Reiki Diary Level 2 Cleansing: Day 11

The weekend starts here. After working rather hard this week, I decided that it was in my best interests to have a lie in and park my morning meds until later in the day, perhaps later on in the weekend. So at 9:00am (which is a monster lie in, in our house), I decided to once again pick up my paint brush, a bold and brave move after last weekend’s debacle. Today’s task was to paint the radiator cover in the dining room which had remained in its original rickety MDF form for the last four and a half years. There’s procrastination and there’s me. Before we moved to Malaysia, I was very handy in the house, rebuilding the kitchen twice, tiling the bathroom, decorating and redecorating the house several times over. After our return, I found it really difficult getting certain connections again, certain friends, the UK in general and sadly our home by the sea. Working away in London every week, home at weekends was a killer and I almost paid the ultimate price for putting the corporatation before my wife.

Still, that’s all well and truly in the past, and instead of extreme obstacle racing or marathons, I now have a new challenge, a difficult challenge. Repaint the whole house by the time we fly to the US in late May. So between now and then, I will be spending one day every weekend doing exactly that. I’ll need / demand a medal at the end as I cross the Dulux finishing line. By 11:00am it was done, just 2 hours to complete a task that took me 40,000 hours to get around to doing. The wife was very happy with the outcome. Nice.

Feeling good about my deed, I jump-started the Jeep and headed over to the inlaws house and loaded up the boot with an old mattress and deposited it at the local tip. Feeling good about my second deed of the day, I was all done by midday, noting that meds and doing things for others really does give you that feel good factor. Buoyed by my mood, we headed off for a spot of retail therapy and a trip to “Ms” and “Ds” house to see how the extension on their house was looking (as well as a long overdue catch up betwixt our little daughters). My word, incredible. They have opened up their living space and kitchen and extended out into the garden, a really great space for parties I added, and when was the first one. Spoke to “D” for a while and asked her about her return to yoga post-delivery of sproggling number two, and she said that she went back after seven weeks, fitting it in when she could. She was loving it and I commented that the open space they now had overlooking the garden was an awesome way of starting the day, Ra beaming down his (or her) UV goodness through the new Velux windows. I told her about my morning ritual and that I was going through my Level Two Reiki at the moment, she said she would be interested in having a session at some point in the future, no doubt when the time is right I’ll do just that.

We also talked about mudras and that for her, meditation was difficult (her mind unable to focus on nothingness, kids and shopping lists invariably nipping in there for a focus meeting), but she has found that if she wakes up in the night and struggles to get back to sleep immediately, she focuses her thoughts on the third eye / anja chakra, zones and resumes her kip pronto.

After bidding our friends a fond farewell we headed back down the motorway to home base, the wife and I talking rather randomly about reincarnation. Our eldest “J” is mature for his age, very mature. I hear stories about others kids his age drinking, getting wasted, loosing focus (just like I did at that age), but our “J” is the polar opposite. Here we have a 17 year old, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, up for Student of the Year award in the first year of his engineering apprenticeship, going for a world title shot at this years Mauy Thai Kickboxing Championships in Italy and now learning how to drive at his earliest convenience. Awesome, two very proud parents. The wife is convinced that he has been here before. Before my mind was opened to such possibilities, I would have probably ripped her for such a ridiculousness, but more recently and with many more reading hours under my belt, I have a different point of view. I commented that maybe he has, in that taking the teachings and preachings of Siddhatha Gautama (Buddha) as an example, the soul is engaged in an eternal return, until such time as the soul reaches true enlightenment and Nirvana, the point at which it no longer has to return to human form. New age guru Anthony Peake also backs this up to some extent by his ITLAD theory, which states that there is a virgin birth (i.e the first time a soul is incarnated into human form) and from then on, at the point at which we die, there is a panoramic life review and we live our lives over and over again, and it is in this state that we have the ability to change decisions of our previous experience (an explanation – albeit a far out one – for phenomenon like déjà vu, synchronicities and breadcrumbs) and evolve spiritually and consciously/sub-consciously/super-consciously.

