Lloyd Matthew Thompson's Blog, page 3

When It’s Easy, It’s Easy

WHEN THE GOING GETS tough, the tough one keeps going… but sometimes other things crumble as one does, especially if the “going” induces and awakens all sorts of negative feelings one imagined could never be present in one’s system…

When everything is smooth and light and well, it’s easy to practice one’s practice, to mindfully remember what sort of energy one consciously chooses to broadcast into the ethers, to choose who one wishes to be in full awareness… but what about in the middle of the tsunami? How the hell does one stay awake and calm when the storm is clashing one on all four sides?

O, Alas! Alas! How needing of compassion are those living beings tortured by their past actions,

Who are drowning in this deep chasm, the engulfing ocean of their past actions!

Such is the nature of fluctuating cyclic existence!

Grant Your blessing, so that this ocean of sufferings may run dry!

How needing of compassion are those who are skill-less

Those who are tortured by ignorance and past actions,

Those who indulge in actions conducive to suffering –

Even though they desire happiness!

Grant your blessing, so that the obscuration of dissonant mental states and past actions may be purified!

How needing of compassion are the ignorant and the deluded, bound in this confining dungeon of egotistical attachments and the subject-object dichotomy,

Who, like wild game, are trapped in this snare time after time!

Grant Your blessing so that cyclic existence may be stirred to its depths!

How needing of compassion are those beings who endlessly revolve in the cycle of existence,

As if circling perpetually on the rim of a water-wheel…

—Tibetan Book of the Dead

When it’s easy, it’s easy.

When it’s hard, it’s easy… to drown in emotions that sweep all practice and mindfulness under the rug, out the door, and down the sewer. Typically uncharacteristic thoughts and actions surface and execute or near-execute, and even physical health begins to decline.

Those who are observant will be able to tell that even blogging and processing grinds to a halt with all that gum-up-iness.

When things calm down once again—or when the FEAR dissipates, and things begin going as DESIREd once more—one’s Core is re-exposed, un-blinded, and one’s spirit moans, “Crap. I gotta get back to being ME again! This does NOT feel good!”

Way I see it, I reckon there’s two choices from here: Give it all up for lost, or pick it all up for another round—though picking it back up seems to be even harder a task, for now one has to find a way to forgive, to release, to de-hate, to… LOVE those things which caused the storm???

Is that impossible?

One thing’s for sure—there is plenty to chew and reflect on for the re-try.

Plenty to be on-guard about for next cycle.

Will next time be any better, or will one pancake their nose to the floor again?

Impossible to know.

Will that stop one from trying?

Impossible.

 

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AURA is FREE on Kindle 10/04-10/08

Step right up! Step right up!

My short story, Aura, is FREE for Amazon Kindle and all free Kindle apps from Saturday October 4, 2014 through Wednesday October 8, 2014!

Sometimes, being an empath

is not as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be… 

Spontaneously born from moments of contemplating both my own heightening sensitivity to the energies of people, places, and things around me and the stories of experiences told to me by friends and family, Aura came into being as an exaggerated portrayal of what the intensity of these experiences can feel like at times, as well as an offered suggestion of one way to cope with and handle these sort of things.

Excellent short story on what it is like

to be an empath. The story is short but powerful.

Just when you think you know

how the story will end, there is an

unexpected twist which hits the message home.

—Covenant of the Soul

Please help me in spreading the word that Aura: A Short Story is FREE for the taking! Tell everyone you know, including your cat, if she happens to be active in social media as well! Help me skyrocket it up the Amazon charts so Amazon will pick it up and pass the word along, too!

And once you’ve read it, please return to its Amazon page and post a quick rating and review, and let me know what you thought, whether good or bad!


Grab your copy now!

But first, enjoy the following beginning clip from Aura: A Short Story:


—

“THE FIRST TIME I was someone other than myself, I had no clue that’s what had happened.”

“Someone other than yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Can you elaborate on that?”

I gazed out the window as I replayed that time on the silver screen in my mind, watching but not really seeing the robins hopping around the patch of grass posing as a lawn outside. The looming clouds threatened rain, drawing worms up for safety from their soon-to-be-flooded tunnels, only to find themselves suddenly in the victorious clutches of a beak.

