Some Guiding Principles On Clear Seeing
Some of you may be drawn to explore your twelve senses, for which there is plenty of literature. This you can do from the relative safety of your comfortable armchair, and it makes for the most modern and simple, therefore recommended path of self-study. You can always complement this by going on the Saigoku pilgrimmage.
Some of you may be bi-curious: interested in the technical details of our humannature as much as in the outlines of our spirit self. Some of you seek teachers, most of you seek lovers, all of you will be disappointed if you don’t understand what your buying into. Hence I hand a you a few guidewires.
Picking your travelguide
By all means, take a punt, most of us are harmless. It is fun to try the hors d’oevres for samplers. If you want a more hearty meal, take the time to browse leisurely and pick as your heart advises. Never take things too seriously, for if you hit a frequency that pairs, this intensification is likely to be met with great enthusiasm, beware the consequences: can you bear all the muses gathered, the gods assembled, the whole shabang at the ready? Often it will proove more than you can chew. I personally have never seen it otherwise. It will leave you with belly ache and migraine and meniere's disease all stuffed into the heart at once.
We always want to prioritise that there be no regret. Any elevation of soul, the merest hovering, is a trembling of belief in your Self too valuable to forgo, but it can never be like swimming in amniotic fluid. Existence as the next level to survival comes at the cost of first painstaking breath after first painstaking breath, with each affirmation to the present continuous mode of birth. Know what you are choosing to invest in, is all I can advise. (But how to do the research…? Go back to the classics is a sensible piece of advice too.)
We love to love
The seers and knowers, who specialise in naming what is, have always exuded an attraction on the more highly sensitive souls, for the love they have leaking - no matter how guarded they are. It is good when you find yourselves meandering on a whiff of their trail, but there are things to consider when you declare yourself in love with them. They will always love you more but enough is all you need.
We come with a range of safety signs.
In my line of business (ESP) there are various degrees, from crows to yaks. You could learn about your own beginnings from any of these; though, I would dismiss the more phosphorescent ones, if I were you, who demand more vigilance than you need for a school run or a visit to the pub. Their contracts with the devil (the Light one) are always High Risk status for good reason. One must keep one’s enemies close but fire leaps, and in a lightning flash can get too close for comfort. They might be trained in fire hazzard, but is your tinderstick? Before you know it: dead head, flame gone, no match left. I say, check your labels, read the reviews, know the ingredients before buying the tin.
Why! even the other believers don’t put these high fliers on their wedding invitations’ list, to eliminate the things that could go wrong on the Big Day. They will not shun them though, and this is how kind they are in having to be cruel, they say: yes we are here, have our enlacing respect, but don’t come nearer.
Also only human
We are invaluable, though, like tacks on a board, to holding it steady so that the Shepherds may plant their crooks into the picture we call our life, and cause a ripple where the possible must be refracted again into the tricks of the light and the black vortexes. We work to disturb the threats of distortion. More than delay the approaching terror we cannot do. Thus, we Assistants also have a role to play in saving our Potential, if only for another couple of precious seconds, which someone somewhere can use to verify their soul to the Gatekeeper. And what else matters?
As actors, tantra weavers, we can be forgiven once your tapestry is complete. But I would rather not have forgiveness and its oblivion: suppose you fray, or threads comes loose, nibbled by the weevils there is no exterminating, who would you then remember with the gift of repair?... I would rather take on a new life and have no name of my own.
Figures from: Cultural Anthropology: “The Field Study of Human Beings” by Alexander Moore.
There are no covens.
Even if we work together, it is taking wise counsel when we go to live in solitude. Nobody believes us and we cannot afford to trust them. We always seek like anchorites the lowest profile and the higest vantange point. We were once scribes to the snow-capped mountain sages, before we came down with our vajra-bolts and bells to have you harken. If the prophets won’t come to the mountain, we will come to them, so we once stategised. But hard times are upon us and we leave our noises by the wayside shrine, where you may ring for us, but we shall proceed in future under vows of silence, no pearls to cast anymore.
Sometimes, I lament to say, we cause small whirlpools. It is never our intent, but we are only human. Always we could have known better, I supppose, and curbed our arrogance that believed love could be this simple.
We know Unbelievers willing to see are rich pickings for the Roaming ones. It is our code of conduct to keep our humans safe and not drag them through the bush backwards needlessly. It is not ours to heed their beck and call, we must fill out the paperwork and sluice them on to their Father God.
We may not even without special dispensation (and I thought I had it, which goes to show how hard it is to see and know at once;) throw out a line to the ones tired of treading water. This is their only chance of measuring their strength against the Opposition. We can only stand on the levies and prove that these banks are true, as safe sides to reach and crawl up out upon. We can only encourage them to shake their shaggy coats and refind the wag in their tail. But we take in no strays. We have no food they can digest. We run out of play. We will always first serve our Own. We take on new lives, as many as they want us to. I must now pick up Dante and remember swiftly how, without a New Life on this desert island I have washed up upon, out of matches, shivering still.
The hairs on my arms are on end and when I read your words time is gone and I am fortified and confirmed, a great book of remembrance...
simply, I weep.
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