Power, Fear, The Rational Mind, and What Are You Focusing On?
A Gradius and Ragon Session Channeled by Kristen N. Fox and Rebecca Mundt

Power

Power, another interesting concept. In your culture, power is seen as dangerous, corrupting, and at the same time highly desirable. Something which everyone seeks to attain and yet which ultimately is capable of destroying even the purest and highest. The dichotomy of this thinking itself leads you to the understanding of the nature of power if you allow it to. The truth is, you ARE all powerful, spiritual beings. The deception is in thinking that the power you seek is outside of yourselves. Is this beginning to sound familiar? The further deception is that the power you seek is over others outside of yourself. When the only power you have ever needed, you have always contained, which is the power of creation in your own reality. And this power, when understood, when appreciated, and accepted as a natural component of the event of your beingness, moves easily and perfectly and displays itself in the joy and ease of your creation. It is not corrupting; it is not corruptible. Instead it is the opposite. It is all encompassing, and it is totally freeing. And the beauty of this power is that the source or shall we say the path, to unlocking it is directly, unequivocally, and perfectly aligned with your own self-trust and understanding of the larger self.

You cannot move into or operate from this powerful place of your beingness without integrating the understanding of the larger self. To put it another way, it is actually impossible to use this power in any way other than for goodness and creation. We can hear the arguments already. But understand that which you term as misuse of power in the outer perspective, that is to say, one using "power" to oppress, restrict, or subjugate another, is never the use of true power and is wholly dependent upon the willingness and cooperation of the subjugated to deliver themselves powerless to their oppressor. This is not another case of 'blame the victim,' it is only an accurate description of what occurs in these events. And we want to point out here that these events are only possible when those operating within these events are functioning under the self-imposed strictures and limitations of the separated self. This should be obvious enough as the separated self is the only way to experience powerlessness. Keep in mind as you consider these ideas that the perfection of your creation IS. And that all of these self-imposed limitations have allowed you to experience the knowingness of self in a wholly new way, which has brought about the possibilities of integration of a conscious mind with the larger self. When you consider this, then perhaps the experience seems worthwhile.

Fear, the Rational Mind, and What Are You Focusing On?

Beneath the fear is the knowing. But of course you already knew that. It is not a question of whether or not the rational mind impedes the process, it is a question of connecting to the knowing, placing your investment or your energy where it goes naturally as opposed to rising above it and into the chatter of fear. The chatter is always available and when you are experiencing your knowing it's just that you are not tuned into the chatter. Your unfortunate propensity to test yourselves on all things creates a sense of challenge, the possibility of failure, fear, etc. While at the same time your knowingness would tell you that you cannot avoid your own creation. Watch how you immediately shift out of the knowing, back into questions - which creation can you not avoid? More misapplication of the rational mind. Remember it is not your job to control with the rational mind. It is merely your job to observe and choose.

When you follow your impulses from your place of knowing, the results will lead you to your true choices. When you follow the rational mind's doubt, the results will lead you into fear, a sense of powerlessness, the urge to take some action. In your knowing of perfection, and your knowing of trust, allow the fear to dissolve into the nothingness that it is. When you overlook or ignore the choice to go to your knowingness, when you prefer the drama to the calm sense of what is, and to the knowing of your perfect safety, then you set up in yourself, all of those things which you continually protest you are trying to avoid. You cannot move toward something and avoid it at the same time. Therefore, suggest to yourself that this is merely an old pattern which it is quite simple for you to let go of by turning in a new direction. As you do this, the fear will make itself evident and you can release it. Remind yourself in these moments that you DO create your own reality. And ask yourself specifically, what you choose to experience. Remember to be gentle with yourself and to acknowledge yourself for moving in a new and opposite direction from the standard party line. It would be quite simple to follow the old patterns - to buy the beliefs of fear and powerlessness, but that is not your choice. And since it is not your choice, you have made a great leap into the unknown and you do this based primarily, solely on your own internal knowing. Commend yourself.

Fear of Consequences, Deliberate Choice from Knowing, Looking Outside for "Proof"

Remind yourself that the consequences, although they seem to be dire, are actually quite minor indeed. They do not cut your head off, no matter the infraction when we are talking about electric bills. And so in one sense you can comfort yourself with the idea that the experiment you are running, while it has consequences, is not life-threatening. This is also a good time to remember that linear time is composed of moments, pieced together, and not consecutive. So the question is, what moments do you choose, what result do you want, what experience do you want to extend into your future, what experience do you want to keep in your present? When you ask yourself these questions, do not ask them from the background of what is possible from the rational point of view, ask the questions from your point of knowing. From your position of standing in absolute freedom. From a place of trusting yourself completely, to be able to have whatever it is you choose. For to do anything else places you outside of your power and entrenches you firmly in the outer perspective of powerlessness.

