serious men were walking around and in among the people, stopping at each one to do something. As we looked closer, we saw that they were adding drops of liquid from small glass bottles into the openings of soft drink cans that all the adults had in their hands. Each person took a swig, while parents gave their children a few sips before taking some themselves. The men dropped the liquid directly into the babies’ mouths. In seconds people were falling to the ground, quite dead. The older children fell where they were standing, having taken the drink from their mothers and fathers. Babies stopped breathing in the arms of their mothers. Children still living started to scream and cry as the dead dropped to the floor in their hundreds. A handful of people ran away when they saw what was happening and came immediately to their senses. The rest, nearly one thousand people, were dead in minutes.

“This is the power you had Raj. This! This is what the love of a guru may justify.”

“But I didn’t kill any children! I am nothing like that crazy American,” he was nearly shrieking.

“It was close though Raj. You were lucky no children died. And you mustn’t forget the suicides.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said nonchalantly.

We flew up again, holding him closely. He would storm off again if we weren’t careful. We came down from the mind space into a small city apartment where a large, moustachioed, turbaned Indian man wearing tight, red underpants was sitting cross-legged on a neatly made king-size bed. He was talking to three white, dirty blond, suntanned young men who were sitting on chairs placed around the bed.

“We need new girls for the parties anyway. Lila was all used up already, no?” the Indian giggled. “Are the two sisters who have been visiting ready for me yet?”

“Nearly, guruji. The older one knows that sleeping with you will help her karma. She is nearly ready. The younger one, well, she’s young guruji, fourteen, I don’t think she’s interested in boys yet.”

“Bring her anyway. She delights me. My sex will shock her into Samadhi, no?” He laughed, victorious.

In quick response, the Californian hippie-chuckle reverberated around the room. “Yes, guruji. Yes.”

“But make sure we have the correct days for the parties, ask the women to watch the girls please” he was shouting, suddenly annoyed. “Pregnancies hurt the image. Have you arranged the surgery for Lila already?”

The scene disintegrated and we stopped still in the mind space and looked at Raj.

“Maybe that happened,” he whimpered. “Maybe there were some pregnancies that would have caused, some, well, difficulties. Only a few times, only a few times, but they all loved me, really, they did,” he seemed to be pleading.

Our feet lifted a tiny bit off the ground, hovering for a second and then we were off again; this time we orbited the globe until we were over the ocean, close to Australia. Shooting northwards, we swooped down on a small tropical island. We circled a small village close to the beach that contained many scattered huts built around a larger building. A crowd was heading inside. We followed them in to the meeting hall.

The place was packed. The guru was parading up and down the first line of devotees. They were new arrivals, fresh in that morning. They were all female, beautiful and in their twenties. The white, fat, bald, sixty-year-old guru wearing only an orange loin cloth peered at their faces, touching, petting and putting his hands on a covered breast if he felt divinely inspired to do so.

“This one,” he had chosen. “Drink some more,” he ordered.

All the devotees reached for the whiskey in front of them, gulping it down. Helpers dragged the newly chosen devotee, who was quite drunk already, to her feet and led her up the stairs and towards the bed that had been set up in the middle of the raised stage where everyone could see it.

“But I don’t want to sleep with the guru,” she whispered to one of the helpers who had her arm. “Actually, I haven’t ever had sex. And I feel sick.” She burped. She was scared.

“You have no choice,” he whispered. “And you are very blessed to have been chosen,” he squeezed her arm firmly. “If you decide against it, we cannot assure your safety.”

The inevitable happened but we weren’t interested in hanging around to watch lower evolutionary beings copulate in the deepest fearfulness; sex with the added epic tale of avenging warrior rightly claiming ownership of a body to justify his better-than-ness. We’d had enough of that when we were lower evolutionary beings ourselves. Now that we understood the lies in everything, human sexual activity predating the undoing efforts always made us wince, especially when they believed there was something divine or godly about it. Whenever we happened to witness the sex confusion generated by the liar in the mind, nausea washed over us. Our instructions were never to dwell on lies. So we didn’t.

We let Raj watch a little while though, but we focussed his perception onto the heart of the devotee and the fear and confusion she was feeling, gently steering his awareness away from the gluttony and glee of the guru, with which he would be already very familiar and liable to defend with bizarre references to the divine, which only ever made any sense to those who desperately needed to rationalise criminal acts of madness. The scene drifted into grey meaninglessness.

“Well Raj? Recognise anything there?” I asked.

“OK, so he’s a little like me.”

“He was a sick man, Raj. Many of his devotees committed suicide.” Raj’s face twitched. “We won’t be able to help him for quite a while. The delusion he suffers is so strong we are invisible to him, just as we were to you when you first arrived upstairs. Raj, do you recognise your world in these scenes? These gurus preached the same words of love you did, and they all promised that peace and happiness could be found through sex.”

“Everyone says those things in India. It is no big deal. Stupid Americans with their heads up their asses. It blew their minds. It really did. What was I supposed to do? They were completely mad. How could I stay sane surrounded by those fools?”

We were getting somewhere. There was no movement through space but suddenly the grey surround shifted into images once more and we found ourselves sitting around a spacious dinner table in an outdoor restaurant. There were around ten people at the table. Raj, Noah and I took spots between the diners. We seemed to be in a tropical zone as it was only seven o’clock but dark already and still hot. Crickets were singing and a tall, thin woman with dirty blond unkempt hair was speaking.

“And the boss of Europe was coming to our little ashram in Denmark and they told all the pretty girls that we had to have sex with him; and maybe we had to have sex with some of his assistants too. But I didn’t want to. They told me I was difficult. They told me I could forget enlightenment if I refused to have sex with the men. I knew that if I refused, the whole ashram would stop talking to me, they would make life impossible. I’d seen that happen to others. So I did it. That wasn’t all that happened by any means, that’s just one thing I can remember now.”

“Wow, that’s really horrible Marta,” said a woman beside her.

“Yes, it is. I managed to leave the ashram about a year later. I don’t know how I survived. I was only nineteen. I was lucky. I had a friend who let me stay with her when I escaped. She saved my life, literally. I tried to kill myself three times.”

“O my goodness!”

“Yeh,” she paused. “That was then, nearly thirty years ago.”

Raj started examining the stubby, bloody, bitten shreds of his fingernails.

“I had an experience at the ashram in India, about ten years ago.” A man sitting opposite said. “It was pretty grisly actually.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I wanted help for some, you know, emotional, relationship, things. Anyway, I signed up for a workshop. It was really expensive but one of the cool guys recommended it, you know, exactly what I needed, I wouldn’t regret it. Well. There were about twenty of us waiting, middle aged men. We were told to bring lubrication and condoms. Then the women arrived but they were really young some of them, like sixteen and so, maybe younger. And the whole thing was how we were gonna have sex with these girls, but uninhibited, you know, we could do what we liked. Actually, the instructions were to do things we would never do normally. They were saying how that would heal everyone’s problems with parents, with authority. We would unblock.

