Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Heaven's not a place

you go when you die

it's that moment in life

when you actually feel


We lead our lives like water flowing down a hill, going more or less in one
direction until we splash into something that forces us to find a new course.

At the moment of insight

a potential pattern

of organized behavior

comes into being.

Rupert Sheldrake

The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret
recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was
psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will
remain psyche no matter how far our ego-consciousness extends.

Carl Jung

Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power.
We have guided missiles and misguided men.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Arthur Golden
It's time for greatness, not for greed. It's a time for idealism, not ideology.
It is a time not just for compassionate words, but compassionate action.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

11:11 and Veteran's Day

"...this memorial is for those who have died, and for us to remember them." - Maya Ying Lin, designer, Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall

By Jared Jenkins

In war, there are lives risked and lives taken
Men and women giving their best to defend what they love
They defend their country
Their honor
Their people

Some call them soldiers
Others call them heroes

Our veterans have risked their lives for us
They have lived through hell and fought with honor
Many have killed
And regret doing so

For every life, there is a soul
For every soul, there is a life
For those who have died, we show great appreciation and remembrance
For those who live, along with them live the horrific memories of battle
Some, memories of defeat
Some, memories of victory

Our veterans were more than soldiers
They were, and still are heroes

A great change is taking place all over the world. We read books, search the internet, talk to others, pay attention to media, meditate, but last and not least, on all counts, you have to go to your soul for the truth. We've come too far, have seen and experienced too much not to understand where it is all headed. Unlike the past, this is the two minute warning and you must find the truth now, to be ready to detach from the grid when it all hits the fan.

Many people say that America is dying only a ghostly silhouette remains of her great beauty and majesty. I think those people are wrong. America is only in a time of great change and upheaval, giving birth. Giving birth to a whole new world of being. And this new world of being is brought about by all the heroes that you pass day in and day out, and never even give a second glance too. All the little people. The bible says "the meek shall inherit the earth". And all those power hungry, mad, money hungry, selfish egomaniacs at the top of that old pyramid will never even figure it out until it's too late.

America is filled with heroes, little people who go about their lives, loving one another, doing their jobs and giving their hearts and their blood. America will never run out of heroes.

Little people like Flora Brooks, Marriage of Honor

The telegram that arrived on Nov. 15, 1969, was not pessimistic: "Private First Class Johnny O Brooks was slightly wounded in action.

It gave 20-year-old Flora Brooks, recently married, no hint of how much her life was about to change.

"Since he is not, repeat not seriously injured, no further reports will be furnished," the telegram concluded.

Today, they are growing old together, but not in the way either had envisioned. There were no children, no exotic vacations, not even any more of the simple fishing trips they had enjoyed before Johnny Brooks was drafted into the Army — three weeks after their wedding _and sent to Vietnam.

He returned home without a leg and soon lost the other, along with his ability to speak and the use of his arms.

Today, Flora Brooks continues to serve as nursemaid and constant companion to a husband who is confined to a bed, unable to talk or move on his own.

She never imagined any other way: "I'm so thankful that we were married," she said.

And all the little people that bring offerings of love to honor their heroes at the Viet Nam Memorial -

They are lined up like footnotes to the names etched on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial's polished black granite, leaning against its base, some a collective tribute to the fallen, others bearing a message for just one of the dead.

An American Legion uniform cap from Kansas, a police patch from a town in Georgia, a note to "GRAMDADAD" that appears to have been written by the unpracticed hand of a young child. A homemade plaque with plastic red poppies pasted to it, dedicated to a "Band of Brothers."

Poems from middle school students.

"We met once when you played golf with my dad," reads one note, written hastily on a piece of yellow notebook paper, addressed to a Major Shaw. "You served together in Vietnam. He made it back to us. I'm saying goodbye."

Since the memorial was completed in 1982, it has become a de facto shrine with more than 100,000 offerings for the dead and messages from survivors left by the millions who visit it each year.