Recognize that these choices place you nicely within the realm of the heretic. We suggest to you that this is not a bad place to be at all. And the more firmly you anchor yourself in your own knowing and truth, the more true this becomes. But you know, based on your own understanding, that choosing anything less is choosing powerlessness, is choosing arbitrary rules of physical time and space as your keepers. You know better. We remind you of this and suggest that you continue to remind yourselves. Your experience in interactions with others tends to support old beliefs so long as you are looking outside of yourself for what is going on.

(c)1996, Becky Burke and Kristen Fox. For a complete listing of the Gradius and Ragon sessions please visit the Conscious Creation website. These sessions are also available in book form, click here to learn more. And checkout the Conscious Creation Shop for a wide variety of metaphysically based gifts.

A New Friend
by Anu

as I was leaving the hospital today,
I was laughing and joking
with the nurses and technicians
suddenly I felt something,
I turned around

curly hairs, light brown skin
eyes are dark black and lovely too
but this little girl of 7 is slightly different
she has a catheter in her neck and
her bright eyes are whispering little words to me

I saw this little girl staring at me
something about her big beautiful round eyes
and her curly locks, I was falling in love
I smiled and waved out to her
her silent big eyes suddenly brightened and
she waved back
smiling the sweetest smile I've ever seen

she is Nimisha, and on dialysis
she does not talk or smile to anyone
perhaps in my eyes she saw no sympathy
but a precious glee and delight for her
maybe she saw another 7yr old little girl in me
this is going to be the beginning of
a wondrous friendship and
I'm so excited about my new friend

Love
anu

The Skull (Parts 30, 31 and "Explained")
by Donald R Johnson

Part 30
An interlude…

I had a sinking feeling but I attributed it to the nature of the beanbag chair that I was engulfed in. I laughed nervously and coughed out some smoke. In the background I could hear Frank Zappa's "A Token of my Extreme" and I knew that it must be 1983… but of course it was; what a strange thought.

Strange thought! I laughed again and Daria laughed too for reasons of her own. I looked closely at her as I passed the joint to her. I laughed again as I thought of the small effect the marijuana would have on top of the psychedelic mushrooms but we had reached that point where we had to try anyway.

Daria, the Girl-Next-Door. Her image faded back through changes into other dimensions. Visually blond and cute, then dark-haired and pale and sweet, then with an overtone of dreamworld she was definitely freaking me out, and when I thought about the fact that she was my most intimate friend tonight I wondered "why me, why now?" and "why not?". But then a power grabbed me by the mind and showed me this…

I saw reality split into a number of paths. I saw dream patterns in which our two homes, right next to each other, were linked together. I saw Daria and I married, apart, rejoining after a few years. I dreamed a hundred dreams in which I visited my old home from my reality in the future… and she was always right next door.

I saw a reality where we fell apart for years. We dreamed together and never consciously realized that we were only a word away from each other… but we were still linked. We met nightly in a house in a blue dream reality and we made plans for remodeling all three floors of the house when we weren't playing naked hide and seek in the darkness in the dozens of rooms.

The drugs were just a physical excuse, a way to allow the perceptions through but they took a toll on my body and mind. As I fell into unconsciousness I knew that I would be talking to my Daria across the fence that marked the border between her dream home and mine after I had negotiated the path through the ponds in the gardens in my ancestral backyard.

Reality – do we really assign the proper significance to the most real experiences? I haven't seen Daria in 20 years in this reality, but in a most real sense, I am with her every night and I hope to merge the two worlds, if I can…

This one is for you Daria – you can tell me tonight what you think…

11-18-2006

I woke up with a small headache and that drained feeling you get after partying too much the night before.

The sky was gray and I was surrounded by gray walls; the ground was gray and hard. I stood up and saw that I was in a Roman-type arena. I slowly looked around. The seats were all empty and I could hear something banging in the light breeze.

There was a spark at the other end of the arena. It grew larger and became the form of a woman walking towards me. She wore a white tunic that rippled in the breeze as she walked. She wore a golden circlet on her brown hair and she held a staff in her left hand. She stopped about ten feet away and frowned at me.