“Well, I felt sick. I could see the girls were unhappy and wished they were somewhere else. I know the look of a prostitute. I’ve been with enough of them…I’m sorry, it’s true. I knew it was all lies, just made up so we could fuck children, and pay through the nose, and believe that we were somehow going to be more divine by doing so. They really believed that crap. It was vile. Anyway. I left. I left the ashram. I left India soon after. It was sickening. I think the guru had died by then, but all this was still going on, maybe even now. I heard it was worse when he was alive.”

Raj shut his eyes, his head hanging.

“We have one more visit to make Raj. You ready?” I asked him. He nodded silently.

Again we whooshed up, swooping, swirling, whizzing high, dipping low, and then we were in the living room of a swish Manhattan apartment with an incredible view over the city through enormous windows. Two men were sitting on the modern, angular, spotless white sofa. They were both approaching their sixties, with hair the colour of a grey that was once dirty-blond. They were looking at numbers and figures on a laptop in front of them on the minimalist glass coffee table.

“You see how rich we are man?” The first man roared with laughter. “We are so rich. Can you imagine if the old fool knew what we were doing? He was so easily manipulated those last years when he was bat crazy.”

“Dude, it’s hilarious! What makes me laugh is how they go for this bullshit more than we ever did when he was around. It’s insane.”

“Totally dude.” And the Californian hippie-chuckle made a couple more laps of the chapter before the men and the apartment disintegrated into the mind space purity from which they had emerged, leaving the witnessing process.

“You played the liar’s game very well Raj. You understood the rules and followed them impeccably. And you won. You were one of the true winners at the liar’s game. And, as it is with all the other winners, the moment you won, you lost everything.”

We were sitting cross-legged once again, silently, still, in the colourless, bright, pure perceptual space. A large tear rolled down Raj’s cheek and splattered onto his thigh, drawing a dark circle in his orange gown.

“Your young girlfriend, Raj, she killed herself didn’t she?”

We left him with his thoughts. We would return when he was ready for his undoing speech.

When Noah and I were still in training, the Boss had taught us that when we refuse to acknowledge madness in anyone (whether by insisting the madness is evil, a sin, or by insisting it is sanity, reasonable) we refuse to acknowledge it in ourselves at the same time. We saw that we refused to acknowledge the madness of gurus because we feared the sacrifice of something very important, something we relied upon for our happiness. We had confused the most insane behaviour with finding our way back to our Good God. And at each crazy application of our insanity, our Good God slipped farther from reach. But the liar told us we were doing well, that God was with us, and we believed the liar instead of the obvious facts and carried on destroying ourselves.

We saw that under the mental dictatorship of the liar, what we thought made us happy actually did the opposite, always, without exception. Everyone suffered this delusion, but it was very noticeable in the madness of insidious cults. Love was still mysterious in those times and we confused it with destruction, as we always had. Sex without ethics – often animalistic and criminal in nature – power over others, fear, paranoia, financial corruption, criminal activity, murder and suicide was justified and bitterly defended. And it was precisely these destructive things that made religions, cults and gurus special, unique, different, separate, closer to God. Any threat to the cult’s specialness could justify murder, and the guru was the most special of the special. It was logical, explainable and all completely insane.

When we realised how the insanity functioned, how the liar in the mind could build such nightmares and make them appear reasonable and sane, all the horrors were sadly explained. Even the madness of devotees murdering their own children was sadly, heavily, explained. What else could they do when that which made their lives meaningful was to be taken from them? They must follow their leader in his specialness and to death.

We saw that the insanity of cults was the same insanity of any religion promoting violence, abuse and murder. As we undid the lies, the unification of human perception revealed itself. Undoing specialness brought togetherness, equality, connection and love, and it was these things that the liar in the mind feared the most. In those early days of reconnecting, the liar often cheered for an important person; someone who, it told us, knew everything and could help us. We surrendered everything to this person, the guru, but the guru idol turned out to be the liar again and destruction became commonplace. However, we daren’t admit our mistake because we believed that, if we did, we would lose our only hope for freedom.

Noah and I saw that the undoing had started way before any of us had any idea about what the undoing was. We saw that the energy of love had taken hold in our minds long before it became obvious, and guru madness simply revealed the early shifts in the collective perception. Humans took to the arrival of Love with great enthusiasm, and the frenzied escapes from fixed ideas we witnessed in those early years were proof of it. It was the first time we had known real hope for the future; hope based upon something other than the liar’s promises. But the energy for change was often channelled in the wrong direction. This had been inevitable, of course.

The Boss called us shortly after the witnessing. We made the sign of the cross before Her. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

“Would you please go to Raj,” she bid. “He needs something more.”

He was waiting.

“But what will happen? I’m scared, it’s true. I treated people very badly. I know that. And I am sorry. But if I admit it, formally, and ask for forgiveness, what will happen? I will go to hell, no?”

“Raj, dear Raj,” Noah said laughing kindly. “You have been in hell since the beginning. Nothing you have ever experienced on earth has been anything but.”

“Then, it will be worse, much worse.”

“You are wrong. There is a choice. You can have a continuum of difficult lives so that you learn slowly what you did to yourself. This may take time, much time, because you could slip back into delusion again at any moment. The other option is fast-tracking. This is one or two extremely difficult lives where you get all the lessons you require over a shorter time period. The Boss organises the lessons and you have to accept them when they come. There is one other option, but you don’t qualify right now.”

“I will think.” He walked off. He had created a garden from the mind space where he had been wandering since the witnessing. There were no more sulks, and no more young blonds, or crazy orange-clad devotees, or singing, or rose petals, just a simple garden where he could walk, look at the flowers and think things over.

“He doesn’t remember us at all, does he?” I said.

“No, I don’t think he does.”

“And to think, he raised our child, and he was an excellent father.”

Noah and I looked at each other and began to laugh. The world was so ridiculous.

“Thing is, he always had that yearning for megalomania,” Noah said. “I guess he got his wish and forgot everything else.”

Whenever we avoid accepting the obvious, in any situation, our psychosis deepens, our confusion multiplies, and truth stays out of reach for longer and longer. And so it was with Raj. And still he wanders, and thinks, in his garden created from the mind space. He wanders and wonders, should he go for the long series of lives in which he may well forget his task, or should he fast-track it and suffer in ways he cannot imagine but he agrees he would deserve.

The other option was to undo in the formless realms, as Noah, myself, and many of the other undoers had. The problem for Raj was that he would be unable to free his mind from the belief in the divinity of the body for many millennia; the Boss could see this clearly and had made it known. This meant he must continue to learn of the pointlessness of the physical body in the physical plane. Undoing this lie in the formless realms could send him into a state in which he might see no sense in taking another body again, but would be happy to maintain his underdeveloped sense of love, just as had happened with Ronald Bloom, but that is another story.

