The Seventh Direction

PART THREE: Stalking Violet. Episode 50

 ["D/A" narrates —A.A.] 

                                                          6 

                                               Raising Cane 

"Fire!" Morning's first thought flared through, crashing into wakefulness—and I landed like a skydiver might, crumpling into Planet Earth upon touchdown. A smoke-filled room seared my nostrils, my senses swooned, a piercing alarm screeeeeched its cursed alert, trumpeting in through my ears. 

I opened my eyes.No fire. No smoke. But! And the alarm grew louder, more defined, then ceased as the ambulance pulled into "Emerge . . ." (Good God.) 

My eyes ran the room. Gloomy room. Gloomy because that's how it felt. So that's how it looked, as the grey light of a dreary Sun shone sadly through my window, demonstrating all the more this mid-morning malady. Mid??! (But it should only be near-dawn!) And how sad and gloomy it all appeared . . . this . . . this mid-morning, what with the mists in memory of the night before quickly descending, congealing, and becoming solid. Much too solid as the little light left in the deeper, clearer expanses of mind faded out, absorbed now into a cumbersome world of three dimension. (Dear me.) 

Dorothy's cloak, like a parachute covering over its charge, had materialized shutting out my light; and I felt myself slipping, waning back into form, waxing into her decrepit dying body and beholding a world that felt much too real, tangibly too material, solid, confining, and lacking magic. "Two worlds colliding!" And the atmosphere pitched heavy in here. Grey and heavy. Like the way Old Dorothy's cloak felt. Like Dorothy deep within. 

 'Know it well . . .' 