That number is likely to grow in the coming days. National Park Service officials say milestones like Veterans Day this Sunday and the memorial's 25th anniversary on Tuesday inevitably lead to floods of new items at the wall, as veterans gather at the site on the National Mall and the memories of the war that ended more than 30 years ago are renewed.

The nature of the mementos has changed. In the beginning, it was mostly veterans who dropped off unit patches, Purple Hearts, photos of lost soldiers or old pairs of Army boots. But with many veterans now in their 60s, members of a younger generation — including grandchildren of veterans and the fallen — are making contributions.

On a recent day, a baseball card from a boy named Nicholas was propped against the wall, with a note that read "For my grandfather."

On the eleventh day, of the eleventh month, at the eleventh hour, "Armistice Day". All the men fighting in the "war to end all wars" laid down their arms, hugged their brothers and declared an end to war, and called for peace around the world.

Physical reality is a consciousness program created by digital codes. Numbers, numeric codes, define our existence. Human DNA, our genetic memory, is encoded to be triggered by digital codes at specific times and frequencies. Those codes awaken the mind to the change and evolution of consciousness. 11:11 is one of those codes, meaning activation of DNA.

You will note that seeing 11:11 frequently creates synchronicities in your life.

The year 2011 will have great significance and consciousness will evolve in full swing. January 1, 2011 we find - 1/1/11 which could be seen as 1111. November 11 - 11/11/11. This promises to accelerate consciousness toward 2012.

2012 links to the Mayan Calendar end time at 11:11 UT, Universal Time. (December 12, 2012).

11 is a double digit and is therefore considered a Master or Power Number. In Numerology 11 represents impractical idealism, visionary, refinement of ideals, intuition, revelation, artistic and inventive genius, avant-garde, androgynous, film, fame, refinement fulfilled when working with a practical partner. Eleven is a higher octave of the number two . It carries psychic vibrations and has an equal balance of masculine and feminine properties. Because eleven contains many gifts such as psychic awareness and a keen sense of sensitivity, it also has negative effects such as treachery and betrayal from secret enemies.

Many associate 11:11 with a wake-up code/alarm as they see it on digit clocks and watches. It can also be seen as a key to unlock the subconscious mind, our genetic encoded memories, that we are spirits having a physical experience, not physical beings embarking on a spiritual experience.

11:11 or derivatives of these numbers, 111 and 11, are digits that repeat in time thus a metaphor for reality as patterns that repeat in time for us to experience. This can refer to the rise and fall of civilizations, our personal experiences and lessons, loops in time. They are cycles of time that create and recreate following the blueprint.

Ellie and 11:11 .... In 1991, when I was hosting the talk show "The Metaphysical Experience", a woman named Solara was my guest. Her topic was Activation of the 11:11 Doorway. It was all about ascension and the beginning of awareness of the 11:11 code. In 1995, a Crystalinks' reader named Joe emailed about his experiences with the numbers 111:111, hence the file you are reading was first created and in so doing I took a long hard look at this phenomena experienced by those around me. Each time Joe was about to go through another major spiritual awakening, an epiphany of some kind, those numbers would appear in his physical experience to signal the upcoming change. The numbers say, "Pay attention!"

11 represents spiraling twin strands of human DNA moving into higher frequency of consciousness.

11 represents balance.

Some souls see a Golden Age emerging, as told by the ancient prophets. Gold refers to Alchemy , the alchemical changes that are taking place in our bodies in the evolution of consciousness.

Reality as a geometric design is based on numbers (universal language) that repeat in cycles to create the linear time experiment. In Pythagorean Numerolgy, a cycle is based on 9. 9=End. 9/11= end of the DNA biogen(et)ic program running at the moment.

Terrorism and 11:
09/11/01 - 9/11 - September 11 Attacks in NYC -- Crystalinks File
03/11/04 - 3/11 - Madrid Bombings
07/11/06 - 7/11 - Mumbai (formerly Bombay) train bombings

We all have one or more numeric codes that follow the blueprint of Sacred Geometry. It is about the spirals of consciousness, Fibonacci Numbers, the Golden Spiral, also found in perfection, in the exact proportions in the Great Pyramid.

