2012 Doomsday Predictions

One evening on my way home, I was tested on my ability to unconditionally accept what was and I failed the test miserably. Since life is school and not a vacation club, as Moriya likes to remind me, I understood that I would be tested again and again until I passed that particular one. The event I am about to recount happened over six months ago, and I am still being tested on the same topic; that of unconditional acceptance.

For the record, it is important to remember that unconditional love [which I now prefer to call unconditional acceptance of What IS since, in our culture, love often implies some sort of contact and giving of something material] does not require us to pat or cuddle anyone or to give money. Nor does it require us to do anything physical for anyone – in any shape or form.

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Though we usually always drive into town, on that particular evening, my darling, Myahr, and I decided to go green and hop on a city train and so we found ourselves in a crowded compartment.

With me leading the way, we settled on the only two spare seats, not taking any notice of who was already seated directly across from us until *he* came into my line of vision.

The man seated by the window seemed to be in his 50s. He appeared tall and toothpick-thin with a mop of matted white, very white hair.  His complexion was blotchy pale.  His eyes, though pale blue, were blood shot and rimmed in red.

What initially struck me about this man were the dingy white shirt, the black suit and the pockets that bulged with crumpled paper tissues – how weird, I thought.

What struck me next was how the man facing me looked like a *fallen* gentleman in his dignified but stained clothes. Sitting placidly, he reminded me of a dishevelled bohemian aristocrat.

Very quickly, my nostrils picked up the sweet stench of stale urine. A couple of offended nose twitches later, I knew the smell emanated from the man.

As is typical of people seated facing each other in rush-hour train compartments, our knees touched and, wedged between the window and Myahr, I had no room to move.

I glanced at my partner. Seating placidly near the aisle, she was looking straight ahead, but I sensed she was deliberately not returning my look.

Glancing around, I noticed the various passengers who, lips tight, shook their heads in silent disapproval of the man – clearly empathising with my predicament.

I didn’t curse that man. I did not wish him ill. But I certainly wanted to move away from him. I worried about lice and what weird rashes probably covered his unwashed body. I worried about what other germs we might be inhaling through such close proximity.

Fair enough, you might think, but the bottom line is that I did not feel anything near an unconditional acceptance of him. I tried to look past the man’s finely chiselled face and the white stubble on his chin. The person next to him stood up with a mutter.

I tried to focus on what Moriya had told me earlier about ‘soil garments’.

Such garments on anyone, in this material life, should be understood as a throw back to my soul’s past incarnations for she – as that of anyone financially comfortable in this lifetime – would have been hosted at one time or other by incarnations who wore the soiled rags of the beggar, the stench of the destitute. Hence the need to accept the poor and the filthy with a heart that is truly accepting. There is no need to *embrace* – all that is required of us is an honest, non-judgemental, peaceful acceptance.

And so I tried to activate some heart chakra energy, but I simply could not get past the smell. Then again, how can one generate nice heart energy when one is in a state of stress?

As Oogway says in Kung Fu Panda, “There are no accidents.”

As truly nothing happens gratuitously, instead of being hypnotized by this man’s physicality, all I had to do was ask myself why I had been magnetized to that particular spot on the train.

All I had to do was observe this man as my teacher and accept the message he was giving me. Instead, I tried holding my breath for as long as I could.

After fifteen minutes of a thirty minute journey, I just could not take it any longer. I signalled Myahr and we went to stand by the doors. Someone muttered something about how homeless folks should not be allowed on trains and someone else added that such a thing should not be happening in our city. “Having to put up with this here! I mean really!”

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Strange how this man’s face and the sweet stench stayed with me for days!

I ended up relating the incident to Moriya who helped me deconstruct this very symbolic moment.

“Your life is your play, CC, and you have already written about that,” Moriya began, “So what is the role of this homeless man in your play?

This is the question and, once you admit the true answer, such situations will disappear from your stage.  For this one scene, your stage was a train compartment and you already know that a train symbolizes the rise of kundalini energy, the energy of life.  The man’s appearance with a suit and a white shirt represents the trappings of the mechanical persona which society respects the most.

The man’s homelessness symbolizes what spirituality is about – no emotional crutches, no attachment.

The stench is intended to attract your attention to something that is wrong, not in harmony.

Suppose this man was a regular person with no stench attached, you wouldn’t pay so much attention to him? Of course not. And yes, you were magnetized to sit right in front of him – not near the aisle like Myahr. With no room to move, the intention was to force you to see and to feel.