 Something felt wrong. I felt trapped here. And that nose-scorching smell of smoke summoning remnants from an unrealized portion of Dreamtime—remnants bleached, numbed, faded, a resonant-echoing cloaked by the dawn . . . all too far away now to grasp. My breathing came labored—thick lungs, wretched old sacs serving me with restricted capacity now, as memories and feelings of Alaya came up veiled, cloaked in the clutches of one very persistent, materializing Old Dorothy. And I felt myself slipping, back into old-age."These are not my eyes! These are NOT my feelings!" (Tilt.) "Master J', where are you?! You said you locked Alaya in! You said so!"'—Dorothy,' my plea came on a much softer note. 'Please, Dorothy, what is it?' A gloom sadness welled up from deep inside. 'What, Dorothy? What?' Old Dorothy lay within. I could sense her there, her sadness, her sorrow, and felt strangely trapped as her dirge hovered round me, blocking my portal . . . home. And I diminished further into Dorothy. .........................Information-overload. Data-drunk. Hung-over. Even burned-out wasn't just jargon for how I felt inside now. But it was close! Dank, degraded atmosphere, as I flicked the light on, turning the walls a sickly greenish-puke-yellow, didn't do my sense of outer appearance any justice either! And I felt dreadfully old and depleted this midmorning, sandwiched between Old Dorothy's gloom sadness on the one hand, and her cloak on the other. (So now what?)The Wheel had turned. Doubtless. My lowly perception smacked cadaverous. Lacklustre, dense, slothful, half-starved perception now—not that I'd ever thought too long and hard about what it was exactly that fed my perception, nor even considered my perception as being dense or less-dense, high or low vibration, or . . . corpselike, much less had any real sense of myself as being in the middle of it!The Wheel of Life, and my times spent with Master J', and Grandmother, and The Lady, and The Voice (while I learned of The Wheel of Life), still lingered with me. It was all just too far away at this moment, resonating its knowledge—its light!—in a frequency far surpassing the little light available in this dense vibration I was wrapped in. (Rapt in!) But I stayed with my feelings, such as they were. I had enough knowledge and awareness left to realize that my feelings were my ticket outta here! Still . . . I couldn't maintain clear focus. (Zero clarity in here! Third Eye short-circuiting!) No, it seemed that my focus, one-pointed (destination Dorothy!) was drawing me further into a body I had already left behind.Thoughts came and went. Random . . . random. And my energies-in-motion (e/motions, emotions!) spun this way and that. Such dense, bleak energy. Such a sad, sorrowful (chaotic!) dense energy, churning inside—looking anxiously for a way out (anyway out!)—had my undying concern and my tummy rumbling; and I felt, as it were, myself spinning out of control, bouncing higgledy-piggledy among the spokes as I tried to get on one. Any one! Any spoke! Any path that would lead me back to center and nearer to clarity. Out of control, clarity, my clarity (sixth gift-of-birth, crystal, at Wheel's core!) was all but gone now, just a wee flicker in the depths of Inner Mind. And I felt done and done. And now chaos reigned. Chaos overpowering, overwhelming, overshadowing the moment with little flitting-through-mind confusions: dashing, darting doubts, anxiety, fear, a little anger, and such a sorrowful deep sadness, setting the veil between Alaya and I—a stifling, sizzling, dirty burnt-orange veil—a bedlam afire between surface- and inner-mind."Alaya, don't leave me!" —softer— 'What is it, Dorothy? What?'Alaya . . . I felt her slip-sliding away. Beside myself I tried to hang on! But Dorothy's draw was much too powerful, and I slid deeper, quickening into her death-march, a horrific-hell her hold. There seemed no way out! Fear . . . mm-hmm, fear was the problem. My problem, our problem, the underlying problem. The chains, the irons, the manacles of fear were trying to enslave me! —Dorothy, it seemed, had a mind like a steel trap! Still, if memory serves me, there lay weakness in her grip: the gloom sadness within Dorothy, buried deep, swirling, and living still! A powerful energy felt (in here), and movement, where none else might be found. (Yesss!)'. . . allow a trickle of feeling to escape and marry it to the mind. You are in control. Not the mind! Yes, although results may not come immediately, you are starting a flowing-movement that will cycle round and support the changes you desire and/or need to have appear in your life, because that is what feeling holds within, energy ever-changing, ever-expressing. Know this: Feel your feelings. It is the only way they will unfold, the only way to experience the desired results, and the only way you will have a snowball's chance to overcome your battle and see Beauty in its place. Breathe, Feel, Listen, Observe . . . all at once . . . and then bear in mind the importance of harmony.'B-reathe, F-eel, L-isten, O-bserve. B-reathe, F-eel, L-isten, O-bserve (—B-FLO! "Yikes, Dorothy!"). Suddenly, fiery-energy stirring spooked the illusion of my plasticized fear (Boo!). And I felt the energy. And I grasped the energy. And I rode the energy. And a portal opened to the depths within................a portal, a vortex looming, far and fierce, wherein lay sadness, wherein lay Old Dorothy and her lost innocence, wherein lay LOST LIGHT that would surely emaciate this fear sorely affecting the surface of mind.If only I could find IT!Whirling through the vortex—beyond fear, beyond the particular-echoings of sadness (beyond my understanding!), I roamed the inborn power of the feeling, drawing nearer a place in light of Inner Mind, a place from which I might view this sadness (with its own sad energy!) with deeper, clearer perception.'