We also went on to discuss the likes of Peter Sutcliffe (The Yorkshire Ripper) and Ian Brady (The Moors Murderer) and agreed that if there is some sort of eternal return, maybe they are at the start of their journey, menaced souls way off the true path to enlightenment, learning what it takes to be a virtuous soul the hard way, experiencing universal rights and wrongs sadly in the most extreme ways possible. If we are all souls that exist in a different place or plane of existence (experiencing ourselves subjectively through human form) then some of us have a long way to go, many future incarnations. On closing I said that the more we approach and try to understand our super-conscious state / higher self, the more we possibly expedite our journey to Nirvana and eternal peace (whether that “human” form is different from a Buddhist perspective, or the same form from an “ITLADian” perspective).

The focus stayed on “J” for the rest of the day, sadly not all positive. After so much discussion about him earlier in the day, I received a phone call from him whilst dining at another friends house many miles away saying that he had left the one and only key in the house (after losing 2 keys earlier in the week) and that him and the dog were outside in the wind and rain. Only half way through our meal, we submitted our sincere apologies to our host and made our way back home to work out how we were going to get in. All windows were closed, but thankfully our backdoor is made of wood with many glass panels (everything else being uPVC and double glazed), so I popped a pane and in we went.

I was quite irate at the time of the phone call and said some “not very Buddhist” things into the mouthpiece, but after I had calmed down a bit and we were in the house and drying off, I told him that these things happen, and the he would have to pay for the repair of the window and replacement keys, giving him a lesson in accountability where it hurts the most, his wallet…

Throughout the day before, I had a strange sensation in my ears, it was a bubbling / popping sound. Every 30 minutes or so, I would hear invisible imps playing the bongos on my eardrums. After 10 hours of it I was getting a little concerned but hoping that all was required was sleep and today I did not experience any reoccurrence which was good.

To top an eventful day off, my wife was convinced that there was a presence in our bedroom. She has experienced things in the past, witnessed things before. She is very spiritual, and her grandmother was as much. She has been to see small mediums, largely over the last 10 years. There is one in particular who has it has to be said, been very accurate in the past and shared things many years before I had even met her (she told my wife that she would live in South East Asia, she would have three children, and she would be married three times [technically twice to me with our up and coming vows renewal]). As I tidied up the shards of glass downstairs, she had retired for the evening, and with closed eyes lying on the bed, she felt a presence right next to her face, thinking it was me sneaking up on her. She opened her eyes and to her surprise saw nothing, but felt that something was not right, something less than nice, almost malign was in the room. She has always said that one should be more afraid of the living than the dead. Turning the lights off we were both hoping she was right…

Breadcrumb Diary: Week 7

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#1 Stockard Channing held sway
Grease is the word it may seem. A rather bizarre and totally random breadcrumb today. My son (the budding thespian as previously blogged), has been appearing in his school play this week. We went to see him last night and he was magnificent, a fearless and superbly executed performance from a mature young actor only 12 years old. His performance aside, the wifey and I were both in violent agreement (yes these synchronicities, albeit rather rare, do also take place…) that the stand out performance (including an incredible vocal) was from a girl who played the character Rizzo, played by Stockard Channing in the film.

What was a coincidence was about an hour later, one of my friends (known affectionately as “Totally Random Man”) posted a link to a picture of Stockard Channing to the Half Man Half Biscuit (Wirral based rock/folk band of awesome genius) fan page on Facebook, as it was her 70th birthday.


What was becoming ridiculous was that after we had picked up my son from his evening performance, we retired rather exhausted to our bed, and before we turned in watched an episode of The Good Wife, who pops up as Alicia Florrick’s mother? Yes you guessed it, Stockard Channing…

#1 Pussy galore
For some reason I still haven’t quite fathomed, I decided to push my still-wheelchair-bound daughter up the hill to school in a force 8 gale, carrying her homework and also her golden zimmer frame. Easy pickings for an octoped perhaps, not homo erectus (which I must have resembled by the time I got to the top of the 45 degree slope in hurricane winds). On the way up, we passed by the church on the corner of our road where my wife and I committed to our never-ending story, which we do most days (go to scholl, not getting married). Today, as we did, I saw a black cat sitting in the middle of the path way to the church door, staring. Staring right at me, it’s eyes not leaving mine until I lost the stare-out competition upon reaching the soon-to-be crossed road.