Monday, 21 April 2014

Lourdes - an outsider's inside view

Lourdes is a place I had never intended to visit, although I had misty notions about miracles, visions and the goddess residing there. I have learned that my intentions rarely combine with what actually happens – indeed, never – and it was to be that I was somewhat forced there sometime in the summer of 2006.

I was on my way home at the time, driving through Spain towards France, then on towards dear old England. I had intended to make a stop at San Sebastian and did not foresee any trouble in finding a room. But it was a weekend Depeche Mode played a gig in Bilbao and, due to this, there were no rooms available in any hotel in the region, as I was told repeatedly at each one I stopped at.

It was getting late and dark, and I was getting tired and fed up. I had just about reached the French border and I made a decision. I will check one more hotel then I will park up and hunker down for the night in the back of the car with my sleeping bag. The last hotel to check was a Mercure in Irun, the last Spanish town before France. I followed the signs to a deserted industrial estate. There must be room here, surely.

At reception, I got the familiar 80s legend story and an apology.

“But”, said the receptionist unexpectedly, “We do have availability at Lourdes.”

At which point, all those vague recollections of Lourdes popped straight into focussed awareness as if they had been waiting patiently for hours for permission to do so, years maybe! Yes, I would go to Lourdes which was totally off my route, and not a short way off either (I decided to believe the receptionist when she told me the journey would take an hour, even though I knew she was probably lying, and she was).

It was very late when I arrived, past eleven. I was sort of high and excited, not desperate to relax and get to bed. OK, I had been driving all day so I was rather wired. The receptionist at the Mercure in Lourdes said,

“Why not visit the grotto now. It is open 24 hours and it is only five minutes away.”

He explained how to get to the cave where a poor, illiterate, sixteen-year-old, Bernadette Soubirous, had seen Holy Mary over the course of eighteen visions in 1858 – not so long ago in the great scheme of things. Excited, I wandered past the busy bars and restaurants and through the gate of the sanctuaries, then down, past the enormous chapel which I made a mental to note to have a look at properly the next day. Then on past the taps where a handful of pilgrims were filling their bottles with the water from the spring that Bernadette had uncovered by digging with her bare hands on instruction from Mary during one of the visions. I reached the grotto. The soft hush of the river Gave and the soft light of thousands of burning candles marked my way in the dark night. Inexplicable tears came to my eyes, and still do any time I tell this story.

Since then, I have done my best to visit Lourdes every year and, each time, I’ve bathed in the holy spring water. Mary told Bernadette to tell the people to come to the waters of the spring she had sourced to drink and bathe and heal. After accepting the visionary lady as the true Virgin Mary, the Catholic Church got organised and eventually built the church that Mary had politely demanded, as well as the bath buildings where pilgrims in their millions come each year to be cleansed and healed by the holy water of Lourdes.

Each time I visited was better than the last. One time I received a whole book idea, all of a sudden, in my head, title and chapter outline, the whole thing. It felt like holy instructions so I went ahead and wrote it and published it. The thing had been in my head for years in any case, I believe I was just given a little nudge and some guidelines. And what else are you gonna do with holy instructions? That book was The Liar. Each time I came for a dunking in the holy water by the women at the baths, I felt like I’d been touched by the divine. It seemed impossible that the next dunking could get any better, but each time it did. I cannot explain how, less why.

The last three times I have been at Lourdes, the notion of volunteering at the baths arose. Now, I’m technically not Catholic, although the first time I arrived at Lourdes my rather pagan spiritual practice was full of Catholic references so I had no problem with it nor was I unfamiliar with it. Technically, I was christened into Church of England which, although breaking all ties with Rome all those centuries ago, did not alter the communion mass any or demote the Saints or do anything close to the Protestant full scale rewrite that was to come. Still, obviously a lot had been cut and I didn’t know the words to the prayers or the songs recited continuously. I always felt somewhat undercover, an interloper, and afraid to be found out. And here I was getting the sign to volunteer, from Upstairs of course, which after three years of deliberating became too loud to put off any longer, particularly when I found myself asked to read a passage on John the Baptist to hundreds of queuing pilgrims.

The call was so intense now that even the requirement of a letter from a priest didn’t put me off. Instead, along with my form, I enclosed a long letter explaining my situation honestly and a criminal record check from the UK police which I’d needed to do voluntary work in London. At least they’d be sure I wasn’t criminally insane.

I’m amazed at how much I doubt, still, after all the miracles I’ve been gifted. But still, I doubt, and I really thought they’d never let me join the gang but after only a few weeks I received a letter saying I had been accepted to work at the Saint John the Baptist service at the sanctuaries of Our Lady of Lourdes. Wow!

When I first went for a dip in 2006 I had been struck by the strange, perhaps antiquated, bathing ceremony. I’m sensitive to any negative connotations concerning the female body – of course, I have one – and the bathing experience I found to be patronising and, perhaps even insulting. Firstly, you are ushered into a bathing cubicle I know now to be called cabins. A lady kindly covers you with a blue gown which smells of bodies and tells you to take everything off. When you are ready you are told to keep your bra in your right hand and you are muscled into a particular crossed-arms position and told to wait. When it’s your turn you are brought into the bathing area. A woman takes your bra from you and tells you to make your intention in your heart to Our Lady and, when you are ready, to make the sign of the cross. You are then wrapped in an extremely cold sheet to keep you modest, the blue gown is whisked away, and you are walked down into the bath and through the water towards a statue of Our Lady. At the statue, you are helped to sit back in the water and then raised up again. Then you are then turned and led out of the bath whilst prayers are recited.

When you are free of the water, the biggest load of nonsense begins. You are helped into your bra. The woman at the front who has been looking after your bra puts your arms through it, and the women at your sides fasten it at the back. Now, if this isn’t patronizing, please tell me what is. I got my bra on quite happily in the morning but now I need help to do it. If I can’t be trusted to get my bra on OK, how they can trust me with my knickers, I don’t know. Well, this business always perplexed me, concerned me and made me feel like a group of unseen, powerful people were still ‘looking down on’ me as a woman because I couldn’t possibly handle all this spirituality myself if I needed three people to help me put my bra on. The bathing instructions were not divinely given to Bernadette – although you might think they had been at times. Moreover, they were probably decided around the same time women were still being sent into slavery by and for the Catholic Church for being too beautiful, amongst other sins!

Yes, this could be insulting. And, imagine you are off to commune directly with God. You have an opportunity to literally spend a moment with God Herself, and you have travelled maybe many miles and spent much money. Perhaps you are sick. Perhaps someone you care very deeply about is suffering. You wait for hours in the line. You have your short moments with God. It is blissful, divine, you feel connected and healed, floating with the angels, you certainly did the right thing coming here…yes…and then BAM you are reminded of your feminine frailty and weakness, worseness – which is always defined by your bodily differences – in the ensuing kafuffle whilst three, yes three, women struggle to get you back into your all-important bra. Yes, that’s insulting.