She said, "Hi Dobbie, how's it hanging? You look like crap."

It was Varilna, of course. I replied, "Ow, Varilna, my head hurts. Why am I here now?"

Varilna smirked, "What? You had such a good time hiding in the past. Didn't your frolicking and indulgences heal you? Isn't that why you went there – to forget your challenges?"

I was surprised; Varilna looked pissed. "What's the problem? I needed a rest so I took a break. I can do that, can't I?"

She said, "Well that depends on whether you are taking a break or just avoiding reality. People need breaks now and then but if you are avoiding reality then you are just being a pussy."

A fog started to settle on my vision and that vision also narrowed a bit. "Pussy?! Do you really think that's what I am?"

"I wonder. Some people use substances to allow them to dull reality to a level that they can handle. Why do you feel that you have to dull your senses? What are you trying to forget? You want to become a god – what kind of god would you really be? You can't even create a decent reality for yourself without crapping out!"

She had been moving closer all this time and now she reached out with her hand and shoved me to emphasize her point.

I reached a point and I lost control, "Don't push me, bitch! Don't you ever push me! Nobody is ever going to push me again!"

The fog had almost totally obscured my view. I caught fire as I screamed at Varilna and the blast burned the fog away. With a smoking hand I pointed at her and started to direct my inner flame and fury towards her.

She lifted her hand. In her hand she held a mirror and in that mirror I saw something that put my fire out. In the mirror I saw the pale horror that was the face of Count Rydeen and it was my face as well.

I fell to the ground and held my head in my hands while my eyes watered the ground beneath me. "Oh god, Varilna, what the hell am I doing? What can I do? I am just so damn tired of being me."

I heard her say, "So Dobbie, the secret is out now; you're not perfect and it is time that you stopped hating yourself for that. You'll never be perfect. However, you can work on forgiving yourself for having faults. Join the rest of us and we can show you how we work on these issues."

Hope is a small child that holds out her hand to you when you feel like shit. But you have to feel that way sometimes before it really means anything.

11-19-2006

Varilna and Dobbie are sitting on a large brown rock in the middle of a pond. The pond floats in a blue sky and the waters flow out and downward like a circular waterfall. The falling water makes a pleasant sound.

Varilna is wearing an iridescent lizard which moves about but manages to conceal all of the important parts. Dobbie wears a rather natty looking suit from the 1940s. To be specific, it is from the period known as the 1940's, in the Western Christian Era, at the dawn of the 1st American Period and about 2000 years before The Civilization of Mankind… at least in certain probable universes.

Dobbie clears his throat and says "Well, we have received a request. The author of this story thinks we should take the time to straighten out a few things. Basically, he feels that the readers might be having trouble figuring out what is really going on."

"Yes", adds Varilna, "And the author of a story gets to decide what happens, most of the time. So, I'll go first.

"I am always Varilna, so far, except for that time when I was Debbie and was also her Greater Self. I am not Daria. She is a friend from Dobbie's past, and she's a bit of a slut too."

Dobbie says, "Hey, wait a minute…"

"I'm not done yet. You'll get your chance. Ok, Daria is a good slut – is that better?

"Anyway, Dobbie was making plans for his future, mostly in the dream world, though there was input from his focuses, or is that `foci'? Foci just doesn't sound right; loci, hoci poci. See what I mean?"

Dobbie takes over, "I am usually known as Balaar, at least in the overworld and in the inner city, so you can call me Balaar right now. I am not a source self, nor am I a focus. I am something in between those two states of being.

"A source has parts of itself in many worlds, and also in places that are not worlds. There are parts of itself that it designates as `overseers', which are sort of `subsources'. These subsources act as mini sources for focuses that live in distinct areas of reality. In other words, any focuses that exist in the world that you know, have a subsource that is familiar with both the source and the intimate details of your world. This subsource has also been called oversoul by some.

"I am familiar with the lives of the focuses in my area of reality and I help them in the real world, if they are receptive, and also in the dream world.

"In a physical world, I am Dobson Hayes, who will someday become Balaar. In the dream world, he learns from Varilna, and he wants to become a god.

"In other worlds, I am Ahote', Taktawah, and others. In some worlds I am Don Riley and Don Raleigh but those are other stories. These are some of the focuses in my care; there will be others in this story. One of my focuses is actually the author I mentioned.