A short while later, I got back to the house and collected the refuse from all of the internal bins and transferred them to the outdoor ‘wheelies’ as it was collection day. As I opened the door, sitting right next to the Jeep was a black cat. I don’t believe it was ‘the’ black cat, but a black cat nonetheless. Stranger, I stared at it much in the same manner, and it reciprocated as its predecessor did, with aplomb. I turned my vision for only a split second to lift the lid of the wheelie bin, and on turning back the cat was gone. Odd. I even looked under my car. Nothing.

Continuing on with the cats theme, my son came home from school with a bit of a glum look on his face. I asked him how his day went and to his disappointment, he found out that day that the summer play (of the performing arts group he attends) had been chosen by the artistic director. Cats. Of course it was. He went on to show me one of the songs he would have to sing and already you can see that his heart just won’t be 100% in this one. I recalled that there was a quite a famous song in the show called ‘Memories’ by Elaine Page. ‘Wow, was she in it?’ he said, ‘I didn’t realise that she did plays, she doesn’t look old enough’. Confused, I said that Elaine Page must have been 60 odd, he thought I said Ellen Page (she of Inception fame – another breadcrumb reference). What rounded off a truly feline-frenzy day was that evening, as I read on the BBC news feed that Ellen Page had declared her sexuality to the world and came out as a lesbian. Not Elaine Page, coming out at 66 a bit late in the day…

#2 Yeah I’m the Taxman
After my successful ascent of ‘Mount Atherton’ and dropping the little one off at school, a random thought popped into my head dating back to 2009. When we all returned from Malaysia I recall filling in a lot of tax forms through Deloittes most user-unfriendly web portal. I remember getting several notices saying that I was missing one form in particular, although the system gave me all green ticks. Over the years I have had several terse emails reminding me penalties and the like, all of which I wholeheartedly ignored. I guess I must have been thinking about that missing form in particular in light of the corporation upcoming bonus transaction to the account of yours truly.

Mid-morning, busy working away trying to get everything done before my week of with the family, I get an email. From Deloittes after I think years of nothing. It detailed (in a much clearer and precise fashion) a request for information in lovely little bullets, dictating what I had to put in each box of the form. I quickly sent a note back asking why it was after all this time I needed to complete it, and the most welcomed of responses stated that my employer and I are due a rebate for the last 6 months of 2009. Result! My rebate may be 68p, but it will be my 68p.

I tried to daydream of the winning lottery numbers for that evening, but alas it appeared that I was all out of breadcrumbs for that day…

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#1 My anathema
First day of my holidays, yay. Hmmm perhaps not. Weather was pretty shocking truth be known so I decided to clean the house for the week, do the shopping and act as a stand-in carer for my wife as she was attending a college course on hot stone massage. Not sure what had been in the air over the last week or two (and in particular today), but a greyish cloud was hanging overhead. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, whether it was me or whether it was her or whether it was external forces at play. Nonetheless we had ‘several words’ on the way to the college, which left me with a feeling of melancholy. I quickly put that aside and got on with my household / carer duties, but something was still niggling at me. There was still an atmosphere when I picked her up, and quickly after getting back to the house and pulled my hiking boots on and took the dog down to the beach and gave him a good run out, but whatever was hanging over me was still there. My mood was as black as the clouds above, a feeling I’d not had for quite some time, one of those dread feeling back to the dark days of 2012.

