Author Archives: parlorMINT

Strange occurrences that have led to radical growth on a path of healing are not rare, perhaps untold. Here, the focus is on energetics. Part 1 introduced the concept of Shadow Self through the archetype of Peter Pan, thanks to an esoteric link in tarot. In this chapter, we reach beyond the fairytales on the book shelf into the texts of channeled beings in an attempt to further extrapolate the bizarre.

This one is about introducing channeled concepts of energetics through some familiar modalities. Shamanism embraces all aspects of existence into a wholesome consciousness. Alien concepts introduce innovative ways of conceiving life and possibilities. These are beings, in my general awareness, that exist on various dimensions of energetic frequencies. Accessing them requires coding the physical form perhaps via consciousness attuning DNA.

Both worlds require a trip into the darkness and a fascination with the disturbing. No judgment at my table, that’s what I always say. When possibilities are infinite, humans belong to a rich soup that flavors the Collective palette like an ever rising bread. To the top and into the light! Isn’t that the general mission?

Rise out of darkness by diving deeper into it? That makes sense. Like puncturing a hole in the vastness to create a vacuum that will suck the light throughout it all. The catalyst is a counterintuitive moment of insight which leads to the alchemy of personal transformation. This is where we reintroduce the shadow self. For the context of this note, the shadow self is the hidden aspects of self that are contemporarily viewed as undesirable traits we try so hard not to exhibit.

Enter Peter’s shadow. It subsists of no true form as it floats around the ethereal components of materialization. His is disconnected from the material self and maintains an independent and unruly consciousness. Asleep, in a dream. It reminds us that something exists outside, or intertwines all the separateness into one distorted projection. When it is aligned with the physical body, it adjusts itself accordingly with the laws and properties of light. Wake up.

Light from our sun creates a frequency that rules the first through third dimensions, so far as we can “see.” Throughout our Collective history, dimensions beyond what we are capable of perceiving have pervaded the stories that spark our imagination. The spiritual dimensions beckon our spiritual drive to connect with evolutionary principles in a conscious manner. Peter and his shadow become archetypes for a disconnect from our spiritual drive and loss in consciousness.

Peter lives in a dream reality with one way in and one way out. The body must submit to sleeping, then the spirit flies away to an island while the shadow chases it as a reminder of a third dimension that keeps the physical form trapped. The shamans and the aliens transcend the island and access Universal consciousness, consciously directing their spirit to where it needs to be on an evolutionary path. When duty calls the spirit back to this material third dimension, it descends to fulfill its kismet.

We’re just going with the flow here, so bear with me as I juice through these channeled concepts. Blowing along in the wind, we stumble upon Peter’s counterpart. Hello, Wendy. She just woke up and is trying to figure out how best to grow to evolve for the sake of the species. She is the eldest and must be exemplary in modeling behavior for those younger than her. Her heart feels the weight of responsibility as she must choose to integrate her shadow self and accept her role within the Collective.

If Wendy were to wander into the wild and find herself a shaman, how would this interaction unfold? Maybe the fairies are their counterparts in this story, though doubt sets in when we consider the nefarious history of the fairy. Wendy herself could be the shaman, or rather a student of her Nature. I suppose it depends on the lens you choose to view all this through. Evolution is your responsibility when you begin to take accountability for your own life and the Collective experience.

These stories reflect the Collective psyche, that which can be used to describe various states of consciousness from a contemporary perspective, though Psyche takes us back to the Greeks as the name more accurately translates to “Soul” instead of limiting our belief systems to the concept relating to the mind. You may not want to drink the Kool-Aid, but the juicers have become quite popular among the wholistic health advocates.

Now, imagine Wendy wearing a tinfoil hat while she attempts to send radio signals out into the cosmos. I often wonder if aliens would abduct her in Neverland or if it would be more convenient to meet her at the window, as did Peter Pan. Wendy must use her discernment here because an alien world offers no guarantee of survival, physically or socially. Accepting a lift on a UFO might be the ticket to becoming the world’s biggest outcast.

This whole thing may be silly, so lets circle back round to energetics. After all, energy itself cannot be created or destroyed. We surf along a creative stream in order to experience the joys of recreation of consciousness. I’ve been asked to insert the theme of “current” in this space, as the current relates to “flow state” necessary for shadow transmutation.