Only later would my mind register the correlation between those worms and my first experiences—my reason for now sitting in this over-decorated office that tried too hard to feel inviting and “homey.”

Happy worms, daily routine, BAM.

There are mirrors everywhere in this world, for those who know how to see.

“Aura?”

I focused on the woman across from me. She seemed nice enough, with her short, salon-perfect red hair piled high on her head and her warm rose-colored smile. I wasn’t one of her regular clients, of course—this was the first time I’d even met her—but she’d agreed to meet with me as a favor to a friend of mine who was more worried about me than I was myself.

Supposedly, she was “open” to what I’d been through.

“Can you tell me exactly what you mean when you say ‘someone other than yourself’?”

I’d tried to form words around this a couple times, and not had much luck. I sighed.

“I… don’t feel myself,” I said slowly, “When it happens.”

“You feel like someone else.”

I nodded carefully, thinking. “But not like I am someone else… more like I feel things that aren’t myself. Things that aren’t me.”

I stood up.

“See, this was a mistake—there’s really no way to talk about this and make any sense. I’m afraid I’m wasting your time. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” the lady said gently. “It’s quite all right. What you’ve said makes perfect sense to me.”

I stopped my turn toward the door.

“It does?”

The woman nodded.

“You’ve… you’ve heard of something like this before?”

The woman nodded again.

I sat back down and spat out the pressing question that had gone through my mind the last ten years. “Can it be fixed?”

—
Aura: A Short Story
© 2014 Lloyd Matthew Thompson
FREE on Amazon Kindle and all free Kindle apps 10/04/2014—10/08/2014

THE HEALER: A NOVEL has arrived!

A HIDDEN PAST… A desperate present… An inescapable future.

Two separate lives brought together by the interconnected threads of time and destiny are about to change the world forever.

Of that there is no doubt.

But sometimes a healing and salvation first requires a devastation and destruction in order to begin.

 

Riddled with shamanic references and intuitive visions, The Healer: A Novel takes you to a world that once was, a world that has become a mirror, and the struggle to heal the whole.

“This thing is like a big ol’ Hoover. It just sucks you right in! I cannot stress enough the fact of how well-written The Healer is. I read a lot of self-published authors—new as well as successful ones—and your plot and characters, as well as your writing in general is finely honed. This is greatly appreciated. I didn’t find myself “speed reading” through any of it.”  —Jeff Z.

Now available in paperback and all eBook formats,  The Healer: A Novel  has already received nothing but extremely high praise from beta readers and sneak peekers alike!
Find links to grab your favorite format at the1978one.com/Healer today!

Also, if you purchase the paperback version at Amazon.com, you get the Amazon Kindle version absolutely FREE!

And, as always, once you’ve read it, please consider posting a rating and review on its Amazon page—reviews are the life-blood of a book, and help others discover the book as well.

“It’s been keeping me up until 2AM every night!”

—Natalie C.

 

SPECIAL GIVEAWAY!

Every new subscriber to the.1978.one newsletter through June 7, 2014, will be entered to win one of two autographed paperback copies of The Healer: A Novel! You can find the subscription form in the footer and sidebars of the1978one.com

I want to thank each and every one of you my all the love, support, and encouragement you have shown me over the years—and the exciting thing is we’re only getting started!

—Lloyd Matthew Thompson

 

The Healer: A Novel – Sneak Peek

As my latest endeavor, The Healer: A Novel, grows ever closer to completion, I’ve had many of you very excited and eager for it, asking when it will be released. It’s looking as if it will be late spring now rather than the early spring release date (my birthday!) I had hoped for, but nevertheless, it will not be much longer at all!

In the meantime, I gift you here with another exclusive sneak peek excerpt from The Healer: A Novel, coming to you via Starfield Press. Enjoy!

(PS—Click here to see the first exclusive excerpt I released back in December!)

—

THE DARKNESS NO LONGER bothered him. It had become so familiar to him, so comfortable, he rarely remembered anything else, or noticed that anything was other than it should be.

And the waiting; he no longer realized he was waiting.

