THE WONDERFUL WELL WROUGHT LIGHTS THAT LIVE ALSO IN PERFECT CHAOS

The entire city bustles (well some sleep I suppose), and the cars and trucks go past. The tracks are quiet, yes, but the busses with their airbrakes. A million years or more ago I sat in the back of old Chevrolets and was driven. I stared out the windows at the lights of the city and felt an immense bliss mixed with terror for this was existence and existence was intense! It was easy and hard. Easy because I had it made back there literally and metaphorically. Nobody to bother me as I stared out and out at the infinite city lights. Hard because I had just arrived a few years previously on the earth,- not an alien, not an ascended master, just a person- but just arrived nonetheless- and…I had to wear those itchy and too tight long johns. Well, fast-forward and I can see new lights,- they are by a Tai or some other such like restaurant- on little trees,- and they keep the lights up a long time. I snuck down there and caught a few pictures. The world can be marvelous, just wonderful in the Canadian night of lights and cold and wind and the street with its traffic and the little walkway. We never went to that restaurant and there was and is nothing keeping us from it. We should go there!- but you get into grooves and even when you go somewhere you go somewhere else. We should make a point of going there- and what would be inside,- would there be soft lights and kind people and interesting dishes with soul and spices? Who and what would meet us? Its hard to know. Well, the lights, they make for a universe,- there in the cold,- and I imagine each one, green, red, blue, white, yellow?- a peculiar and interesting place with little people living inside and above. Each one is a world. I should name them, but that could be the job of another soul. Ya- the entire city bustles and I think if I had a choice I would like to dream a dream of living in and amongst the world of colored lights.

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THE MAN, HIS MOTHER, AND HER SISTER

There was the man, in the astral plane, in the other world, wearing jeans and a regular shirt, and he was about aged thirty. His hair was medium length and medium brown, and could be said to be kind of longish I suppose. But…not in the way that one would presume, but only because that was the style in the 1970’s, a certain style, or lack thereof rather. And he was looking off to the side. There was something he did not know, a secret, and he had found it out. Yet, he was not acrimonious on the one hand to the idea, and nor was he elated- mostly just shocked. What else. Behind, was a lady, who was ethnic, Mediterranean, but her skin was so dark it almost appeared as if she was black. She was kind, and I can’t remember now if it was her that was crying or the lady beside her. Oh, - it was the lady beside her, - which was her sister. The lady beside her was the man’s mother, - crying, and her skin was a bit lighter. All three were dead, and overall happy and well adjusted to the astral plane, to the next part of their journey. But the sadness and shock was about the boy. What else? Hmmm……….they seemed like good people, not peasants, but a tiny wee bit higher. Definitely not bourgeoisie, - but a bit above peasants, for lack of a better word. They were salt of the earth, - which is the highest compliment or among the highest compliment that can be paid to someone or a group of people. And that was about it. The man, his mother, and her sister. Supporting one another, - in the other world, - perhaps as they did in life. It sounds romantic, and it is a bit romantic I suppose. Most people would think it’s a far flung imagination, or worse! - Some kind of desperation or illness. But that is okay. They shall see one day, but not any day soon. Well, those were good folks, and if you can’t meet ‘em down by a lake or up on a nice green hill for a summer BBQ, - take heart, and invest no worry,- for it seems that there is something to the idea that goes something like this: If you were meant to, there will be a way. I might add if could be far and far and far from an any way you supposed or could have conceived (conceived, lol), - a way far from any orthodoxy or ‘regular’ route.

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THE IRON ON T-SHIRT STORE BY THE INTERSECTION NEAR THE PIER THE SMELL THERE, HEAVENLY, MINGLED WITH THE SUN

The sun was so bright that day that it felt as if, by the warmth it laid right into the cotton of your shirt shoulders, the strand of your hair, and other,- that it followed you into the store or eateries. The sun. Yes. And then, up by where the pier was, or rather up from it, - was a little store in the middle of other stores. I was only ten, and my mother brought me in there at my request. I thought, - all these t-shirts- it was a time when iron on t-shirts were all the rage, and almost everybody had to have one that I knew. You could pick the size, color, style of shirt, and have them iron on- anything that was in the book or emblems. In there was a world of pages that included pictures as diverse as heavy metal rock bands to flowers and fairies. I looked at them all, and tried to choose what I wanted. I stopped at the coolest, most off-the-hook interesting picture of them all at the time- it was on a black background instead of the regular white- and it was a skull- there were snakes crawling out of the eyes, the ears, and so on. - Its shades were so nuanced, - so skillfully drawn, - not like some cartoon or half hearted or half talented idea. - No- this was cool, and I would be the coolest ever! I would be like, - ‘one’ with my sort of acceptably ‘evil’ T-shirt. 