I avoided the customary new age podcast on this day. Dark days require moody vibes, resonating tunes, liberating lyrics. One band that has all of that in abundance in Anathema (Liverpool born and bred, which I have a very tenuous personal link to). On approaching the crest of Mount Atherton, I casually glanced up at the sky which had been covered in grey pillows all day, and as I did so a small slither of sky opened up before me and revealed the orange glow of a helio-sphere 92 million miles away from our little blue dot. At that exact moment (whilst listening to Untouchable Pt 2 from the album Weather Systems) the line ‘I had to let you go. To the setting sun. I had to let you go. And find a way back home’. It was a sign for sure, of what though, I wasn’t sure.


On listening to the song and seeing the vista before me, there was an immediate respite from the gloom, so I took this as a sign to go back and talk to the missus. That I did and the mood was lifted. Later on in the evening, she was trawling through her Facebook news feed and found that those previously close to me (now ex-communicated not through my choice) were having a family get together that afternoon, under monochrome cloudscapes. That was the sign…

#1 Dogs of War
Many people know that I’m a kid at heart and can spend days on end creating and destroying and creating again, animate and inanimate objects made of Lego. I recently took the family to see The Lego Movie and decided that our first trip of the week would be to the Lego Discovery Centre in Manchester. Being out for most the day, Charlie our pooch was destined for a day of solitude. After getting ready, I told the significant other that I was going downstairs to have a dog-of-war with him (actually a tug-of-war; he has a ‘Linus’ type blanky which he plays with from time to time, dragging it from room to room, and every now and again I pull one end as he pulls the other). I looked in each room upstairs, no sign of him. I did likewise downstairs, still no sign. The last room of the house was the kitchen, I crept in and there he was under the breakfast bar, watching me creep into the room, his blanky in his mouth already, waiting for war, knowing I think that he was about to be left on his own for several hours…

#2 Holding back the ears
After leaving Charlie behind, on went the Apple Maps app, postcode dutifully inserted. We made our way without incident to the M56 motorway and half way down it, my son asked us to turn the radio down as he had found a particularly amusing anecdote on the web. The channel of choice that day was Smooth FM (and English radio channel which plays a lot of Tamla Motown, various hits from the 70’s and of course smoothies tracks as the name suggests), and currently playing was ‘You make me feel brand new’ by The Stylistics. So as instructed, I turned the radio volume down to zero and he ran through the funny, and it was.

After he had finished, it was time to turn the volume back up. As I reached for the dial, everything slowed down, almost to a stop. I knew what was about to take place. I looked up to see that I was in the outside lane of the motorway and inside me were two heavy goods vehicles, one overtaking the other. In an instant, I had total recall of an incident relayed to his readership by new age theorist Anthony Peake. I’ve pasted in his words below from a forum posts many years ago as his diction is far superior than mine:

The M62 motorway links Yorkshire with Lancashire. This freeway goes through some pretty barren moorland and weather conditions in late November can get quite bad (remember the movie ‘American Werewolf In London’? – I am sure that the ‘Slaughtered Lamb’ pub is located not far off the M62).

Anyway, I am driving along in pretty crappy driving conditions. Rain and hail are blasting down and the traffic is both heavy and fast. I have my Archos MP3 playing away through the car stereo. Now for those who do not know the device, Archos players are “super ipods” with massive memory storage. For example this machine contained over 14,000 MP3 tracks. Now when driving long journeys I have the Archos on random play. With a 1:14,000 probability the chance of any one specific track coming up is remote in the extreme.

As I was driving along a lorry comes out in front of me with a load of crash-barriers on the back. They looked fairly securely tied so I was happy to drive a short distance behind it. Suddenly a new track comes up on random play. It is ‘Round of Blues’ by Shawn Colvin. Now there is a history to this particular song. Way back in 1992 I had first heard this track on a free CD that came with a UK music magazine. From the first few bars I knew that this song would be important to me in some strange way that I could not describe. a few days later I bought the album with the track on it (Fat City). For some strange reason that I only now understand I said to my then (common-law) wife that this was the song I wanted played at my funeral. As the words came out of my mouth I remember thinking ‘where on earth did that come from’. So strong was this feeling that I continued mentioning this over the years. When I met my present wife I again found myself stressing this self same instruction. I remember once playing the song to her so that she would remember it.