. . . beware the potential you have released, by initiating this transformation, unleashed by your desires. Prepare. It is only you who can sieve out the illusion that still supports you!'The above words bubbled up, words effervescent but without "time and place" in MY memory. And yet, they were words familiar just the same—words, I think so, implanted in my being without my knowing, awaiting their rightful time to burst into awareness. My tummy rumbled, let go some rich, resonant gas, and I burped with a sense of fulfillment—not so much fulfillment from the burp but from the sudden realization that the above words belonged to none other than Master J'! The schemer! He'd implanted them! Sure he had! You know he had! And those words in a word? 'Work.' And those words In twenty-one words? 'Sieve-out the illusion, put Old Dorothy's sadness to rest and then return life to her lost innocence, lost love, lost light.' —Yes, it was all coming clear to me now. "Coming clear, coming clear,"—which was all I'd really wanted this mid-morning: clearer perception, some clarity . . . and, well, I had wanted Alaya, too, and her outlook on things. And right now she was telling me to get up and move.I could feel her within the cloak again. Thank God. I could feel Alaya itching to move. I had those running-legs, so—maybe I should go for a jog? Wouldn't that be a sight: Old Dorothy jogging through town in her fleece nightgown, big smile on her face, checking her watch—or whatever that thing is—every few seconds. I got up out of bed. Walked to the door. Cracked it open. Peeked out. No one at all in the hall. Took a step forward. Best not, I thought, and snuck back in. I went to the window where, outside on the sill, there was new evidence of Master J'—bluebird poop, which looked like . . . a butterfly. I thought of Aces (and Number Five, too), and tried shadowboxing and dancing my feet. Nope. Not my style.Moonwalking? Slip-sliding?"Ah, yes! Ooooooooh, feels so good! Work those hamstrings and them old . . . glutenus maximums." (Whatever!)I slid/shuffled my feet, legs marching, arms marching, moving like a crazed robot, head nodding in time. This is fun. FUN! Michael would be proud! I checked myself in the window. No reflection, much too light out. Midmorning. Moon-walk-turn, turn, turn, slip-slide over to the mirror. 'Oh dear, Dorothy! But don't we look old? Dreadfully! But our eyes are so bright . . . and beautiful. And when we feel beautiful, we look ten years younger. Twenty . . . thirty . . . 'Alaya was morphing through.I rebooted moonwalker, about-faced . . . quarter-turn . . . quarter-turn . . . and from the corner of my eye spied Crabtree in the doorway. Uh-oh. But I didn't flinch, break movement . . . quarter-turn . . . quarter-turn . . . or alter my straight-ahead gaze. Trance-like, as though I were sleepwalking, I moonwalked back to bed. I didn't dare look at Tree (God, no!), and I hoped (like the dickens!) Alaya wasn't showing through my cloak. I slowly rolled in, pulled the covers up to my nose, then ventured a peek. Crabtree was waving, motioning for someone to come. Nurse Griswald appeared at the door. Tree put a finger to her lips 'ssshhh,' and they tiptoed quietly in. Gris' grabbed Aces' chair, put it down by the one by the bathroom door. Both sat down. I closed my eyes and listened. Crabtree said: "Do you feel it?""No," said Gris'. (They were whispering.)"Maybe it's not here now," Crabtree said.Gris: "What's not here now?"Tree: "You know . . . what I told you before, whatever it is.""You didn't tell me much. Better tell me again.""There's something strange going on here," Tree said. "And I think it's infecting me.""Like what?""Like . . . well, okay. You know that new intern?"Gris: "The hot one?"Tree: "Yeah . . . yeah, the hot one.""What about him?""Give me a minute, will ya?"I peeked. Gris looked at her watch, said, "Sure."Tree was squirming in her seat: "Okay, you know I'm a bit of a cougar, huh?""Mmm . . . aren't we all. Well, go on . . . go on!" Gris said. She was beginning to squirm, too.Tree: "Well, I was thinking about that hot intern the other day, imagining, and . . . and I got, well, you know, I got all . . . well, I started to tingle down there."Gris': "So. Big deal. Totally natural." She suddenly looked my way. I fluttered my lids . . . as if REM."The big deal was when I got home." Tree said.Gris' lit up, glared at Tree. "So . . . tell me." I rolled onto my stomach. Better not push it."No. Not that. When I got home, I thought about what happened . . . down there. And I realized something pretty amazing.""Oh . . ." Gris said, seemingly disappointed. "What was so amazing?""My mind, and how imagining something . . . how just simply imagining something, can make the body react. And then I'm thinking, 'What if—'" At which point Gris' got up and left (I think so), and Tree followed her out. Footsteps faded. I waited a second before rolling over and opening my eyes, yawned