"In the dream world, I am anyone I want to be, or need to be. Make sense?"

Varilna smiles, "You are supposed to be making this clear to the readers, instead you pour mud in their eyes."

Balaar says, "It will make sense to them at one level or another, and it can still be a good story. This story is very popular on many worlds, in many versions."

Varilna makes a face, "So how do we explain Count Rydeen?"

"We can't. That would ruin the story. Let's just say that you and I know who he is but that Dobson Hayes does not find out until later on." Balaar looks at the reader and says, "He's not my father, ok? I swear, I am tempted to go with it. Ever since that Star Wars thing – `Luke, I am your father', it's such a cliché now."

Varilna holds her nose and waves a hand in front of her face, "Ok, we're just being silly now. Enough said, Mister Author?"

Balaar points at Varilna and says, "You got that lizard idea from a book that I read, didn't you? The concept is familiar!"

As the two of them fade out, we hear Varilna say, "Oh Balaar, all of the good ideas have been used somewhere in the Multiverse. It's what you do with them that counts. I look damned good in this!"

(Author's note: This story has two beginnings, countless episodes, and one ending. Somehow, I will put it in a nice package.)

11-22-2006

A Walk Off the End of the World - Part 1 of 2
by John J. McNally

The following story is an account of an experience I had back in 1993. At the time I had been reading metaphysical texts for about 5 years, and had my share of mind-expanding experiences, however this one was to blow me completely away. It actually began as I stepped out of my apartment on my way to work. I felt my consciousness divide, one part traveling the road in the story below, and one going through the daily routine of my job. At the time, I worked as a clerk in the back office of a brokerage in the kind of job that requires lots of focus. I have no idea how I managed to function in my job through that day; except that I do remember the experience would remain paused when I needed all my focus in physical reality. Whenever I had a free moment however for example: during lunch or on the subway, I began to transcribe the below text, which relates the story as best as I can. The experience and the transcription lasted throughout the day and finally finished somewhere about ten o'clock that night.

I took a walk one day off the end of the world. It didn't happen suddenly but rather a gradual change in the landscape as I walked. First, the houses vanished, and with them the streetlights and other comfortable reminders of city life. Next was the pavement, which turned to a loose gravelly sand under my feet. And finally, the trees thinned out, bushes and weeds stopped growing, there was only the path, weakly lit by the light of the waning moon.

As I continued on the path, I saw a form hunched over on the ground. It was a little girl. Her face and clothes were covered with the soot and dirt of the road. Small tracks of brightness down her face indicated that she had been crying recently.

"Are you lost?" I asked, not sure if I knew where I was myself.

"No," she responded sadly, "I'm being punished. I've been bad."

I looked at this frightened, weather-beaten child, and tried to imagine anything bad enough to warrant being dumped here.

"What did you do?"

"Lots of things," she answered. "But I don't want to talk about them."

"Whatever you've done can't be that bad - you're only a child."

"Will you forgive me?" she asked, eyes hopeful.

"There's nothing to forgive, you haven't hurt me."

"Just say you forgive me, please."

"Okay," I sighed, suddenly becoming aware of how difficult those words were to say, "I forgive you."

Instantly she threw her arms around me and cried, between her sobs she tried to say thank you. I held her, and was surprised at the healing energy that flowed between us. After she calmed a bit I asked her to walk with me. We journeyed together in silence, occasionally she looked up at me with a little smile, but for miles nothing was said.

Finally we came upon a break in the landscape. Up ahead we could see what looked like a valley. Dawn was approaching and tinges of fresh green were visible in the gray light. As the path dipped into the valley, we came across a symbol drawn in the sand. It was a triangle, equilateral, with a circle drawn on each point.

"This is important," said the little girl, "but I don't remember what it means."

We stepped carefully around it and walked the gently sloping path into the valley below. Here, for the first time in hours, were green living plants, trees, and fresh running water. The first shafts of sunlight were touching the leaves and I was dumbfounded by the scope of its beauty.

"We shouldn't be here," said the little girl.

'Why? It's so beautiful. What is this place?"

"The Monk lives here," she said, "He's mean."

"Was he the one who left you out on the road?"

"No," she answered, "I've never met him. I just know he's mean."

We walked on a bit, the path now lined on each side and covered with a soft green carpet of grass. Around us were birds of all sizes and shapes imaginable. Small forest animals would stare at us curiously as we walked by, yet none seemed afraid, apparently man never hunted here.

