Running Dialogue – Second Thoughts

by nielskunze on July 28, 2015

Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:

First Episode

July 27, 2015

July 27, 2015

Second Thoughts

I’d always been impeccable with my written word.

I was careful to never pick fights or instigate confrontations; I’m just one to stand my ground, claiming sovereignty moment-to-moment…

I was both completely exhausted and utterly restless. I tried lying down early, before the sun went down. But sleep, this night, would prove to be impossible.

I felt totally weird; first, a bit like I was mildly drunk; and then, I just couldn’t get comfortable. Whatever position I placed myself in, within seconds I would feel the irresistible urge to re-adjust myself… continuously. I kept shifting and shifting, desperately trying to rest during the two or three seconds between my subtle fits. And I tried to gather my thoughts.

The mild sensation of drunkenness seemed to have mostly abated, but far too much of my attention was being taken up by the frustration of this restlessness. I really had to force myself to think.

I still didn’t know for sure whether the cop and the helicopter were connected… but it seemed like one hell of a coincidence otherwise. My tenants said that the cop had seemed odd to them. He had introduced himself as Detective Something-or-other, and was certainly mature enough to be a detective, but he just seemed too old to be wearing a regular patrol uniform; it looked weird, they said. And of course, cops aren’t too keen on sharing anything about ongoing investigations, so they couldn’t tell me a damn thing about what the cops might want with my help. And the other thing was that– being a small rural community– we pretty much knew all the local cops; my tenants were certain they’d never seen this guy before. Odd.

The helicopter, I was pretty sure, had attacked me. I didn’t know how else to characterize it. And now I was infected with that thought. I had been attacked!

By what right? On whose authority?

I was still sure that I’d done nothing wrong. I hadn’t picked any fights, or reacted to the bait of another’s games and maneuvers. I just had the habit of over-sharing my life online, that’s all. So what could have possibly been considered ‘over the line’ suddenly now?

No… I shook my head. I’d been infected by a thought, nothing more. The helicopter was an elaborate placebo. I was righteously standing– well, fidgeting really– within my proper sovereignty. I hadn’t agreed to any poisonous clouds seeping through my skin; there was no good reason to accept it.

The only problem was… I was definitely feeling the effects of that dang placebo!

How do you purge yourself of a thought? Stick a finger down your throat? Up your nose? In your ear? Through your eye… and into your brain?

Experiences can’t be deleted; we can’t edit out events completely. We are left with the only recourse of re-interpretation, the creation of new meaning for said events.

I know virtually nothing about the helicopter. I have only assumed its evil intent toward me. From that assumption I have further speculated that the sparkly cloud of whatnot ejected from the helicopter was specifically directed at me… and further, from that, that whatever was in it was certainly vile and noxious. And… if past experience is any teacher, this scenario that I’ve constructed from various flimsy assumptions is most assuredly wrong.

Why did I create this for myself? The momentum of my thinking… and this is still where I arrive– a victim of my own mental conjuring! Oh, but not for long…

A scratch was beginning to formulate in my itchy mind.

A few months back I had written some revocations, declarations, proclamations, reclamations, etc…. among some statements of intent. They had felt quite powerful and profound during the creational process as well as when reading them back. They were things like “The Origin of Meaning in the World” and “A Brief Statement On Free Will;” they’re on my blog, under the Sovereignty Tools category… among a number of others.

I had previously worked with a batch of revocations designed by the Galactic Historian. They were okay, but I didn’t really feel the power in them– at least not like others were reporting. I needed to create my own.

Well, there’s one I’d been meaning to write for quite some time now. It’s called “An Appeal to Innate Body Intelligence.” Considering the condition I currently found myself in, such an appeal might be exactly what the doctor ordered– turns out, it was.

I wrote this one the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper. I wrote down the title… and then fidgeted annoyingly for several minutes. My mind didn’t want to focus, but I knew the sure pattern of my writing: even if I had next to nothing in mind going in, all I needed was the first sentence. The first sentence would then suggest the second sentence, and the second sentence would suggest the third. And those three sentences together would suggest the rest of the whole… easy peasy. I cobbled together an opening line…

“My physical, biological body knows itself.”

…and from there, the rest tumbled out in fairly short order.