I’m curious to know at which point the homo-luminous transcends the shadow self all together. It is the sapient form which absorbs the light, so when we evolve to a frequency that matches that of the vibration of the light particles given from our star, Sun, we will no longer cast the shadows that hold us to an experience of darkness. Without the shadow, can we know the Light? What is the appeal of masking Light via dissociation? You cannot do the work while pretending; the Soul can discern the truth of your intentions.

Nothing is as it seems. Shamanism has taught me this. Nothing is as they tell us. Alienisms have shown me the bridge between life and quantum physics. What is possible exceeds the human’s capacity for imagination. When we stay limited to our own imagination, we detach ourselves from deeper meanings. Innovation is lost to the wind because the sapient body prefers to pretend. Isolated by fantasy, he remains a boy and doesn’t grow into a man.

Shamans and Aliens both deserve their own reflections and posts, so more on those later. (Who knows when… these are all channeled in and written when I can secure the time.) I’m sure the Shadow character will reappear again, as it does by the clock. Before we risk rambling off into the Cosmos, it is time to say adieu and end this transmission until next time.

(In the next blog post, Part 2: Shamans and Alienisms… something about Mormonism and their belief in aliens, maybe Scientology too, but really lets discuss energetics.)

Hook. A tarot reader sat down at a bar and ordered a drink. Maybe she had her cards this time, maybe not. On occasion, she will grace the polished wood top and tumblers to request the consult of a couple spirits in the vicinity. If not for the synchronicities and familiarities, for the ambiance suitable to channeling personal advice.

Line. So this one time, in reading some member of an ensemble, she pulled out a card and bit her lip before reading out the first line in the interpreter’s book. An elegant new deck with brightly rendered archetypes can harmonize when their written words are read aloud. On this particular card, Peter Pan was that first sentence. She choked it back to herself; oh shit. Not another one.

Sinker. It took longer than expected to prove the Guides had it right… again. They dug in the lesson this time with a final chapter series. She saw the movies and plays portraying Peter as a young boy, a grown man, an elderly man eager to start the cycle all over again, and woman disguised as man playing the boy. Peter, nonetheless dense as stone, would burry you in Kensington not knowing 100% for certain if you’re alive or not. He’ll be wanting to possess for carrying resemblance to a nest. Those aren’t eggs in your basket. Honey, they’re rocks.

So flying means dissociating from your shadow. Anything cast is unaccounted for, a magician ignorant of his subconscious wrecking havoc in the collective psyche. A sort of antithesis of Narcissus, maybe, or a parallel universal construct of dysfunctional homo sapient behavior patterns. He’s not a full cup in the realm of tarot. He’s an energy vampire in the land of Oz, sucking the color from life as he greys. No matter how old they get, they crave youth and a mommy.

Now, this particular tarot reader colors life from head to toe. No stone is left unturned, no Peter capable of knocking her off of feet. That root chakra is locked in; that crown is anchored above. That shadow self always escaping Peter Pan is something she fully integrated. Her armor is mirrors reflecting back the consciousness of whatever is outside her. Harmonized and One with Mother Nature is a path in the woods she walks barefoot.

If you’ve never stepped on broken glass, know that it stings and gives you vertigo. It’s before the pain really sets in and the blood is already lost where there is a bridge of consciousness… if the wound is deep enough. The world and yourself suddenly change, unexpected, and a new reality sets in. It’s a primal feeling of the body’s urges without the mediator of logic and layers of classical conditioning.

Enter the rock with wings. It chases something it sees outside as something separate and attempts to attach it superficially or with the aid of a Wendy, or integrated friend that radiates light. Peter tries his hardest to convince her his world is best. He goes so far as to challenge her experiences and wisdom. She is forced to choose between her own life and giving her rights of sound judgment over to a musical player… to be the recorder or just a record on repeat in a collection of many.

Her experience has brought her to this point before, to the line of crossing into Never Return. Stolen treasure on a pirate ship, bound and forced to walk the plank. She’s used to being captain of her own ship; yet here she is, staring into the deep waters below. She’s been here before, she reminds herself. If he flies in to save her, he’s still not Super Man. He brought her here with fairy dust and coercion. Sink or swim.

