Whisker burn. Ladies, know what I'm talking bout? Try astral whisker burn, what's that?
That's the memory of meeting your idol in the ozone, coming awake in the body, hearing the birds tweet tweet outside your window and you're still in your dream. That's real whisker burn, even if only mental astral burn, because you've been rubbing your face on his and maybe you've been up to no good?
I really have to stop meeting him this way, or at the least make a request he comes clean-shaven. When does fantasy stop being the creative display of the imagination tools which produce reality? And wait just a cotton pickin' minute! Nobody around here can bother explaining to me what reality is. After all, wouldn't Einstein say it's all relative?
So, ok, I admit I'm crazy, if being happy is crazy. Now there's a debate for the more adventurously cantankerous among us to haggle over. Whether being happy means crazy.
I don't think it means that, but that's another subject and I really don't want to talk about me, me, me. Let's get back to meeting others in the ozones. How do you know it's real? And is a thought or emotion, an aspiration, a desire, are these things “things?”
And what is a human who is being? See, I have questions for you. For me too. I'll figure it out, not that it really matters. If it really mattered, I wouldn't be happy, I'd be upset because I'd feel crazy and I already confessed to that, if it's true.
I'm taking a survey. Might take a long time to complete it. I want to find people who are going out of their body and I want their story. In exchange, I'll give them mine. Then I'll compare my story against theirs and come up with some profound wisdom from doing this, then I'll write another book. Maybe.
My friends want to know what is real and what is not. Remember what the kids used to say? They always said “get real.” Cute kids, pearls of wisdom falls from their lips. I'm waiting on their books too.
Here's an idea from my basket; what if reality was a blanket you could stretch? You'd take a corner of it, another person take the other corner and stretch that baby, and the stretch action would be like a creative action of stretching our minds to consider the impossible.
Who is the human who is becoming? What is creative mind? Does it own me or do I own it or is it that I think I swim within reality occasionally going places unfamiliar yet enticingly mysterious? Like, swimming naked and getting astral whisker burn. I have no idea who I am, only that she's ok because she's not finished. In the act of becoming are we all. The canvas of the mind needs to have color splashed on it.
I asked once a mountain climber-what's the big deal? Why climb? A man of few words he said only "because it"s there.” I found wisdom in that statement. Matter of fact the less words used on me, the more I find the truth in it.
As far as meeting folks in the astral. I did it for love. It's all about love out there. Even my sisters I meet, no whisker burns, but I feel the good will out there more than in C1. I got the right reasons, I just wish I could tell more easily how I make such appointments, as the one who astral travels apparently lives “out there” 24/7, while little ol' me lives in linear time and wakes up with whisker burn, perplexed that it's so real, yet so “abnormal.”
I know what I love. I love something I also see in myself. Like attracts like. But do we have a “need” to become more than what we already are? And would love be the prime motivator after all?
Why can't I just be lazy and go sit on a mountain top and meditate? Because, my guide says, you already did that in another life and the head nun told you to get off your butt. It was a supreme cop out although a most comfortable nirvana. I argue a bit as is my nature but admit I need to take risks. Taking risks although uncomfortable is rewarding, as long as you do it for love which is appearing as the only prize to attain in any life. Yet it's not attainable and there's the rub; it's just something that one allows. I have to get out of my own way just to allow love to change me into, (good heavens! Convoluted thinking again!) As I was saying before I interrupted myself, just to allow love to change me into what I already am. A woman in love and a sociable gadabout.