loudly in case Tree was trying to trick me. I got to one elbow, swept a glance by the door. She was gone. They were both gone. Interesting discussion, though. Might have to look at it, later. Might be useful. Might be valuable.More useful of late had been "our" whole getting-up-and-moving-around moonwalking trip. It had certainly been fun, and of some value. But I'd been off on a tangent then, and maybe not exactly appropriate with what was going on with me and Dorothy and Alaya. Best I should take stock of myself now. Best I should reinstate my foremost, pressing reality. I guess what I should really be doing is getting back to what I should really be doing. Shouldn't I, Dorothy? Work? For working with you IS critical!Dorothy had been awfully quiet during our tangential break, though I guess I had stuffed her away by degree—put her down, somewhat—and if I was her I might be afraid of being left behind, what with Alaya and I becoming so close. Poor Dorothy. She certainly didn't need any more fear. And neither did I. She should know that finding Alaya this morning had been my priority number one, and that I had had to take some time to make sure for myself that I did in fact find her. Too, Doe should know that she and I couldn't possibly uphold clarity (clearer perception, right?), not without Alaya. All of that mega-deep stuff which good old Master J' had inputted? and Grandmother? and The Lady? Well, it all right-now seemed to be too much mentally for Doe and I alone. We needed Alaya. Of course we did! And then, of course, there's the main course—Dorothy's sadness and her fear and her conditioned, steel trap mind! Dorothy should know. But if she didn't, I should tell her. 'Don't be afraid Dorothy, you're coming with us.'I had aces up my sleeve, if Dorothy persisted—something to blow open her fear. And I would use them if necessary. But I couldn't use them here. Maybe, though, I could use them if Dorothy and Alaya and I had a Powwow. If and when and wherever that might be. (A Powwow? Really?)Sitting up in bed, I realized how tired I felt. Apparently, Doe was still physically a bigger part of me than I thought. Emotionally, I well-knew she was still a humungous part, and like Master J' had said (but I think I didn't pay him due attention at the time), there would be a price to pay for doing what I did—for manifesting Alaya before I was fully ready. Clearly, I'd changed the order of things, I hope nothing else, and hadn't yet paid . . . actually, I had changed the timeline, too. But we'd fixed that, Jay and me. Maybe that was part of the price? Fixing it? I don't know. I wish.Physically and emotionally I felt drained. Spiritually I hoped I was doing okay. Mentally I felt tired too—but Alaya was back now, and I had a little clarity. She had been deep, deep within Dorothy. (No kidding, right?) Beyond fear, beyond illusion, deep within Dorothy's sadness I had found her. But, what exactly had Alaya been doing there? For that matter, what had WE been doing (Dorothy, Alaya and I) during the early morning's unrecalled portion of Dreamtime, which (I think so) would trigger itself open when something of like vibration cropped up in my waking world? Between dawn and midmorning, maybe we WERE having a Powwow. On some level.Alaya and I had had our moonwalking moment, but now even she realized our tiredness and the need for sleep. Besides, we had work to do in other realms, in order to find beyond and through Dorothy's fear and sadness her lost innocence (and I had aces up my sleeve)—an innocence we would surely need. I drank some water, lay back down and thought more about the concept of work and those things in mind, pressing . . . .........................Now, a return to Dreamtime felt near. And tired or not, my earlier realization that some time might be needed for assimilation, work to do—work to do, in order to integrate the Earth-teachings (The Wheel and my gifts and such) with the inner teachings of Master J'—seemed reason enough to head back there. Work to do. Of course, of course. But I was tired. My whole being, now that I thought about it, was tired. I was, Dorothy was . . . Alaya, too, who (apparently!) was not yet fully formed. My mind, mm-hmm, still unable to wrap itself round all that went down last night, left me feeling tired, stressed-out, exhausted when I considered the teachings and tried to combine them. Still, of course, mind being blown-out was understandable. It would likely be the last attribute of Self to clear away (to rid) those conditionings that kept its capacity limited and resonating, vibrating most of the time, with the murkier side of life. But unlike mind, which sometimes seems to have a mind of its own (Doe!), heart's capacity is endless! Yes, even beyond death, the heart-center has limitless ability to resonate with Higher Light, with Universal Conditioning, with God, Great Spirit—Pure Being—and/or The One Mind. This we already know from the teachings, don't we, Doe? Of course we do. Knowing the vibration and saying so, however, is one thing. Handling it, and moving forward with it—walking the talk—as I was finding out, is a whole other matter. 

 Exhausted, and exhausted, I breathed a long drawn-out sigh of relief, and a gust from within my ascending drowse filled the "chute." Meanwhile, back on ground lay Dorothy, fast asleep in bed, her cloak but an image resting in its place: back inside me now.