So you can imagine my shock when this track suddenly appeared on my car stereo. I knew it was a warning. For some reason I put my breaks on and moved my car from the middle lane into the slow lane (my car at the time was a beautifully responsive Mazda RX-8 (as if you wanted to know that) so I was swiftly out of the way of the lorry in front. A split second after I moved, with Shawn still singing away, the barriers detached themselves and crashed down onto the motorway, landing exactly where I would have been. I would have hit them at sixty miles an hour. There is no way I would have survived. Fortunately because I moved no cars were close enough to be involved and the traffic easily negotiated itself around the obstruction.

If this is correct then the very last thing I would have perceived in my last life would have been the song ‘Round of Blues’. It is as if I had a deep past-life memory association with my death and that song. This is why the message of Fat City equals funeral. But this saved my life this time “round” as well because I knew that death was close!

But do you want to know what has really just freaked me out – I recently looked up the lyrics which I have never really done before. I more enjoyed the tune and its bouncy guitar sound. What I just read made my blood run cold:

Here we go again
Another round of blues
Several miles ago
I set down my angel shoes
On a lost highway
For a better view

and later:

We lost a lot today
We get it back tomorrow
I hear the sound of wheels
I know the rainbow’s end.

Scary isn’t it – just how relevant are the words “Several miles ago I set down my angel shoes on a lost highway” and “I hear the sound of wheels, I know the rainbow’s end”.

It wasn’t that my family and I were in any immediate danger from the two goods vehicles, nor that any Audi/BMW was about to plough into the back of us at breakneck speed. It was simpler, but no less of a shock. My wife and I have this long running radio feud, in that whenever R.E.M or Morrissey comes on the radio, she has the right (I have this clause embedded in our pre-nup) to do a pretend yawn accompanied by a pretend stretch, allowing her outstretched fingers to turn down the volume on the radio to zero, without me noticing (she has never succeeded). I have the same agreement with one band in question, the band I loathe the most.

So imagine my surprise as my outstretched fingers turned the dial clockwise to reveal my precognitive revelation that not only would Mick Hucknall be ear-achingly crooning a the top of his voice, but he would be doing so to the very track I hate the most and correctly predicted, ‘Holding Back the Years’. In an instant, the whole of my being filled with a wave of energy, recognition of the precognition, and every hair stood to attention. I was officially freaked out…

#3 The Magical Quest
So to Legoland. After the tricky M56/M62/M602 evil junction was successfully manoeuvred, the domes of the Trafford Centre came into view. Car parked, Starbucks Coffee in hand we joined the queue and waited patiently to enter. The wife had already dropped hints that it would be a shame to come all this way and not to have a look around the shopping mall, and although she never came out and said it, inferred that it would be a nice gesture for me to postpone my reiki session in the evening. Granted, it would have been nice to have a shop and perhaps dine out with the, so I gave this some serious thought and pondered sending my reiki ‘mistress’ (the feminine of master of course) a message.

Further down the line 10 minutes later and a familiar face came into view. If I ever there was something to persuade me not to cancel my session in favour of ‘Sketchers and Steak’, the face in the crowd made my mind up for me. H was on my reiki course last year (along with seven others) and she spotted me and we spoke. I keep bumping into her in the strangest of places, out of town shopping malls, at the beach, down on the farm and now Lego Discovery Centres. We chatted for a short while and I told her that it was so odd that today of all days in such a remote location, that I bump into her.

Taking that as a sign, we left the Trafford Centre (after Sketchers but not Steak) in ample time so that I could drop off the clan, and make my way to my ‘mistress’…

#4 Yes the universal’s here, here for everyone
See Reiki Diary: Level 2 (Part 1) for more details on an entire cacophony of coincidence…

Breadcrumb Diary: Week 5

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#1 Inception
Those that have seen the Christopher Nolan film “Inception” will relate to this. Those that have read Anthony Peake’s book “Is There Life After Death” will also relate to this. Last night, my wife had a vivid dream about being on a boat which was at sea in the middle of the perfect storm. She recalls being on board with the whole family, and that the boat was thrashing about in the water, giving her feelings of falling and motion sickness. She was scrambling with the ropes and holding onto my daughter for dear life. Eventually a huge wave hit the boat and she and my daughter were tossed overboard into the ocean. In the realm of consciousness, she had actually fallen out of bed with my daughter and they were both on the floor. She then proceeded to push her back on the boat (bed) to get her back to safety (clearly in some sort of hypnogogic / dreaming state). Once she was on the boat (bed), my daughter turned to her and said ‘It’s ok Mummy, we’re back on the boat now’.