But anyway, I got over it, and never let the peculiarities of the dressing ritual stop me coming back for more, because whatever I was getting from my one minute with God was way above all of this darned stupidness and I could stomach it, for God’s sake. For God, I’ll do anything. And clearly, God wanted me to come here, again and again, and to eventually volunteer to bath pilgrims, which I did, which I am now doing!

I have just spent one beautiful week with the angels of the Hospitalité de Lourdes on induction and training to learn about the sanctuaries and the job of bathing pilgrims. People do a lot of different types of volunteer service here. There is a hospital with over 900 beds where the sick pilgrims are cared for by health professionals. There is another building, Marie St Frai, where sick pilgrims not needing around-the-clock care may stay and the volunteers there spend the days washing dishes, doing laundry and making up rooms. You might be picking people up from the station or helping the sick around the sanctuaries. The baths is actually a tiny part of what goes on at Lourdes but an important one.

So, I worked in the baths, morning and night, fastened bras, learned the word for bra in a number of languages, did what I was told and was very happy. Blissed out, in fact. I was asked on a number of occasions by women what the whole bra thing was about and explained that it was the most complicated part of the clothing so we help them with that. Yeh, OK. But, BUT, if I can make their experience a little less frightening, a little less intimidating, then a little white lie is not off the menu, cause these faces were frightened, intimidated and a bit annoyed, just like mine used to be.

Non-verbal communication is what I’m up to at the baths because I rarely speak any English there, but I know that words are pretty irrelevant when it comes to Great Spirit and it’s quite clear when someone actually has a problem that needs sorting or is just babbling away like people do. I smile alot and say

“No problem. It’s OK. Don’t worry.”

I feel these words, and the tone they are said in, are universal.

Anyway, let’s see. So yesterday was JC’s debrief day (for all those non-Christian’s, the Saturday before Easter Sunday is a sort of no-man’s-land for the risen Son of God where we’re not sure what he was up to, but I suspect it was great fun). Often, this day is considered the saddest in the Christian calendar as it is when everyone was very tearful and hopeless. Well, it seemed to be the saddest day in the town too.

When I got to work yesterday afternoon, there was a crowd of people waiting to be bathed that went out of the baths and alongside the river until it reached the Grotto. I have never seen anything like it and I was delighted to be part of the fun. There must have been three thousand people lining up, probably more, and we weren’t due to open for half-an-hour. I noticed that the vast majority of these pilgrims were Indian. We got to work and I had a pretty bad day at the office, man (I had to say man there, the day required it). But I’ll tell you about that in a minute.

I had expected to be working for 5/6 hours straight (unlike the usual 2.5) but at around 4 o’clock I noticed the pilgrims coming in were getting sparser and there only seemed to be families with children. I went to the toilet and took a peek out the curtain.

The benches were empty. O my goodness, there’s no-one waiting. Did we do thousands of pilgrims in just a few short hours? Could it be possible? Has a miracle occurred, of the loaves and fishes variety perhaps, i.e. abundance of time in this case? I found out that no, there had been no miracle. Instead, there had been a riot. What? Yes, a riot!! A riot in the queue and a rush at the barriers. A big fight! Well, goodness me no! Not at the baths. It couldn’t be. But then I remembered my Indian pilgrimage experiences and what I know of them and, on balance, a riot seemed less unlikely.

Indians on pilgrimages can get terrifically overexcited. This is a fact and I’ve seen it for myself. There are now organisations in India who attempt to reunite parents with the children they lost in pilgrimages due to the chaos and crushes. These small children are usually too young to remember the name of where they live and end up on the streets. Amazing, but true, because that is what Indians are like when it comes to God. They’re Serious about Him; so serious they become hysterical at times.

Well, I imagine there’ll have been a great deal of negative tut-tutting about those Indians who were just exercising a cultural disposition. I can hear an emphasis in the talk on how we are much better than them, would never behave in such a way, us calm Europeans. And perhaps that’s true, but, but…this talk is hypocrisy coming from self-declared better-thans which no-one could be.

And now I’ll tell you about my bad day. During the induction week at the baths I only met angels working there. Pyrenean mountain women; a rough sort of solid, large lady, living in the area and working at the baths on a regular basis, maybe one shift at the weekend, or only in the winter time. I fell instantaneously in love with them all. They were amazing. There was one woman who looked exactly like an American Indian with the mannerisms you might expect of one. I’m not kidding. Whenever I was not working with her, I could hear her deep, heartfelt chuckling coming from another cabin and I could do nothing but smile. I figured this lady had been an American Indian in a very recent past life, died at war perhaps, fighting for freedom. I imagined at the moment of her/his death, he/she prayed to Great Spirit to take her to wherever she/he could serve Him best. And she ended up at Lourdes. I spend a lot of time dreaming up these sorts of tales about people. He/she’ll have to go in a book somewhere.

My induction group was just as divine, although I saw clearly the tendency for the unexamined female mind to feel comforted when bitching. I understand this and used to do it myself, a lot. It goes along with the low self-esteem territory women live in, not to say men don’t do stuff to make themselves feel less scared too, it just takes a different form. Anyway, after a few short days of getting to know each other, being polite, loving and friendly, I was not all that surprised to hear some of my female classmates start to laugh and jeer and tell mean stories about the pilgrims they had bathed. Not cool guys, not cool at all.

Anyway. That was then. This is yesterday.

There had been a lot of gossip about difficult women working at the baths. I’d heard it during induction week but it had not been my experience: until yesterday. I arrived at work and we said hello, prayers and got ready for the heaving masses outside. There were two completely new, very young American girls on the team who had never done this before (it’s not rocket science btw). We got going and I was asked to explain the left-side bathing technique to one of the girls. I was quietly explaining what to do whilst we bathed the first pilgrim, as was my counterpart on the right.

As I was explaining the intricacies of relieving the pilgrim of the cold, wet sheet whilst being sure to maintain her dignity, the woman on the right started to rage at me.

“If you don’t do it this way…rant…rage…she will fall over…rant rage…”

“Excuse me, I’m explaining what we’re doing. No-one has fallen over. I know what I’m doing.”

“So DO IT!”

WOW. A place of peace, Spirit and miracles had all of a sudden become a trading pit. Holy Spirit, what to do? OK, so I understand that panic can be a reaction to the trillions of pilgrims we have to bathe this afternoon and we have three newbies, two who have never done it before, so this lady is just frightened and crazy and doesn’t know what she does.

OK. So I carry on with my explanations but, in the meantime, I’ve become the pariah. Everything I do now, which is no different from anything I have been doing for a week already without complaint, is wrong. I move my hand, the crazy lady huffs and puffs. I move my eye, the crazy lady huffs and puffs. And she’s saying,

“But this is the way we do it.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t taught this way. Please forgive me. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.”

She didn't. (I checked the manual when I got home and her nit-picking was not laid out in there either.) Well, it was painful indeed. The first tranche of pilgrims in our cabin had to contend with this air of rage and frustration. The two new Americans were absolutely terrified and spent the rest of the session red-face and tearful. I was reeling, off balance from the attacks. What to do. Holy Spirit, what to do?