Most digital codes that evoke memory are double digits or countdowns such as 1, 2, 3, 4 ,5 or 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0, which goes to Zero Point Merge

You will experience a sudden awakening after which reality is never the same. You are going to create clarity, healing and balance for yourself. Do not expect others in your life to be on this journey with you. It is yours alone as it is for most souls. You will have to seek new friends of like mind who are also being triggered by the digits. Once you open the Digital Door, there is no going back. Your soul will automatically and quickly move you from level to level of experience until you 'get it'. Your consciousness is expanding and therefore you will, manifest faster and with greater comprehension, becoming more aware of the meaning of synchronicities that will become more and more frequent. They are created by your soul creates to help you remember that you are a soul spark in a physical program that is about to end, evolve back to higher consciousness.

Once you see your numeric codes, you have activated something in your DNA codes and they will continue to appear until you 'get the message' ... it is 'time' to move on.

Upon seeing your digit encoded numbers, you may feel a sense of urgency or related emotions. Chill out! For NOW there is TIME!

The numbers usually signal changes in the patterns of your life.

They may confirm something that you are experiencing whenever the numbers appear to you.

You may dream also about the numbers, linked with things you do not as yet understand, or wake up at the same time every night with those numbers on your digital clock, ie. 11:11

All the little heroes across the world will awake and yes peace will prevail, and yes the meek will inherit the earth. A new day dawns, the messages are everywhere, one only has to "awaken".

What was once lost, will soon be found ... Remember the Nostradamus images posted last week. The story of the Lion King dictates that this is the end of a lion's tale/tail ... a sudden flip of reality and the hourglass - the peacock, regeneration.

It truly is "the best of times and the worst of times". I am so happy to be here and so thankful for all the little heroes that are here with me.

Friday, November 09, 2007

November Always Drags Me Down

I think I can honestly say that November is the one month of the year, that I have to struggle the hardest in keeping the light on inside. It is a beautiful month here on the far south side of Chicago. I live in what used to be out in the country, but sadly no longer is. But all the areas around where I live all have names that end in Wood, so yes I live in a magnificiently forested area, that used to cover everything until all the new strip malls and parking lots, and new housing. It used to be a quiet sleepy little area with hardly even any traffic controls, mostly just stop signs, but now it is a crowded, traffic gridlocked, stressful, impersonal kind of town. But I still have the trees.

The trees are alive with color, and some very beautiful specimens that I pass each day on my way back and forth to work, I feel I have a personal relationship thing going with, each day they have changed to a more brilliant color than the previous day. I always thank them as I drive by and I feel this wonderful little tingle of joy inside of me. Am I crazy? Probably, but hell it’s a nice kind of crazy.

On November 9th, 1990 my father died. My Dad was a WWII Marine veteran. He saw action on each of the islands in the later Pacific campaign, Tarrawa, Iwo Jima, Saipan. He was a flamethrower and his job was to burn people alive. He was never wounded in this War but did catch some horrible skin fungus thing that he suffered with for the rest of his life. He came home from the war when I was 2 years old. I don’t remember much of anything then. Only a very few years later, the war in Korea began. I can remember our TV always being on the news with war pictures on it. He told my Mom that his buddies needed him and re-enlisted. He ended up at the Chosin Reservoir. He was wounded twice this time. A hand grenade was thrown into his foxhole with him and all his buddies, and he grabbed it and threw it out. As he was throwing it out, he got shot through the shoulder and then got shrapnel all through his lower back and legs. I can’t remember how old I was this time when he came home, this part of my life remains a blur. The Marines gave him two purple hearts and a Bronze Star with oak leaf cluster for bravery and made him a hero for saving his buddies.

The government gave him a check for $55 a month for the rest of his life. Pretty cheap cost to steal someone’s life, because my DAD was never my DAD again. He suffered terrible nightmares, strange bizarre fits of anger, I learned to just keep out of his line of sight. And he drank, a lot. And I learned how to time the predictable stages of his drinking. After the first couple of drinks, he loved me, sat me on his lap and told me how beautiful I was, how proud he was of me and how glad he was that I was his daughter. Then a couple more drinks and the fights with my Mother would begin, and with each drink he grew angrier and angrier. On several occasions I remember hiding in a closet or behind our couch because he had a gun in his hand.