"He's coming! He's coming!" the little girl wrapped herself around my legs, petrified of the approaching figure.

It was easy to see why this man could frighten a child. He wore a black cloak and was deeply stooped as he walked; his steps were measured and careful, giving him an "Igor" like demeanor.

He looked up at me from beneath his hood, pale gray eyes showing fear, and possibly contempt. He motioned for us to follow him, off the path for a short distance, to the small cabin where he lived.

The cabin was pretty in its own way. A solid almost cubed structure, with a slightly peaked roof. The wood outside had been treated with a shellac like substance which gave it an unusual luster. Inside the cabin were two rooms, the kitchen, and the monk's bedroom. Both were plain and rather drab. The kitchen had a fireplace for cooking and a small square table with two wooden chairs. On the table were two bowls of some sort of porridge.

'I guess you were expecting us."

He looked at me strangely, as if he didn't know what to make of me, then he turned away and walked out the door.

The little girl and I sat and ate the porridge. It was good and nourishing, but very bland.

"I told you he was mean." This was the first time the little girl had spoken since arriving here.

"He's not so bad, after all, he's given us food."

"But he looked at us like we're bugs!"

"Yeah, I noticed that, but I think it's been a long time since he's seen any people."

"A very long time," she said matter of factly. 'Longer than I was out on that stupid road."

"And how long were you out there anyway?" I asked.

"Years and years, it felt like forever."

I didn't want to fight with her, but she certainly had to be over-dramatizing.

"You don't believe me," she said in a small voice. "You don't know."

"What don't I know?"

"Never mind. I'm not telling."

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly and rocked her body. Her face was locked in a tight pout, as if she was fighting back another crying fit. I decided to leave her for a while and try talking to the Monk, but as I walked through the greenery to search for him, my little friend was right behind me.

"You can wait there in the cabin," I said kindly. 'I won't leave without you."

"I'm not supposed to leave you," she said.

I puzzled over that for a second, but decided to continue my search for the Monk.

'He's over that way, plantin' trees." said the little girl, pointing left. Intuitively I knew she was right, so I walked in the direction of her finger.

We found him fifteen minutes later, pushing a wheelbarrow full of strange seeds. I offered to take the wheelbarrow, but he brushed me off coldly, once again measuring me with that same look. We followed him in silence until he reached the border of the valley. Cautiously he approached the dirt border and from his pocket he sprinkled some tiny seeds.

In moments, small green stems sprung from the earth, and in under a minute, the formerly barren patch was alive and green. Then, he took a small trowel from his cloak, and began digging a small hole in the newly planted ground. While he was busy, I couldn't resist sneaking one of his seeds out of the wheelbarrow. I cast a quick glance at my tiny companion and she smiled back shaking her head up and down.

The seed felt somehow warm and alive in my hand - it almost glowed - and as the Monk picked himself up off the ground, I cast the seed far into the sand. The Monk's jaw dropped as he saw my motion, the smallest of cries escaping his throat. He stared at me in shock, eyes blazing with hatred for what I had just done.

"Oh look!" cried the little girl, pointing at where the seed had landed.

A long thick green stem was snaking its way upward; on its head was a single large bud. The bud burst open into a beautiful, giant flower, an explosion of bright pink lighting up the surrounding blighted area. Even after blooming, the flower continued to grow and metamorphose. Tiny stems, which had burst from the bud, continued to grow and thicken. Within the space of ten minutes there stood healthy blooming trees, where before had been only dust.

The Monk had never said a word throughout this development. He merely watched, with lines of abject fear upon his face.

'Do more! Do more!" the little girl cried in delight. "Let's do lots more!"

She ran over to the wheelbarrow, but was intercepted by the Monk who moved with surprising speed.

"AIEE!" her scream was ear piercing as the Monk laid his hand upon her. "No, let me go!" she howled as the Monk solidified his grip on her arm.

'Hey, take it easy on her," I said, moving towards the pair.

"Don't let him touch you!" she screamed.

But it was too late. The Monk's hand darted out like a snake and the moment I felt its contact, everything went dark.

I awoke in pain. For days I'd been having stomach problems, but today was something worse. I tried to call to my husband, but I could barely get the sound out. My body felt awkward and sluggish. I was burning with fever. Finally my daughter, Angelica, heard me and came in to see what was wrong.

"What is it Mommy? What's the matter?"