So my wife is not sure whether our daughter said that in the dream, whether they had had a shared dream, or that she had convinced our now semi-awake daughter that she was on a boat not a bed…

Curiously (hence the reference to Inception), I asked her how long the dream lasted for (more specifically the thrashing about and falling into the ocean bit), and she said it felt like 20 minutes. One of the many things I have read about recently is internal and external time. It appears that the time that passes in the unconscious or subconscious states is different to the conscious state. Our conscious time (external time) is measured by the clock, and in the collective sense is shared with everyone else. Our unconscious time (internal time 1) is slower than external time, in that events commonly take longer than they do in conscious time, if indeed we dream at all in unconscious time. Our subconscious time (internal time 2) is longer still (i.e. my wife’s 20 minutes of thrashing/falling took 0.5 seconds from the edge of the bed to the floor), as it is said that when we are in the realm of deep sleep (REM sleep) we have our most vivid dreams, and time that appears to be in minutes, hours, or days in internal time, takes place within perhaps milliseconds in external time. Timescales of the dream within a dream.

Anthony Peake has an interesting take on the dream aspect of this entry (not that he as or ever will see this post). It could be, that in the unconscious/subconscious state, we have a precognitive ability to sense what is about to happen in the conscious state, on the basis that our senses buffer like a computer, and that recent studies have suggested that the point at which the senses detects something there is a 0.5 second delay from before it presents its ‘findings’ to consciousness, and during that time (in the case of dreaming), the subconscious dreamer has ample time to process an entire scenario and present it to the mind of the individual concerned.

#1 Meditation, that’s what you need
I have had feeling of regret giving up yoga last year for the last few weeks. It’s not the postures I miss the most, but the meditation. An hour of stretching and bending was good don’t get me wrong, but for those 15 minutes a week, I was in a different place. My place, without the distraction of family, friends or work. Externally visible to others, yet in my own internal solitude. As horrendous January was to be over in a few hours, I decided to take a long hot bath and listen to some sitar tunes on Spotify. There was a particular track on Anoushka Shankar’s latest album which stuck out a mile for me as the best on the album. It is called ‘Metamorphosis’ and every time I hear it, I start to feel my chakras giving it some. With a flannel over my eyes as a make-shift blindfold, on the track came and I slipped out of external time and into the hippy zone.

Within an instant, I had a overwhelming feeling that the Indian lyrics had some sort of meaning for me. So I googled the mantra. And this was what it said:


Om Tryambakam Yajamahe
Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam
Urvarukamiva Bandhanan
Mrityor Mukshiya Maamritat

We Meditate on the Three-eyed reality.
Which permeates and nourishes all like a fragrance.
May we be liberated from death for the sake of immortality.
Even as the cucumber is severed from bondage to the creeper.

My recent readings have given me a lot of insight into the history and ‘esotericness’ of the pineal gland, and have been thinking for a number of weeks now that when I next meditated (whether it be at home or someplace else) that a deeper meditation was possible by focussing on the anja chakra (aka the pineal gland, aka the third eye)…

Before the track had ended, another feeling came to me. For some reason I thought of Laura my reiki master, and specifically the last time I had had reiki. At the time, I recall that she had her leg in a cast, and when she was doing reiki on me she centred on my right knee, and said that she felt there was something there, a blockage, a blockage that came with a certain level of frustration. After leaving, I turned to my wife and said that maybe Laura was picking up her own frustrations from me, in that her ligament damage had recently prevented her from starting up SUP (Stand Up Paddle Boarding), and it was she that was frustrated not me.