He was just so damn mad at everyone.

One November day when I was eleven, he volunteered to go pay my Aunt’s gas bill. He was once again jobless and moody as hell. I will never forget that day. It was snowing in Arkansas in November. The kids were all delighted, cause we all got to stay home from school. I remember watching him walk out the front door and noticed that he had a hole in the back of his jeans. For some reason the picture of that hole in the back of his jeans haunts me to this day. I don’t know why, sort of like a hole in your heart metaphor or something.

He never came back. He never paid my Aunt’s gas bill, he just took her money and left. I remember everyone being in a high anxiety over his whereabouts for days and weeks. But he was just gone.

Times got really bad then for my Mother and trying to take care of five kids, with no money, no job, and now no husband. She was a very proud woman, and we were literally starving to death. We had no heat, no electricity, I did my homework by kerosene lamps and we cooked on an old wood burning stove. At first we did ok, one of the most horrifying events of my childhood, was coming home one day to discover that my Mother had sold all our chickens to the store across the dusty street from our house. And I just happened to walk by the back of the store as the owner was killing all our chickens. On an old tree stump, he was chopping their heads off, blood was everywhere. And the chickens were still alive, running around headless with blood spewing out of this gory stump. Those chickens were my best friends. I talked to them every day, in that damp, dark chicken house, they gave me their eggs and snuffled on my cheek. Just writing this now, the tears are rolling down my cheeks. I loved those chickens. One of my life long dreams was to have my own house out in the country somewhere and have my own chickens, that I WOULD NEVER KILL, and would just love them. I still don’t have any chickens and I doubt I ever will. At one point we were surviving on pancakes made from corn meal and water and used this homemade sourghum syrup that to this day if I smell it, I grow nauseous.

Funny, how your mind works, I had to stop writing this cause I couldn’t stop crying over those chickens. All the sadness, anger, would have beens, should have beens, and those damn chickens still break my heart. Because that’s when it all fell apart for me, I couldn’t be a child ever again.

No one would help us. Not the church, not the government.

One day a Marine showed up at our front door. I still don’t know how they found out about our situation, I’ve wondered if my Dad told them, or got word to someone to look after us, but they came. They filled our house with food, they gave my Mother money, they took all five kids and bought us new shoes and new winter coats. They brought us lots of things that Christmas, but I remember a wonderful chocolate cake with chocolate icing. It tasted like heaven. Every time I see a picture of a Marine I remember those guys as my heroes and my saviours. I could never, ever think bad thoughts about the Marines. They saved our lives.

Of course Marines are a big part of our family tradition. My brothers all became Marines and went to Viet Nam. A ship carries my family’s name – http://www.elrod.navy.mil/.

Here is a brief history of the ship’s namesake - http://www.elrod.navy.mil/namesake.htm
Major Henry T. Elrod
United States Marine Corps.
Major Henry T. Elrod was born on 27 September 1905, in Turner County, Georgia. He enlisted in the Marine Corps in December 1927, and was appointed a Marine second lieutenant in February 1931. He attended the University of Georgia and Yale University prior to his entry into the Marine Corps.
Following over a year at the Marine Corps Basic School in Philadelphia as a student aviator, Lieutenant Elrod was ordered to the Naval Station at Pensacola. Here he served as a company officer and as student aviator. In February 1935 he earned his wings and was transferred to Quantico, where he served as a Marine Aviator until January 1938. In addition to his other duties, he was the squadron’s school, personnel, and welfare officer.
In July 1938, Elrod was ordered to a squadron in San Diego and served as their material, parachute, and personnel officer until January 1941, when he was detached to the Hawaiian area.
He arrived at Wake Island a short time before the hostilities commenced and was one of the twelve pilots who flew the Marine planes onto the island. He was killed in action defending Wake Island against the invading Japanese on 23 December 1941.
During the defense of Wake, Major Elrod repeatedly displayed conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life, above and beyond the call of duty. On the 12th of December he single-handedly attacked a flight of 22 enemy planes and shot down two. On several flights he executed low altitude bombing and strafing runs on enemy ships, and became the first man to sink a major warship with small caliber bombs delivered from a fighter-type aircraft.
When his plane was destroyed by hostile fire he organized a unit of ground troops into a beach defense and repulsed repeated Japanese attacks until he fell mortally wounded.
On 8 November 1946, his widow was presented with the Medal of Honor, posthumously awarded to her husband for his heroic actions during the last bitter days of the defense of Wake