Truthfully, CC, this homeless person gave you a quality workshop experience that was free of charge.  So what are you complaining about?”

Being homeless = symbolically means free from the material clutter that weighs us down.  The more we possess, the more we want. If not, why aren’t a modest but comfortable home, a ten year old car that runs well, and a job that covers our basic needs and a bit more, not considered worth crowing about if we’re past the age of twenty? Why are so many of us, already comfortable as middle-classers are, aspiring to have more? Why do the rich keep wheeling-and-dealing to have more?

Why do those who do not own a diamond want one, however small? Why do those who already have one want another one, and those who already have a few want a few more?  If your kitchen pantry is as cluttered as mine, I rest my case L

Reality check: how much we own is proportionate to our fear of losing it; the greater the cost to insure and the deeper the vault in which we store it, the less we get to enjoy it because of our fear of losing it.

“It’s like for the Crown jewels, CC,” Moriya explained, “We parade fake ones, which in turn is symbolic of the fake love we give ourselves and each other. How can we not understand that unconditional love is the only wealth that we can flaunt and the only one that can never be stolen from us? It is also the only wealth that can keep us healthy.”

Being homeless, or even simply camping, symbolizes freedom from the compulsion to indulge in ‘thinking’ about all the what-ifs that create so much anxiety in our daily lives.

I truly believe that it is the myriad of what-ifs that drive our existence. It is what drives our anxiety and our neuroses.

The pockets that bulged with crumpled tissues = “CC, this symbolizes all the kish-kushim you carry inside you, like everyone, inside your mind. It’s all useless and soiled and it needs to be thrown out and yet you hold on to it as if it was precious to you.”

Yes, Teacher. Guilty as charged.

The symbol of the man’s pockets bulging with dirty tissues should have acted as a reminder for me to cleanse from within, to make a bigger dent in my physical and emotional clutter because, as Moriya added with her usual straightforwardness, “it will start to stink if you don’t. It will be just like the food left out in the heat.

Sooner or later, it will start to rot. When you don’t flow, when you are not in the moment, when your heart chakra is closed, your energy is blocked and starts to smell not nice. I mean on the energetic level, kamoovan.”

Of course.

“Really, when you clean with unclean object, the dirt won’t go away. Correct? So, it means that when you are afraid to open your heart and do things with pure intentions, you need lessons to teach you that you need to clean thoroughly before your kundalini can rise. Look at it this way,” Moriya added. “In the visible world you saw a man wearing a suit with a lot of dirty tissues in his pockets, ken? From the limited understanding of your persona, you interpret it as if this man is trying to look dignified in spite of his being homeless, ken? And you think it’s a pity to see a man like him in such a sad state. But that’s all you feel.

In the invisible world and in a previous life, this man would have been a rich and dignified person, and he showed his wealth to the world by wearing the

best suits of his time. The dirty tissues and his smell also create another message.

It says: look, I was a rich man once but I did dirty deeds. Now, I’ve lost my wealth, even my most basic possessions in order to amend in this lifetime and cleanse myself. He now has to stand naked and at nature’s mercy, to amend and return a little of what his previous incarnation took ruthlessly. But, CC, as long as such a man stays ‘dirty’ on the inside, feeling sorry for himself, dreaming of revenge against the god that put him in this situation or of wealth that was not his to have in this lifetime, relying on alcohol to get through, he will remain ‘dirty’ on the outside because things can only shift from the inside out.

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“Karma does not dump us or push us into cold water so that we swallow a lot of salty water and suffocate,” Moriya explained further. “No, no! From Soul with Love, karma only sends us what we each need to grow and thrive – what we need to evolve – not necessarily what we want, or think we need, which is why our ego-persona, like a child used to getting her way, is not very fond of Master Karma – the absolute arbiter.”

© by C.C. Saint-Clair, 2008

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Kish-kushim =rubbish/nonsense

Kamoovan = of course      Ken = yes

By day, a teacher of Senior English and French in Brisbane, Australia, and, by night, first a writer of novels and now a writer of spiritual material, I am on a quest of sorts ? I am searching for a connection to my soul, right here, right now.
Admittedly, I have an ulterior motive ? quite a strong one at that: I am trying to edit some karma out of my energy field by altering its properties.
This, from me, who a couple of years ago thought about my soul as often as the molecular composition of my body, which was never.