Unfortunately, the boss of the cabin that day was another panic merchant. She had a face you might grind angle with; one of those that laughs and smiles so rarely that whenever it does we're not sure if we're seeing grimace or mirth. She was terrifying everyone as well. Never mind, I’ll do what I do best here in the cabins, even when I’ve no clue what’s going on. I’ll the make nervous pilgrims feel safe. So I smiled and said there was no problem and helped the women undress and dress again and sent love to all my colleagues from my heart and for some reason the very crazy lady disappeared and we managed to calm down a bit and all was not lost. WOW.

So, how to understand this with love?

Crazy-lady is a member of a very special group of people. She feels superior to any newbies to the group, which in terms of knowledge and know-how of course she is. BUT. There is a way to speak to people when someone is making a mistake, or when you think someone is making a mistake. You can become angry or you can say smilingly, joyfully, look, this is a mistake, as had the women from the week before. The angry version of these approaches is the road to murder and comes from prior irrational judgments and a locked-down mind, unable to see solutions to problems.

Christianity has a lot to answer for is a statement we all hear from time to time, and rightly so. The murder that has been committed under the banner of Christ is more than a little disappointing. But all of this came from the belief in better-than-ness, the belief in being right when compared to anyone who was not part of the special group. Or anyone, too, that may have spoken up against the special group from within it. As if right might justify murder. As if anything might justify murder.

Wasn’t this why we murdered Christ?

Anything that is not love is murder, as JC says in A Course In Miracles; from the distorted sigh and roll of the eyes as the fool gets it wrong again, to actual body destruction. But anything that is not love is murder. So any angry, frustrated thought that makes our blood boil and want to punch someone is murder too. And these thoughts can be very subtle and hidden behind a veneer of acceptability at times. Self-destructive thinking is murder; all of it. And how much of our thinking isn’t self-destructive? (We’ll talk about romantic love being murder too at some point, but we’re way off topic here.)

So, to explain violence in religion, just look closely at the behaviour of people who believe they are more powerful than others. There is a total lack of peace because the effort required in supporting an impossible better-than-ness against equals is excessive. There is anger and frustration, which spreads like a virus, particularly when some – apparently – external event causes fear and panic. Take this to extremes and we have someone who, due to this correctable state of mind and in the right circumstances, would be able to justify murder in its truest sense. Hence, violence in religion, and none of us is immune to or above it.

So, statistically speaking (as if these ever had any effect on miracles) I won’t work with another lunatic for a few shifts yet, but I’m grateful that she reiterated something for me. Undoing the liar is an on-going daily affair and, because we are all in the asylum at all times, currently, we may bump into its excesses in the most unlikely of places. And for that lesson, I’m grateful. And if you wanted a full-on, intense, one-to-one, present moment, practical class on undoing the liar in the mind, a few shifts with one of these birds would suffice…but even that’s not the point. There’s more…much more…

I see that I have been just as angry, just as fearful, just as despotic, time and time again. The thing is, our disgraceful behaviour is quickly covered over by the liar in the mind protecting itself, so we forget it as quickly as we notice it in someone else. But the sad truth is, we are just as bad as that which we prefer to see in others, always. There is no separation or differences, outside of relative effects due to particular circumstances. My giant meditation at Lourdes is teaching me that I am exactly the same as everyone else, warts an' all. The memories of past unpleasantness can be quite difficult to accept, at first. But it is important that we do, and remember that those we have hurt will forgive us, eventually. That's been promised.

The truth underneath all these lies is that, no matter how insane we are, or how many warts we have, we are loved equally. And this Love that loves us, is more powerful than any problem we have; in every situation and in any sense. Wherever we are, in whatever turmoil and pain and suffering, and however insane we have become, Love overrides it all, quietly and softly, and we cannot keep ourselves from It. This is more than comforting. And I shall carry on feeling blessed as I go to bath pilgrims, wondering if this day I will find myself in an environment of peace and love (with a sense of this is how we should always be with each other) or fear and loathing (and learn the important lessons of what we have left to do before we truly get there).

#Lourdes #miracles #forgivingTheUnforgivable #holyWater #healingTheSick #France #pilgrim #pilgrimage #Mary #JesusChrist #Easter #lifeWithoutTheLiar #ACourseInMiracles #love #peace #unity #LovePeaceUnity

Monday, 31 March 2014

Forgiving The Unforgivable - OUT NOW in paperback
It is one thing struggling to forgive our nearest and dearest those foolish squabbles that leave us bitter and upset. But what about the big stuff; that which we cannot comprehend?
While we fail to understand why humans behave so atrociously, we must cherish the belief in 'evil' and harbour condemnation in our hearts for our fellows. And while there is any justification for condemnation, we will not know peace.
What if we were sure that every regrettable act any human being has ever committed was utterly unavoidable? What if we knew we would all do exactly the same given the same set of circumstances? What if we could finally see that the cause of all our woes is a simple error in thinking that everyone shares in equal measure?
The liar in the human mind is our one and only problem. When it is clear that 'evil' cannot be real and that every 'unforgivable' act is caused by a mistaken belief in falsity, our eternal innocence will be impossible to deny.

If God were real, we ask, how could He let these terrible things happen to the innocent? Let's find out why God has nothing to do with any of it, regardless of whether He exists or not.
Together, we will discard everything obstructing our awareness of love. Together, we will forgive the unforgivable.
Are you ready for the next perfect step?

#amazon #ebook #paperback #newRelease #kindle #forgivingTheUnforgivable #lifeWithoutTheLiar #savingTheWorld #loveYourEnemies #peaceOnEarth #genocide #abortion #rape #bullies #theNazis #internationalTerrorism #myBestFriend #suicide #peaceOfMind #buyThisBook #readThisBook #publishThisBook

Sunday, 2 March 2014

Forgiving The Unforgivable - OUT NOW on Amazon Kindle

It is one thing struggling to forgive our nearest and dearest those foolish squabbles that leave us bitter and upset. But what about the big stuff; that which we cannot comprehend?
While we fail to understand why humans behave so atrociously, we must cherish the belief in 'evil' and harbour condemnation in our hearts for our fellows. And while there is any justification for condemnation, we will not know peace.
What if we were sure that every regrettable act any human being has ever committed was utterly unavoidable? What if we knew we would all do exactly the same given the same set of circumstances? What if we could finally see that the cause of all our woes is a simple error in thinking that everyone shares in equal measure?
The liar in the human mind is our one and only problem. When it is clear that 'evil' cannot be real and that every 'unforgivable' act is caused by a mistaken belief in falsity, our eternal innocence will be impossible to deny.
If God were real, we ask, how could He let these terrible things happen to the innocent? Let's find out why God has nothing to do with any of it, regardless of whether He exists or not.
Together, we will discard everything obstructing our awareness of love. Together, we will forgive the unforgivable.
Are you ready for the next perfect step?
Forgiving The Unforgivable, out now on Amazon Kindle

The Liar in paperback on Amazon
#forgivingTheUnforgivable #lifeWithoutTheLiar #theLiar #niramisa #savingTheWorld #forgiveness #acim #undoingTheEgo #kindle #amazon #uk #usa #mexico #Australia #japan #Germany #Canada #india #france #brazil #spain #Italy #ebook #heaven #loveThyEnemy

Sunday, 2 February 2014

Dear Facebook - why I won't be buying any more advertising

Dear Facebook,

Thank you very much dear Facebook for your email suggesting I boost a recent post on my page THE LIAR which I had originally set up to promote my first book.