So there I was, lying in the bath with the remnants of cellulitis (yes on my right knee), acknowledging to myself that I was not taking part in a triathlon this year…

#2 Something Fishy going on
After my ‘karma’ bath, I went into the bedroom and for some reason the iPad was on. There was a track playing which was ‘State of Mind’ by Fish. Very odd I thought, not only due to the title of the track, but that no one ever listens to that album but me and I hadn’t switched it on. What was even weirder was the text message I was about to send. A chum had sent me a text to see how my leg was getting on, and for some totally bizarre reason, the word ‘still’ (“I am still in recovery mode” was that actual text) was replaced by ‘Marillion’ by the predictive text on my iPhone, Fish being the ex-lead singer of the band Marillion…

#3 Oooooooooooo (no I’m not talking about the Moto GP)
After I had retired for the evening, I decided to look for a local meditation circle near to where I live. I found one, and also opened the page again which had the translation of the mahamrityunjaya mantra. The page itself was quite interesting and goes on to state that there are 7 levels of consciousness:


Looking through each one, I found that when one reaches the highest state of consciousness (realisation, enlightenment) through yoga/meditation, then a specific mantra is adopted:

I am a Wave in the Ocean of Bliss. I and the Ocean are One. I am Ocean. I am That…

Reading this sent me back to when I was 20. I recall lying there in a still, blackened room, tripping my nuts off from too much THC. I recall the feeling of being burying in the sand up to my head, with wave after wave from the ocean hitting me bang on in the face (I believe the experience is called ‘sledging’). It was the next day that the sound of the waves in consciousness started (my tinnitus), and the waves have not left me ever since…

#1 Forty-Two
I’ve said many times over the last 12 months that for some reason, the number 42 is significant. The amount of times that number has popped up is becoming significant. As is customary these days, Saturday morning are me and pooch time. I’m always up first, and normally leave the masses in bed after delivering the obligatory cup of breakfast tea to the significant other. As it’s getting cold, we purchased Charlie a tartan winter coat, so on it went, as did the gloves and scarf (not his) and the next podcast in the Anthony Peake series (only 2 left now). This one was a rather lengthy one which I only got half way through, and was quite intrigued to hear him coin the phrase ‘Synchondipity’ which is a glued together / bastardisation of the words synchronicity (the simultaneous occurrence of events which appear significantly related but have no discernible causal connection) and serendipity (the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way).

My mind wanders whilst out on the long Saturday walks, a time which I can release the mind from the trappings of the world and enslavery to the corporation. Shortly after passing the Black Pearl, which is (or rather was due to the recent storm surge) a pirate boat built from driftwood, Charlie decided to try and descend one of the old precarious staircases to the River Mersey (which had been cordoned off with some ‘barberesque’ red and white tape).

On seeing him loitering dangerously, I went over to the promenade wall/staircase and called him away, and as he did so, he revealed to me a number on the promenade floor. A painted yellow number. The only number I could see that was painted on the whole of the promenade actually. The number was of course 42…


#2 It’s a secret
A friend of ours has recent split from her long term partner of sixteen years and is feeling a bit down about things, as can be expected at the end of a relationship. We got to talking in the evening and I went on to explain how yoga, meditation and reiki had helped me move certain negativities in my life, which included a path from feelings of frustration/anger to feelings of indifference (I’m of the opinion that emotions are attached to love, emotions are attached to hate and whilst in those states, one cannot move on and can only do so once indifference has set in).