There is even an entire town in North Carolina, named Elrod. I still hope to visit there someday and find out more about my family history. http://www.city-data.com/city/Elrod-North-Carolina.html

Average family income in 2005 was $16,100. Sounds like the story of my life. We shed the blood of heroes, but then throw them away.

My Dad bounced back in and out of our lives for many years after this. He came back one Christmas loaded with money and presents for all of us. I think he loved us, but it just wasn’t enough. He never stayed long and my Mother always took him back. And then he’d be gone again.

Went on like this for years till I was about sixteen and he left for good. Never heard from him again.

I got married, moved to Chicago with my husband, had three beautiful daughters, our house in the wonderful wooded suburb and we lived our lives.

Then out of the blue, my Dad showed up. He had been living in Washington state, had remarried, and was coming to visit! My husband and I went downtown to Union Station to pick him up. His new wife Antoinette, “Nettie”, was pushing him in a wheelchair. My heart jumped in my throat, there was my Dad, a beautiful man, in a wheelchair, looking old, tired, and sick as hell.

He had cancer and he was dying. He had traveled in misery and pain over thousands of miles, to come and say goodbye. I guess it was his way of telling me that he loved me, or wanted my forgiveness. He died about seven days later and it took me years and years and years till I could give him that forgiveness.

I fought with a burning, hot anger for years. How like you I thought to myself, to break my heart all these years, and then come back into my life and break my heart again. Oh I was so angry at him.

He bonded with my husband, that he had never got to know, and they watched hours and hours of war movies together, and talked of history and politics and sports. I kept my distance. My heart felt like a stone, hard, cold mountain in my chest.

The last thing I remember was him looking at me, telling me he loved me, and this strange light in his eyes, he had beautiful eyes, saying that he had talked it all over with God, and God told him it was all OK. All was forgiven.

Years and years later, I now understand. He wasn’t talking about me. He had been talking about all those people he had killed, for honor, duty and country. All those people he had burned alive.

He had finally forgiven himself and God told him it was all going to be OK.

And I’ve forgiven you too, Dad. And I love you.

And maybe someday I will still get those chickens and live happily ever after.

My last visit with my Dad.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Your Fear is All They Have

G. K. Chesterton said:

“Fairy Tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

"Life exists for the love of music or beautiful things.”

“To love means loving the unlovable. To forgive means pardoning the unpardonable. Faith means believing the unbelievable. "

"Hope means hoping when everything seems hopeless.”

From a wonderful blog - "Brainsturbator" comes this story of nightmares and monsters and dragons.

Your Fear is All They Have

Aside from getting into all the hottest clubs for free, the best part about running Brainsturbator is the readers. They keep me in line and they ask me good questions. After the Colonia Dignidad article, I got a whopper: “Does there come a point where these investigations of yours become self abuse, what with these things you’re finding? Is it dangerous to pummel the mind with these facts for extended periods of time?”

Quick answer: hell yeah, it’s self abuse. I lose sleep, weight and hope for the future when I stare the abyss in the face like this. I can’t say my nightmares have gotten any worse, because they’ve been making me question my sanity since I was a kid, but the everyday world is a very different place.

But you know what? The everyday world always was a different place. Whether we subject ourselves to this horror or not, it’s still out there and it’s still real. And of course, the quick answer is superficial and misses the real meat—this is an important question to look at in some detail, so before I keep subjecting Brainsturbator readers to these nightmares, let’s examine why it is necessary, important, and ultimately—empowering.