Your claim is that...

Important posts on your page can do a lot for businesses. Boosted posts get more people to respond to a discount, sales promotion or website link.

...but, in fact, since boosting posts with you from April last year, I have not sold a single book. Your claim is simply not true because no people have ever responded to a sales promotion on this page, even with over 10,000 likes from specifically targeted people, i.e. Amazon Kindle owners and English speaking ebook readers in India.

I realised quite quickly that trying to sell my books via this business page was a waste of time so I refocused the intention for the page. I now share my study of A Course In Miracles with those who like my page. And, of the 10,000+ likes I have generated by paying for advertising, only a handful are seeing my posts these days.

In the beginning, when I was averaging 400 views per post against 3000 total likes, whenever I changed the regular text message to a picture link to my blog, for example, views dwindled to between 10-20. This was odd and I wondered if all my members were using text-only Internet devices.

Anyway. I continued because I believe in the message and I rather liked the idea of 10,000 likes. Occasionally, one of my posts would get 20+ likes and 600+ views. This was rather nice in those early days of 5000 page members.

I paid for more promotion to get more likes, believing that interest would grow similarly. However, quite the opposite has happened, interest has declined steadily, even with promotion going on.

I have never made a book sale from my page, even though I link through to the book's sales page on every post. This is not important to me, although I do feel somewhat scammed. I suspect it might concern others more.

Since October last year, the views per post have been dropping steadily even though I was still actively promoting. I decided to stop paying for promotion because I saw that you are just going to move the goal posts whenever you like. The playing field is not level and the claims you make about what you can do for my business are unfounded.

You are selling us a piece of string and changing the length of it whenever you feel like it. Can this be legal?

Since the last campaign finally ended in December, the views have dwindled to consistently under 100, even though now I have 10,000+ likes on the page. I rarely get any likes on any of my posts at all now, compared to a counted upon 10-15 each time I posted in July.

When I posted this week, and got 138 views instead of the usual 60-70, I suddenly received your mail suggesting I spend more money to promote the post further.

Well, what are you offering Facebook? Your advertising has done nothing for my book selling business at all. However, agreeing to buy some seems to have caught me up inside a scam. When I stop paying for advertising, no-one looks at my page, not even the members that had been engaging with it previously. If I pay for it again, perhaps you will doctor the algorithm for a while. But only for a while, right?

Are all these 10,000 Facebook users even real?

You must think we're fools. And perhaps we are, perhaps we are.

Amazon Kindle


 #facebookPromotion #facebookAdvertising #facebook #facebookScam #wasteOfMoney #independentAuthors #facebookIPO #refundPlease #acim #lifeWithoutTheLiar

Sunday, 19 January 2014

Forgiving The Unforgivable - Monsanto

Chapter from upcoming book, Forgiving The Unforgivable, release date March 2014
Our world is really out of control. We don’t have to look too hard to see it. If we don’t end up annihilating everything in an all-out super-war, we might instead weaken our immune systems with endless unnecessary medications and toxic food to the extent that we’re wiped out by a super-bug. Perhaps our tampering with the delicate ecosystems of the world will cause environmental disasters from which few of us emerge unscathed or maybe we will end up starving ourselves for the same reasons.

Does all this sound like a price worth paying for temporary, material and essentially meaningless riches? Of course not; but this is where we stand. Our current situation puts us as close to the liar’s end goal as we have ever been and we’re all doing our bit; by our weekly shop, or filling the car, or believing anything that anyone in a white coat says, or insisting our children’s problems at school are due to chemical imbalances, or supporting conflict and war in regions of the world we cannot even pronounce. The liar has never had it so good. Be clear; every one of the cataclysms that seems to be just about to happen is the liar’s intention and we are its zombie workforce.

In a single, isolated physical body - which we have been told, and believed, is the sole ruler of the universe and thus due unlimited importance - the liar’s business is mainly restricted to personal relationship disharmony. In groups and organisations, the liar has more power at its disposable, and its effects can be more devastating. But if the single body was indeed the sole ruler of the universe - as it tells us repeatedly - why should the liar need to form such collective liar-minds that may act as a single entity in order to do even more damage? This suggests that its tenet on separation is not wholly accepted by the liar itself. The fact is that the liar’s insanity permits it to circumvent even its own beliefs in order to pursue its deranged objective.

Currently, Monsanto is the bad boy of the group formations we have built to do the liar’s dirty work at larger scales. However, Monsanto is far from alone in its devilry and even the most innocuous of companies will be compulsively adding to our problems; as will each and every one of us, whether we like it or not. This ball of confusion and fear got rolling a long, long time ago. We simply did not notice it picking up speed in the last few hundred years and, with momentum gaining, pulling all and sundry along with it.

Monsanto is the current flag flyer for all corporations that seem to be hell bent on the destruction of the natural world. Every time I look at my Facebook news feed I see someone moaning about Monsanto, about how ‘evil’ they are and how they must be stopped immediately. Agreed; if anyone is doing anything that might destroy our home, they should be stopped; at least, we should do what we can, as it is our obligation as caretakers of the Earth and the only sane response to the environmental lunacy we are seeing today. But the idea that Monsanto, and those that work for it, are ‘evil’ is nonsense.

We are quite sure that all those working for Monsanto, and similar organisations, are evil, arrogant and wicked, condemnable human beings. We point the finger, curse them and wish them dead. But, hang on, doesn’t your great aunt Doreen work in a Monsanto factory; surely she’s not evil? Oh, no, actually no, not Doreen. Doreen is one of the poor exploited ones, oppressed by the evil managers. It’s the managers that are evil. Yes, the managers are the devil incarnate. But, wait a minute; my brother-in-law’s cousin is a manager at Monsanto. You know, Dave. He’s a great guy, a loving family man. Ahem, no, not the managers actually, sorry, um, it’s the shareholders, they’re the evil ones. Yes, let’s kill all the shareholders. Um, but hang on a minute, I have shares in Monsanto, I received them years ago as part of a legacy. Ahem, well, OK. Um, no. Um, it’s the owner, yes. He must be the evil one. Yes. That’s it! The owner of Monsanto is the evil one, Satan himself. Um, actually, don’t the shareholders own Monsanto?