For a second she looked like a stranger to me, then I realized it was just that she looked so dirty, like she hadn't been bathed in weeks.

"Angelica, honey, Mommy needs a doctor. Where's your daddy?"

"Daddy had a plumbing job. He's mad 'cause you sleep too much."

A brief wave of fear passed through me as I thought of my husband and his temper. "Go downstairs to Mrs. Collins. Tell her to call an ambulance."

"I'm scared, Mommy." Angelica cried, suddenly bursting into tears.

"It's okay, sweetheart, but I need you to be a big girl right now. Go downstairs to Mrs. Collins. Tell her that I need an ambulance, okay?

"Okay," she bit her lower lip and then ran from the room. I buried my head back into the pillow and smiled, at least I had done one good thing in my useless life. If only Thomas weren't so violent, if only.

I drifted into sleep for a while and experienced some strange visions. I saw the ambulance men placing me on their truck. Why did I look so pale? I drifted close enough to the driver to hear the word "appendicitis". 'So that's what I have,' I thought, 'They had better do something quick or I will die.'

Meanwhile, I saw Angelica, holding onto Mrs. Collins for dear life. I followed them back into her apartment, wishing somehow I could communicate, just to tell my daughter that I was alright.

I saw my brother-in-law, Joey, enter the house and thank Mrs. Collins for watching Angelica. I heard her ask "How is Marlena?" Joey only shrugged and said he was waiting for a call.

Angelica didn't want to leave - her fear of her Uncle was almost tangible. I never really liked Joe, but I couldn't recall him ever doing anything to Angelica.

"Can I make mommy a get well card?" she asked.

My brother-in-law barely answered her a mere mumble and a nod, as he headed towards the refrigerator to look for a beer.

Angelica, meanwhile, had something special planned to make her Mommy feel better. She took two pieces of drawing paper and attached them lengthwise with Scotch tape. Then, she took out her markers, and her paint set.

While she began making the card, the phone rang inside. I listened as Joe just shook his head and said, "Oh, my God," over and over.

'What could have happened? Did Tom get hurt rushing to the hospital?!"

"Oh, no - my card!" cried Angelica. I turned to see the small jar of red children's paint spilled sideways across the homemade card, and drip down onto the living room rug.

"What's going on in there!?" Joe's voice made my blood freeze. I watched in fear as he barreled into the room.

"What the hell is this! Look at this fucking mess you made, you stupid kid!"

Fear quickly turned to helpless rage as I tried to tell him to shut up.

Angelica was now on the floor behind the easy chair; terrified.

He strode across the room removing his belt in a fluid effortless motion. He reached behind the chair and jerked her out with his powerful arm.

"This is what you get for ruining the carpet!" he snarled and the belt came down with a whack.

"Mommy!" she screamed, "Mommy, help!"

I tried, I tried to do anything, but I was helpless except to watch.

"Your Mommy's dead, you little bitch! She's dead! And it's your fault for being such a bad girl!"

I was horrified at what he was doing to my daughter. I tried to stand between them but his blows passed right through me. It wasn't until after the beating finally ended that I realized what he had said.

Dead, me? Really dead? Where was the fanfare, the pearly gates, St. Peter? I didn't feel dead. In fact, I felt very alive, and if I could touch things, I'd show Joey just how alive I was.

Finally Angelica fell asleep crying, her back arms, and legs a mass of bruises and welts. I noticed that Joey carefully avoided her face. I had always suspected but now understood why his wife had run away one night and never came back.

Days passed. I saw the funeral arrangements made. I stayed around the house and watched my brooding husband and his brother drink themselves into a nightly coma. Angelica was left basically to take care of herself. No question was ever raised about her bruises.

But then nobody ever asked about mine either.

Images began to turn fuzzy and years passed by in a blur. I saw images of Angelica fighting in school, being hit by her father, and on what looked like a New Years Ever party, raped by her Uncle. Finally, the scene slowed again one final time. Angelica was a teenager, a pretty girl, despite her brutal life. She was in a park with her friends. They looked like a street gang, in her hand was a bottle of beer.

I watched in sadness as she downed one beer after another. Then one of the boys started passing around pills. Angelica downed them with a vengeance. Soon she was lying there alone and cold in the night air, a chilling and depressing end to what could have been a beautiful life.

Slowly the garden came back into focus, the Monk stood before me, no longer holding me. Angelica was there too, only she turned and fled as soon as she got her bearings. "Angelica! Wait!" I ran after her, feeling suddenly very heavy in a physical body once again. I chased her through the garden for some time until I gave up. I had lost her.