Swim. Just keep swimming, swimming. Go with the flow and the battle stops. The war is over and Peter Pan flies off into the clouds. The water is cold and the mermaids are untrustworthy; envy paints their lips and curses their songs. Sharks and creatures at depths unknown are stalking, preying on fear and blood. And the water is just so cold. When you stop swimming, your heart freezes and you drown.

The warmth and the glow come from within. The solar plexus is a tiny star seed with enough energy to power a sun. It’s a warmth that defies all odds and blinds those who can’t see the forest through the trees. Some will never grow up, not in this lifetime. Some of us were young souls epochs ago and forget how scary wholesome can be to those who prefer the comforts of chaos. Order is restored by the bitch, Karma.

Prolific writing used to come so quickly when it was just me and the swift seas of undergraduate nomadic studies, living life to its fullest. Bright rays of quantum blades, bursting forth the coolness against hot skin. How else is one supposed to experience existence? Condom-mints only get you so far in life when you fall for someone you call “hotdog guy.” No lie.

The whole thing caught me off guard.

If I start the disclosure train of all the juicy details, you’ll slip right off your face. Ker-splat across that lawn. None of it that important or worth it. What IS necessary to keep in mind is that once upon a time, there was very little fear here. More like the anticipation from curiosity. The first time in a lab with colorful liquids and a natural penchant for concoctions. No Fool is frowning.

I tell you where it all went wrong – It all took a sharp turn when that wild and reckless flame that beats so fervently in my chest quit. Dead halt. Gave up thinking true love existed. Just sat back and observed it elsewhere. It wasn’t meant for me.

It was never mine to begin with.

The thing is, when you find love in an attachment bond outside the sacred unity upheld in cultural ceremony, all sacred aspects are lost to devilish manipulation. Look in the mirror and see someone has painted you as a pawn while you were sleeping. When your back turned, they shifted the other pieces to make it look like they won.

The pronouns keep changing. The identities keep blending. The messages somehow are all inter-relating. All I know is when you contain the answers, few make the trek to to the peak. Any stone thrown up a mountain will surely come tumbling downward. Remember that part about not pissing into the wind? Just think of what happens when you look up to the stone in the sky.

There’s more fear here than ever before. Not that subliminal pain that transfers out; it’s the fear of knowing you’ve already jumped out of the plane. Adrenaline overrides the system. Writer’s high kicks in. What happens if you stop before the finish line? Not an answer I want to find.

I can see the end in sight. The size is misleading. So far, it fits in the palm of your hand.

When you grow up, permission slips are still granted. Only this time the teachers are unexpected characters in life. Maybe it’s a tree or a bent toe. It’s likely some expense paid to a third party while a fourth is granted the benefits to your doubt. What more can you do?

You’ll see just how far down the deep dive I go. If you come with my flow, anyway. It was after resurfacing that I realized the serum was a breath of fresh air. Naturally, beyond line where sky meets sea is a scattered realm of one-m(x)n-islands. Where political correctness and creative liberties establish such a poetic institution.

You do realize this right? That you’ve just encountered learning? This form of awakening depends on your imagining. So… imagine if you will a scenario where the stars align just so, birds fly overhead and the senses begin engagement with the outside world. Preparation with etiquette. How considerate?

I don’t even care anymore, I’ve lost it all so much I even know now what it’s like to lose myself. Never give up, and never give in. Never settle for less is something I wish would have been engrained with much sooner. Self-worth comes at the expense of life. No matter which seat I take now, I’ll witness the suckle of life from right here.

Have you ever watched someone fall from a burning tower? How about forging new love from cold steel blades plunged into your back? Post-grad life flew by like light. It was a point of identity-no return. The rites of passage begin to narrow as you go through more and more.

More Soon,

Love -K.

Initially, blog writing became of interest as a means to synthesize the reactions to the process of healing with art. Art as it shows up in this form, as free-form writing and poetry, might resemble an article or manifesto or two. I dunno, the writing happened for a long time, then it stopped. Well, it lulled like a boggy motor boat. Is this coming off as pent up steam?

Anyway, before I let it all out… for background context, a historical reference, a back-log of some stuff that I wrote a lifetime ago. Here is a link to one of my previous blogs. For whatever reason if you happen upon this page and find entertainment, inspiration might be taking a leak around the corner. Look out. The wind is blowing in your direction.

Again, all my apologies for stalling and holding it all in.

Old sKool-Sweet: www.freeksweet.wordpress.com