It’s not too difficult to see how becoming indignant and irate can only be the liar’s influence again. It loves getting us riled up, persuading us to point the finger and wish slow, lingering deaths on Monsanto workers and shareholders, as if that might solve the underlying problem. The liar is a master at evasion. As with any vengeance reaction, the guilt of our own responsibility is flying around and must be projected. In any case, solutions to difficulties set up by the liar in the human mind will be supplied by the liar in the mind also. If we were to know that our minds are not our own, perhaps we might then seek a better way. There is always a better way and actions decided outside of liar-mind thinking are those that may fix the chaos and get us out of this mess.

Actually, the ‘corporation’ is probably as close as we have gotten to ‘evil’ in many senses. To explain this we must look at the perceptual process of projection, which as we have seen is automatic and constant. We project our guilt away from ourselves in order that we might be free of it. That this doesn’t work and we never find ourselves free of guilt makes no difference, we keep trying. The liar insists that by projecting our guilt we will save ourselves; so we find - or invent - a target and start accusing, becoming irate and aggressive towards it. We point the finger and condemn and, by doing so, we manage to justify the inexcusable; whilst the liar rubs its hands, mission complete. So, whatever we think we see externally, when we are angry, is exactly what we will find within our own mind when we look closely enough.

Ironically, this projecting business of the liar, which insists on the reality of our separateness and isolation, could only be considered viable by a mind that is aware of our true connection. So it is no surprise to see that this projecting business is not limited to guilt. Indeed, anything at all that we are thinking and feeling becomes painted onto the external space around us. Artists reveal their innermost feelings and beliefs through their work. The media reveals the sick human mind in its pathological state. The love that we truly are is also constantly projecting itself, everywhere, but we see it very little, unsurprisingly. It is therefore logical that we might project even the liar itself onto our external canvas.

The liar is a ruthless, conflict-inciting machine with no remorse. It believes it is the sole ruler of the universe and fights tooth and nail to defend this unattainable position. It believes that, as king of all, it should own everything; material things, people, the mind space and knowledge. It believes that profiting in any of these, over all other considerations, is a natural law of the universe. It believes that fear is real and brutally ensures that this belief is never contested. How might we have projected such a mad concept into the world?

Under the liar’s orders we have edged ever closer to building its representation here on earth. In the past, we invented the devil and that sufficed as the liar’s representative, but we don’t really believe in such nonsense anymore, not really. Instead, nowadays we have tangible, examinable and functioning representations of the liar in the world; corporations, which we have accepted as quite normal, as if we were inviting Satan to our homes for tea and a chat.

Corporations are autonomous - supporting the liar’s belief in separateness. They have been constructed in such a way that they cannot be held accountable for their activities or motivations - supporting the liar’s despotic reign over everything. The single aim of a corporation is profit over all other considerations, the liar’s incessant, whispered mantra to our beleaguered ears. This is our world and we champion it endlessly, without realising the lunacy in doing so. It can be a scary moment seeing just where our collective insanity has led us; the production of god-like ‘bodies’ that have every power at their disposal for maintaining, reconfirming and extending the belief in the separateness, inequality and meaninglessness of all life. Corporations are the human race’s Frankenstein monster, given the built-in ability to obliterate their maker.

Corporations may well be the most dastardly projection coming from the liar in our minds and the closest in content to its fuller self; that which, if we were able to witness it in its entirety, would terrify us beyond belief. Worst still, these corporations have an inbuilt function; the ability to destroy their own maker. Like cancer, they murder the hand that feeds them. I give a fuller description of why corporations can only be the liar’s invention in my first book which describes the liar’s functionality in greater detail.

I was going to list a few of the unhelpful practices of Monsanto here, but you can look them up yourselves, they’re no secret. In any event, Monsanto is likely not the worst of corporations, in terms of how destructive they have been towards life on earth; so cataloguing their outrageous actions here serves no real purpose. What is notable - and again not limited to Monsanto - is their chosen practice of protecting their mistakes by not admitting them when they should, just like we all have done at one time. The silence of companies when something goes badly wrong is due to the incessant liar mantra of “profit over all other considerations”; as it is with ourselves, personally, at some level. Corporations notoriously protect profits at the expense of everyone, including every single person that works for them.

But what do they do? Monsanto develops biotechnology and produces chemicals which support enhanced product growth. They offer more profit to farmers and industry and are in it to get rich themselves. That is it. Any of the ‘bad’ things that they have done - and they have been very badly behaved, on more than one occasion - is due to the fear of being poor. Simple. And you and I act exactly the same way due to the same fear, albeit at a level that has no obvious effect on the global environment; but I do, and so do you. So we should stop complaining about what we do ourselves, just because it happens to take a more intense form. In truth, it is the same. When a pebble is dropped into the pond, we don’t know where and how the ripples will end up or look, but the pebble is the only cause. I’m on one ripple, you’re on another, and Monsanto is sat on the corporation ripple that is threatening to become a giant tsunami, ready to engulf everything.

If we ignore our own complicity, point the finger and become indignant, righteous and angry, we are still the liar’s zombie and just being evasively led around the issue. And any solution we might cook up to solve the problem of the runaway corporation train will arise, quite logically, from the same set of values that caused the problem in the first place, the liar-mind. Perhaps we might see activist-types setting up new forms of organisational governance in the future, and perhaps there will be a short period of ‘getting it nearly right’; but if no-one has resolved the liar in the human mind - our species-wide perceptual pathology - it will be not too long before the situation is critical again.

Success, as the liar has it - and who else does have it right now - is successful manipulation of the worse-thans, in all cases; that which we consider utterly reasonable, all of us. The bullying in the school playground is simply our children imitating what they have seen in everyone’s mind. Our disdain for those we hold a grudge against or consider ‘evil’ means we don’t care if they are hurting. We exploit the poorer parts of the world by rampant looting of natural resources, with no concern for anything at all and if anyone does end up suffering or dying because of our actions, they were non-human anyway, worse-than, as worth saving as a fly in the kitchen. As long as our personal needs are met, we don’t care about anything. This is a symptom of the separation psychosis from which we all suffer.

Monsanto is just an extreme example of how we all ‘take advantage’. Because it is a giant corporation, it is able to utilise its power to take as much advantage as it can and this, obviously, has massive effects in the world. All of us take advantage, however. Few of us just like to be; to simply be with others, enjoying communication. More often than not there is an ulterior motive to friendships and connections. We might not speak to each other at all unless we want something for ourselves. Why is it so difficult to see that what is in our own mind personally is reflected in the activities of the external world? When we cease to value the untrue beliefs and ideas we have cherished for eons we start to see. It becomes easier when we realise the glistening truth that none of us are in any way perceptually different from anyone else. Perhaps that’s a terrifying idea. As long as it is, we’re doomed.

“Is Monsanto the world’s most evil corporation?” a headline reads. No, Monsanto is just one of the more successful ‘bodies’ we have set up for doing the liar’s bidding. Monsanto is probably not the most successful corporation playing the liar’s game - success here defined in terms of wanton destruction of life - but it has certainly become the most well-known for its unhelpfulness. Maybe we can utilise this as a clear example for explaining the diseased mind of humanity to humans. Then, one day, we might be able to be grateful that its outrages pushed us towards truth. But, in the meantime, like the problem alcoholic, we will point at the world around us, complaining bitterly about it, yet refusing to become aware of our obvious complicity in the mess of our life which has been, in fact, caused by us alone.