"Angelica, come back! I'm not mad at you! I love you!"

From a thick stand of bushes came a small voice. "But I killed you. I was a bad girl and I made you die."

Tears filled my eyes at the horrible sincerity she spoke with.

"You didn't kill me, honey. You had nothing to do with it. I died because I couldn't take the beatings anymore, and I couldn't summon the courage to leave."

"But you left me, Mommy, and then Uncle Joe and Daddy..." She broke into tears again, completely overwhelmed by their power.

"I know I left you, sweetheart, and I'm sorry, but I couldn't live with the beatings anymore. When I met you on the road you asked me to forgive you, and I did. Now I ask you forgive me."

"But," she hiccupped, " I was bad, not you."

"Please, I said, "It's important to me."

"Okay," she said, stepping out of the bushes. "I forgive you."

I wrapped my arms around her and we cried for a long time. Finally, when we both felt better, we went back to find the Monk. We returned first to the cabin and got ourselves a drink of water. There was no sign of the Monk to be found.

"Wait. Listen." said Angelica.

Far off in the distance we could hear music. A haunting melody of sadness and longing, played on some sort of flute.

"He wants us to come."

I didn't question how Angelica knew these things. It had become obvious that she was more at home here than I.

We followed the sound of the flute, and very soon found ourselves following the same path that brought us here. Only we were continuing deeper into the valley. As we walked, I had a brief vision of the old Pied Piper leading the rats their destruction. As soon as the vision appeared, it was gone, however, its strength drowned out by a deep inner feeling of trust. I took Angelica's hand in mine and together we walked on to the source of the music.

We came upon him at the far end of the valley. Here everything was still green and beautiful, but much of it was enshrouded in mist. He was sitting on a large rock, a small bamboo flute in his hands. Past the rock the mist became unbearably opaque.

Our now familiar path seemed to fork and branch in all directions. One moment it looked as if it led through more of this paradise, the next I saw the barren plains that I had crossed to get here. Seeing us, the Monk stopped playing his flute and turned to regard us with his indecipherable gaze.

Seeing us holding hands, I could swear that just for a second he smiled. Not a real smile, but that tiny flicker you sometimes catch your parents doing when they are trying to lecture you.

"He smiled. I saw it!" Angelica exclaimed. "I saw you smile!"

The Monk made no response, but instead resumed playing his flute. The melody was strangely familiar, yet I couldn't place it, or even the time frame it was composed in. We sat and listened, and when he finished he looked to the mists, as if expecting some sort of response. I decided that this would be a good time to apologize for upsetting him earlier, and perhaps give myself a chance to learn more about this strange land.

"I am sorry about earlier. I didn't know that my action would upset you so much."

He looked at me and opened his palms in a gesture of helplessness. His stare told me that he didn't really believe me.

"You're right, of course. I knew that disturbing the seeds would upset you. But somehow it just felt right. It felt good to see that seed take root, and become something so beautiful, especially in such a dry and empty land.

Now the Monk really did allow himself a brief smile, and a nod of sympathy. This was a feeling with which he was quite familiar.

"This place is so beautiful," I said curiously, "But, if you can spread the seeds further, beyond the valley floor, then why not just hurl them out by the handful?"

He lowered his head and closed his eyes for a moment, looking regretful. When he raised his head again he held out his hands, palms up, before him. He wanted me to touch them, that much I understood. My body however was reluctant to move - I was almost paralyzed with fear.

He waited patiently, expectantly, but I just couldn't bring myself to walk towards him. I stood there in helpless rage, railing against my body for its sudden refusal to obey. I was almost ready to give up when my hand moved, just a little, and I became aware of something off in the distance.

It was music, a melody not unlike the one the Monk had played on the flute; this one, however, was full of joy and inspiration. It gave me the strength I needed to move my body. I crossed the distance to the Monk easily, and took a firm hold of both his hands. Instantly, the world around me faded, and I once again found myself drifting into a deep sleep. Part Two will appear in next month's issue of the SNJ.

Announcements, Links and Shopping

Sethworld - A board game based on the Seth Material

Explore your beliefs! Stretch your imagination! Delve into your dreams! Challenge your creativity!