I also went on to ask her if she was a reader, and that a colleague of mine had given me a book in the blackened days of 2012 when I was in a dark place, and if she would like it, I would drop it off at her house in the morning. She asked me what it was called, and after I gave her the title of ‘The Secret’, her eyes widened and she looked quite shocked. I asked her what was the reaction for, and she said that before her daughter went back down to London from a recent trip up north, she left a book on her bedside table that she thought she would help her. It was of course ‘The Secret’…

#1 Flash before my eyes
Sundays mornings usually involves a local trip to the cinema as our wonderful independent picture house has a kids club at the weekend, and the prices for films are greatly reduced. As my daughter had recently broke her leg in school (not by being pushed ‘overboard’ by her mum), she gets pushed around by wheelchair temporarily (which she temporarily enjoys no end), so a trip to the cinema which has good provision for less able-bodied folks held no fear. Before we left the house, Keira was complaining about the seat belt being tight, so I chose not to put it on her. As there is little/no traffic around on Sunday mornings at 9am, there was little/no risk.

So off we went to see the Moshi Monster Movie, which not a classic to be fair, devoid of  synchronicity (perhaps with the exception of Bobby Singsong, the Indian ‘Jollywood’ Moshi star who led a fine Moshi dance and got up to some serious sitar-based shenanigans).

After the lights went on, I carried her back to the wheelchair and this time decided to strap her in, to her mild annoyance. We left the cinema and waited for the lights to change to red. As we were talking about the movie, we heard the beep-beep sounding off so we began to cross the road along with a elderly couple next to us. We got to within a few feet on the centre line when a double-decker bus ran the red light right in front of us, forcing me to stop the chair dead in its tracks, with a little jolt to my daughter, possibly enough to push her out of her chair if she was not strapped in by the safety belt.

The driver realised that he was at fault, and in slow motion I had time to stop the wheelchair, to look at Keira to check she was ok, to look around at the elderly couple and to see the driver raise both arms up in the air as if to register his apologies for a potential calamitous event. He was going fast still (probably 25-30 mph), so I think that if we were slightly more advanced in the road, or her belt was not on, something quite serious could have occurred. But not today. Today was not that day. Thankfully.

So what was it that made me put the seat belt on, was it a return of health and safety obligations that I never had on my outward journey to the cinema, or was it something else, something precognative?

Kids are kids, and pushing her on up the hill towards home, she stated that the bus driver was a silly man, and that he needed more driving lessons. How true…

#2 Plate up
After getting my daughter back to the house and telling my wife what had happened (who wanted to contact the bus company to register her disgust immediately), I had a quick coffee and then went back down the hill to the store to get some provisions for lunch, which gave me a chance to pop on / finish my Anthony Peake podcast.

Now Tony is an avid fan of the works of Philip K Dick (an American science fiction writer who’s worked has been referenced or made onto film – such as Total Recall, Minority Report, A Scanner Darkly). In the interview, he cites a strange case of ‘synchondipity’, whereby he was approached by a group of students post-lecture who claimed that the reason why they were at his lecture, was that one of them was picking up a book from the library the day before and saw the poster for the lecture which had a picture of Tony next to a cover of the book Valis by Philip K Dick. The student in question went on to tell Tony that the book he picked up from the library was in fact Valis by Philip K Dick.

Picture the scene then on the M53 motorway not 2 hours late if you will, when I took the exit towards Bromborough and at the end of the slip road I was at the lights, stationary, behind a Range Rover with the personalised number plate of V14 LSS…

#1 I see faces and traces of home
I have often wondering how complex the mind is, specifically the unconscious or subconscious. I had the most vivid dream in the most minute detail last night. Nothing incredibly interesting happened, there was no boat, I did not fall out of bed. What did amaze me was the level of detail. I’ve never been to New York, but I recall walking through a part of Manhattan (for some reason the skyscrapers were not as tall) but every side to every build, every height, every different shaped window, every corner was conceived in full OLED quality. I had a meeting with an aging line-faced Russian project manager in an impeccable office, yet the signs on the doors were scrawled notes in red pen, on paper ripped from tatty notepads. Afterwards she directed me to my hotel which was literally next door, that had some sort of ship theme to it (the hotel was in the street but it looked like the side of a cruise ship deck).

So that was the dream. No spectacular events, just spectacular detail. It is astounding how one can create something so complex, and on that note, if ones unconscious/subconscious state can create something so magnificent, who’s to say that our conscious state isn’t doing the exact same thing…

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