An Appeal to Innate Body Intelligence

My physical, biological body knows itself. It has its own source and implementation of precise and complete intelligence. I recognize my body’s innate ability to distinguish between ‘self’ and ‘other’ in all instances. Therefore, my body knows the precise biological pathway for total healing in all conditions of infection, incursion, possession, corruption.

Every Living cell of this biology has its own innate connection to internal Source creation. These cells know the entire biological evolution throughout all ages, as well as knowing their own origin… particularly the origin of Life within them. My cells are the proven masters of nurturing Life; they are the experts of this biology– AS this biology. And being the Living record from singular Source origin to maximum fragmentation– every step of the journey– this multi-trillioned cellular organism is the Living record of how I got here AND a compelling depiction of the exquisite co-operation required to complete the journey Home. This body is an integrated marvel; I mustn’t ever forget that!

This body– uncorrupted– answers to the Will of my Living Spirit. The soul’s journey however is a history of corruption– the method of fragmentation employed. When the Will is rooted in the soul’s cellular programming, it chooses among that which is given; cells function according to their programs. I recognize that such Will is highly conditioned and easily manipulated. When the Will is rooted in Spirit, aligned with Life, however, my biology is free to draw inwardly from Source to create something wholly new, transcendent of programming.

It is the function of my Spiritual Will to overcome corruption. I Will seek to communicate evermore effectively with the innate intelligence of this biology in order to grant a burgeoning permission for Life to express through my Being in novel ways… irrespective of programming… trusting in our shared knowledge of Self… as the pathway Home.

Lady Birch

Lady Birch

And I was cured, just like that.

The magic isn’t hidden anywhere in what I’ve written above; no, the magic is in the creational process itself! It was the act of entering the creational mode of Being required to produce those precise words that did the trick.

No one else could have written that– not exactly like that. My appeal to my innate body intelligence was uniquely my own; I had to dip down into the reservoir of mind beneath the threshold of authenticity… to create the spell of my restoration. And as the creation took form, my inexplicable agitation abated.

We are restored in our authentic creations– in the act, not the result.

Okay, so maybe the night wasn’t all that harrowing. At this point it wasn’t quite morning yet, but now I was too happy and excited to fall asleep; the exhaustion had vanished as though it had never belonged to me anyway. I laid comfortably on my back, staring at the black silhouettes of overhanging branches against a dark, overcast sky. I guess I was just waiting for the morning light…

In the dawn light I saw that my t-shirt was still dappled with innumerable discolorations from my encounter with the mysterious mist the day before. I kinda liked it– but only because I could feel within my body beyond any doubt that I was just me– no infiltrators. Only the outer reality had been superficially altered. The helicopter had gifted me with a funky new dye-job for my shirt. Meanwhile, I was fine.

Now I had to decide whether my camping trip was done, or whether I was better off remaining physically aloof from whoever might still have designs on my Life and Will. Well, one thing I knew for sure… was that if I was going to spend significant time out here away from home, there were a few more things I’d need… like electricity and a reliable internet connection.

I now have my laptop with me, along with an electric motor for power generation, and a satellite hookup for internet. I’d already built a waterwheel for the brook beside my cabin years ago. I could reassemble it in a jiffy to provide a 24/7 trickle-charge for the two deep-cycle batteries salvaged from my motorhome. The satellite internet hookup was a bit of fluke to be in my possession. A friend of mine who’d gone to Africa a few years ago on a teaching contract had been provided with the necessary satellite interface for field access to the internet. By the time his contract had ended in Cameroon, the basic infrastructure for internet had been installed locally, so they allowed him to take the satellite interface with him when he left. On a camping trip last year, this friend had left the unit with me, thinking that I’d likely get more use from it than he would living in the city. Well, I really appreciated it now!

So as you will have gathered, I’ve decided to remain in the bush for the time being. Why? When I went home to collect the remaining ‘necessities’ I decided to give the cops a call. I phoned the local RCMP detachment. I told them who I was and that I might be interested in helping them with their investigation if they might be so kind as to tell me what such help might entail. Well, they didn’t have the faintest, foggiest clue what I was talking about.

Apparently, the officer who’d come to my door wasn’t one of theirs!

What the fuck was going on!

Go To the Next Episode of Running Dialogue

Leave your comment


Required. Not published.

If you have one.