Seven years in the making, I am so pleased to be able to offer you SethWorld - The Game of All That Is! SethWorld is a totally unique game, the first metaphysical board game based on the Seth material - maybe the first metaphysical board game, ever! It is designed to explore and uncover beliefs while having fun. There are no winners, no losers, and NO RULES! A 24-page pamphlet included with the game gives a probable framework for play, 6 sample "moves," and a glossary of 61 concepts.

SethWorld -- You've never played anything like it!

Marion the Magnet’s First Mission
By Sharon Hackleman
Illustrated by John Blair Moore

Marion the Magnet is chosen to travel to the planet Earth with his wise grandfather to teach the children about their own magnetic powers…the magnetic power of thought!

In the book Marion helps a young girl, Katie, understand the importance of thinking and daydreaming about what she wants to attract with her magnetic powers of thought. When the other children are using their magnetic powers to attract fun things such as skateboards and new video games Katie is trying to use her magnetic powers to help her family through a challenging situation. Her father has been out of work for sometime and they are close to the point of becoming homeless.

WHAT A COINCIDENCE Understanding Synchronicity In Everyday Life
by Susan M Watkins

Overview:

What if all those seemingly insignificant little What a coincidence! moments you've experienced were actually connected, were part of a larger, more complex coincidence story?

What if they were hinting at something very personal and important about yourself—and about the workings of human consciousness?

Would you listen?

Susan Watkins does. For more than 35 years she's been documenting and studying the coincidences that have happened in her life. What she's discovered is that seemingly simple coincidences—thinking of an old friend and their calling seconds later, for example—are often pieces of larger, more complex and meaningful "coincidence clusters."

A former newspaper reporter and the author of five books, Watkins has always been intrigued by coincidences—what they mean in our everyday lives, and in the grander scheme of things. What, she asks, do these coincidence clusters say about human consciousness and human connection? In What a Coincidence! she presents coincidence clusters that are utterly astounding. What they reveal is life- altering.

What a Coincidence! is an exciting, groundbreaking journey. Along the way Watkins offers profound insights as well as practical pointers on how to become aware of the coincidence clusters in our own lives. She also shows us how to document coincidences so that we, too, can reap their valuable rewards. We'll never brush off those What a Coincidence! moments again.

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW

Seth Sessions Listing – compiled by Mary Dillman.

See what we look like. Add your own picture! – John M. set up a webpage where we can add our photos. It also features a global map that shows where folks are located.

The Personal Sessions, Vol. 7 – The series deleted sessions dealing with personal material are now available. Vol. 7, now in process, will complete publication of ALL the Seth Material! By Rick Stack and New Awareness Network.

Sethnet Speaks, January 2006 – compiled by Paul Helfrich.

The Classic Seth Portrait by Rob Butts This is a low resolution scan for those interested.

Check out the Mindscapes Music CD - Listen online to 22 tracks of music from Paul Helfrich. Also available for purchase.

Conscious Creation Links – Conscious Creation Publishers, Book Stores, Websites, Journals, Newsletters, Mailing Lists, Message Boards, and more.

The Elias forum - website by Paul & Joanne Helfrich contains an expansion of many of the conscious creation concepts introduced by Seth/Jane Roberts, channeled by Mary Ennis.

What if the Seth material was a foundation to be expanded later by other channeled sources? Can any perennial source ever be considered complete AND infallible?

Seth readers will want to check out:
Introduction & Overview
A Seth, Elias Comparative Overview (Updated!)
Digest: Seth, Jane Roberts

The Kris Chronicles - an expansion of many of the conscious creation concepts introduced by Seth/Jane Roberts, channeled by Serge Grandbois.

A Kris, Seth, Elias Comparative Overview (Updated!) - a preliminary comparison of core concepts in the Seth material, information offered by Elias, and Kris Chronicles

Otherfocus.com the personal website of Donald R. Johnson

Explore the creative worlds of John McNally and Kristen Fox Cofounders of the Conscious Creation Website and Email group John and Kristen share interests in writing, art, photography and cooking which they explore on a variety of websites:

John's weblog: Parabolic Mirror
Intuitive Astrology site: Psychic Weather
Writing: Mind Altering Fiction
Photography: Telepathicfrog
Cooking: Food Follies
Shop: Telepathic Frog Designs
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Kristen's weblog: FoxVox
Art & Photo Gallery: Art of FoxVox
Art & Photo Prints: Deviant Art
Floral Designs Shop: Flower Bed Gifts
T Shirt Reviews Tshirt Casserole