Profit is the human god, assigning dark representatives to govern its minions in the external world. Those that work for these current-day demons are hooked into the corporate way of thinking, just like wobbly-eyed, religious cult members, managing to excuse and overlook the most unhelpful of activities. These workers have talked themselves into believing that the corporation they belong to (work for) and its ways are their personal path to salvation. How easily manipulated is the liar-mind when better-than status and personal profit is assured by speaking the lies we’re told are unquestionable and doing the liar’s bidding. We rarely notice how deeply unhappy we are playing this game, never winning.

We are judged and appraised by fellow members of the corporate cult - those who are a little better-than us - on how much profit we have managed to grab for our god. We talk in cyphers and code which cover up the truth of our destructive activities. We feel better-than those in the starving villages we’ve just left without clean water for a few months by clicking a button on our screen, and we are rewarded for that click which earned the company millions. We are loathed by many of our co-workers, and all our underlings, and those we consider friendly would turn on us in an instant, as we would them. Rampant destruction has become wholly acceptable in the corporate world and we are ready to stand up and vouch for this lunacy; that which is more excessive than the carryings on in any serious psychotic ward at the asylum. This lunacy is our daily bread.

Today, the liar is so out of control, it has found itself in the amazing position of being able to be completely honest. It does not have to hide itself, or be evasive, in the corporate world. The blatant honesty of the corporate world is jaw-dropping at times. Sometimes, when I hear the things that people say, in all seriousness and not expecting anyone to think them strange, I can hardly believe my ears. Recently, I found myself with a group of people who were deeply committed to their jobs, their god-like employers and their corporate lifestyles. The conversations at dinner were based entirely around a continued cataloguing of all the reasons why each one was better-than the others. The things that apparently elevated your better-than status were which school you had gone to, where you lived - and for sure it could not be Chicago or any suburb anywhere (I have no idea what they had against Chicago!), who you knew and, of course, which corporation had taken over your mind and whereabouts on the corporate ladder you found yourself. This chat was boring and predictable. At some point these men and women, showing off to each other, seemed to turn into a group of male apes puffing up their chests, growling and hissing menacingly, bearing their teeth and posing in competition.

One of the top dogs was telling us about recent industrial activities of the Chinese. She detailed the amassing of natural resources from Africa and how they had been rather naughty in many ways. She told us what the Southern African countries were losing in terms of raw materials and revenue, of how much money was being made by the Chinese and of how badly these countries and their people were faring from the deals. It was a pretty bleak picture with the liar all over it of course. She then mentioned that it was just like the European colonialism of old; the fortunes that could be made were astronomical. So, “why wouldn’t you?” she said.

Anyone with a modicum of sanity can see very clearly the million reasons as to why we would not be destructive in order to profit over all other considerations in this way; but most of us don’t have that capacity, and we too ‘would’ take advantage over the less-thans in order to profit. We make and agree with remarks just like this all the time, without knowing the madness of it. This is the liar; a thought construct so tenacious, so precise, so efficient, it has us completely under its control and we have no idea it is there. The liar is well ahead of the game and I know that well enough to avoid confronting it head on. The liar senses any attack on its foundations immediately and, in a mind locked into doing its bidding, becomes irate and aggressive when challenged and liable to who knows what level of conflict. This is the corporate world.

Just like you and I might fight bitterly over a pay rise, even though neither of us is struggling to survive in any real sense, corporations will fight, tooth and nail, over a resource, land or how they appear on TV, regardless of who and what they must destroy. But the process is never ending; we’re all just chasing the same old and tired liar’s promise, yet again. “If you get this thing, you will be happy”, it says. And we get this thing, whatever it is, but we are not happy. Profit cannot satisfy, by the liar’s design, because if it did, we’d stop requiring it. Profit is just another substitute for that which we believe is missing from our lives, making them feel empty and meaningless.

The illegal drug trade we just mentioned is barely distinct from the corporate world. The only obvious difference these days is the legality which, for the drug trade, means it is not tied into hiding and covering up its messy, nefarious activities. The legitimate corporate world gets closer and closer to being as honest as it likes about its conduct too. There seems nothing that it won’t do, no-one it will not step on to get its way. There is also no government which is not deeply entwined in the business of the corporate world, whether they wish to be or not. At this level, even legality is usurped by better-than, worse-than and profit over all other considerations.

The liar invented Monstanto and its cohorts, and we didn’t. The peaceful and content human beings that we truly are, underneath the madness, could not have dreamt up such a nightmare. Utilising its corporate army most efficiently, the liar is now gleefully destroying our abundant paradise, right under our noses; whilst we either join in, flying the flag of profit over all other considerations as if it were a divine edict, or point the finger viciously at the 'evil' ones, not realising we should be pointing the same finger at ourselves first.

We built these devastation machines, fired them up and they got going. The problem is that, now, we cannot stop them. Monsanto leads the way in terms of the focus of our indignation about the mess we are making in the natural world; but all corporations are set up similarly, to profit over all other considerations and not to be held to account. Even ‘green’ corporations will only be doing so much because they will be set up in exactly the same way; organisationally overseen by the liar and peopled by those humans suffering from the same psychosis which causes so much damage.

We really enjoy moaning about corporations but we are all exactly the same as them. The only real difference is in the number of people - aside from ourselves - we may affect detrimentally by our actions. When I take advantage of my friend’s naïve kindness, I hurt myself and her. When I utter megalomaniacal statements at work for fear of what people might think, or losing my job, or because I’m exceptionally insane, I hurt myself and my human family. When I profit over the inability of a nation of people to stop me from plundering their natural resources, I hurt myself and millions of others. But each of these acts is the same in content.

The corporate world is just another logical, inevitable and expected result of the mind problem we all share in equal measure; a symptom of the cause and not the cause itself. When we see that what is outside is simply a reflection of what is going on inside everyone's perception, with no exceptions, we can no longer condemn or point the finger; it just doesn’t make any sense to do so. Assuming that somehow Monsanto and its ilk are 'evil' and different to us is a mistaken interpretation of reality, dished up to us by the liar. How could it be any other way?

And here is another key component of our new forgiveness model. In forgiving Monsanto, and all the corporations that seem to be dead set on destroying the world in their pursuit of profit, we forgive ourselves. As without, so within. Moreover, this is true of all the ‘unforgivables’ we have examined, and will ever examine. We forgive ourselves by understanding that all our troubles come from a species-wide insanity that no-one has been able to avoid. We forgive ourselves because we finally see that our own actions are the same in content as those of the corporations we detest. We forgive ourselves because we know there can be nothing that humans do not share. This new forgiveness holds within it the power to change the world. And it looks like nothing else will be able to do so, permanently.

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