But my mother spotted me looking at it and as mothers do through practical experience and some other form of Gnostic wisdom, unfortunately I guess, beyond all the woo-woo and foo-foo new age talk in the world,- have this knowledge in spades…

One look was all it took. Then I heard the words, borderline yelling in order to show she meant business,

IF YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING TO WEAR THAT, YOU ARE THINKING WRONG. THERE IS NO WAY I AM BUYING YOU A SHIRT WITH A SKULL AND SNAKES SO YOU BETTER NOT EVEN THINK OF THAT ONE.

So I chose something else, and I can’t remember what. I still don’t think the first choice would have been so bad, but it there you have it.

In any event, that was only half of it- I am sure I liked the shirt, whatever was chosen- but it was some wonderful smell, or neutral smell of the iron ons, the fresh shirts,- and an association was made with that place and time- w/the sand and the sea, the pier racing out to try and meet the horizon line, with the affinity I had with the days, the nights,- the lawns, the stucco walls, the small lizards and ants,- screen doors, whitecaps of waves in the eyesight,- even the other stores when they were walked into. And the Atlantic, still there at this moment, brings its tides to caress the sand, but I am not there, - I am here.

I am only there in the mostly dim light and longing of memory. 

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ANYA IN THE SPIRIT WORLD, - WITH THE BLUE HAIR, GLASSES, RED LIPS

There she was, and held herself with a calm demeanor. Anya she said, telepathically, was her name. Or was it right that she said it telepathically? - Or did I rather just receive it, as if from the universe. I remember that she was different, and though someone might think that with such blue, red colors, - and with such strong looking ‘look’ that she was somehow odd, - it’s not true. She was not odd to me- but regular in the moment. I got the impression that she was not a soul to be saved- oh no- but instead a spirit guide for me. A good seeker, so to speak, bows down before those truly higher or more along the line of knowledge. Though I did not bow- because it doesn’t work in this case in such a flowery way, - I definitely in one second recognized and was grateful. She did not tell me anything that I can remember, but it was nice to see her, to know she was there. If there was an exchange, I have forgotten it, - in the brain and mind anyways- maybe something resides in other levels still- the spirit- and then we are back to the thing that happens in the presence of someone itself- rather than what was said. Anya I learned, in research, is a form of Anna, and Anna is a form usually of Hannah, from Israel, from Judaism. and I think from the Bible. All three are beautiful names, soft, feminine, and Anna reminds me of the word Amma, which I believe means mother. All receptive, soft, nurturing, even a bit poetic monikers. Anya also reminded me of the group Enya, - again, heavenly orchestras- string music, cosmic and spiritual themes so on. So it was a good thing all, good things all round…

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A LITTLE RESEARCH, SPIRITS FASTER THAN THE WIND, AND THE PURGATORY SOULS

I was researching a bit and the other sects, (apart  from Catholicism), of Christianity save for Mormonism, seem to reject purgatory as a concept, as a place, as something that truly comes from scripture. Yet,- as I knew to an extent, and learned more- other religions also believe in it, plus this is obviously what the new agers and or those of near death experience are speaking about when they talk about life reviews, self- judgements, lights, so on. 
 

So we have Catholicism, some other religions, and the canon of NDE and OBE, whatever it all means. If I am correct in thinking I am helping in some small and humble way these souls that show it- if they are souls and not imaginations, and if I am helping them- then that is all I need to know- I am only a humble, humble, lowly, unknowing, non-expert, person- far to the side. Which is good, which is how it should be. So grateful to have a job, a minor role in something, to be affiliated with the team! I am not scholar. 

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That all being said, to recap it is meant to mean:

1) There is such a place or state according to the Catholic religion, some other religions, and the near death experiences.

2) If I am involved in it, I am no expert,

 know and have seen very little, - very, very little, - and am humble, grateful, to do my small job without pride in the sinful sense, - but with the best job I can possibly muster, - so with the a small pride, - in the sense that you want to do a good job if you are working for God, Source, Light.

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Two Pieces:

SPIRITS FASTER THAN THE WIND

The place where the spirits quite move or race faster than the wind. A corner and end unit of a retail or wholesale rather building, but abandoned, and a man is showing me that inside there- spirits race through. I am unafraid, and will go in there if required, and did- and its dark, but not an evil dark, - just dark- and spirits do race past, incredibly fast. This is another world, man, a world- like from a graphic novel or a movie- but quite possibly ‘real.’ NOTE- the chipped paint on the exterior resembles the chipped paint fro recent table projects- painting old gardening tables, - and so on. And also from, oddly enough- the chipped paint on the cover of a Violent Femmes record that was purchased recently. But, spirit speaks through symbols that we understand. How else should it be?- also the unit seen, is such as units recently seen in Scarborough- or a bit like them- shops, industrial places.

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THE PURGATORY SOULS

Sight of a model board, like a train board, filled with many spirits,- but in the form of statures and clay and plastic- many, many are there- that is the point- waiting gently to be directed to move onto next ‘stage’ as it were.

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QUESTION: What am I going to do with all this?

ANSWER: Who knows? 

Note- There is other spirits that I saw before, during, and after what is documented. I cannot write, nor do I want to, about them all.

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What will be will be.

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