How long had it been? Centuries? Or had he only been confined in this darkness a day or two? It didn’t matter.

Time had lost all meaning and measure for him. But then again, they had meant very little to him even before this moment, hadn’t they?

He really didn’t mind, either way. He was still here, and that was what mattered. As long as he was here, as long as he was able to think, he would be able to wait. No one knew where he was anyway. He had been afraid for a few weeks or decades at first that someone was left, that someone would find him, that his end would come after all. But no one ever came. No one ever found him. And so he had begun to relax at some point of the way.

And one day, maybe next week, maybe today—what difference did those words mean to him?—he would be able to move again; he only had to remember how to move. When that day came that he was able to move once again, he would be able to do things again, and he definitely had things to do. He had already decided on that long ago, or just a minute ago.

Perhaps time would be important to him again then, too. He could imagine needing to work within a concept of time again—hadn’t he done it before? He couldn’t quite remember. That may have been only a dream. Regardless, he would do what he needed to do; he had seen it from his place outside of time.

He had also seen all that had happened before. He had seen it all over and over again. That was what kept him going in this deep, silent void. Or was it the nutrients he had discovered he could absorb from the soil encasing him that kept him going? He had figured that out yesterday, or last year. No, it was definitely the memory of the things he had been through before that fueled his desire to keep waiting.

And he had done this himself, hadn’t he?

The tiniest drop of dew dripped from what slight space there was over him, and landed on his head. He felt it. He allowed the thoughts of what happened before to slip from his mind as he smiled at the dewdrop. He could pull in as many nutrients from the earth he wanted, but it was a rare occasion to find and draw in actual moisture. He savored it as if it was giving him an entirely new body.

He still had a body, didn’t he?

He focused on the molecules of the dew as it soaked into his scalp, merging and becoming a part of him. Yes, he definitely still had a body. He forgot sometimes.

His thoughts landed back on what was to come.

When he moved again, they would all see him. They would all see who he was. They would all see what he could do. He would be the one they came to for their every need. They would quickly realize that in their hard times, he would be their shining wayshower, and that in their easy times, he would be their vigilant watchman. They would appoint him to a high place, and he would be—no, all that was what he had already been before, not what he would be to come, wasn’t it? Or was it?

He couldn’t quite remember sometimes.

How long had it been?

A drop of water fell on his head.

Excitement shot through his system. He definitely still had a body—he was positive about that now. He wouldn’t have been able to feel its outline, its shape, as the surge of adrenaline coursed through it otherwise. Before did not matter. What was to come did not matter. This moment had brought him not only the infrequent taste of dew, but now, too, a larger drop of water to be thoroughly enjoyed!

Perhaps he did not need to be expending so much energy on such intangible things as before and next, and instead concentrate his efforts into finding more of this irresistible, satisfying moisture. Oh, how he had forgotten! How long had it been? He hadn’t felt this since he was out and around, before, and all had come to him with their every need regarding the sun and stars or earth and sea, and all—No, no, that was before again. What mattered was what was coming up. The things he would be able to show them was what mattered, and this water on his head.

No—only the water on his head mattered right now, didn’t it? Two drops in one day—imagine! This was still the same day, wasn’t it? Maybe that was last week he had felt the dew. Did it even matter? He decided it didn’t. It was a miracle, and the miracle was all that mattered. All else could—

Another drop, even bigger!

If his vocal chords had been used in ages, he would have been able to cry out in joy as the sensation from the molecules soaked into his scalp and interacted with his own cells.

Three drops in a single day! He truly was blessed; surely this was a sign he would accomplish all he had set his heart to, and once he moved again, all he touched would be gold in the eyes of the stars! When he moved again, he—

Two more near-simultaneous drops landed on his head, and his ecstasy froze in a heartbeat, then rapidly melted to fear.

Oh no. Please, no.

Four more drops, one after the other, paved the way for the steady trickle of water that followed. Each new drop-within-drop increased his anxiety and confirmed his fears.

Her.

He felt it.

He read it.

He received the message in the water loud and clear.

He turned and drew back the dark, heavy drapes that had held the sunlight from his sanctuary for so long. He had done this before, hadn’t he? Or was this now? No, this was before. He had resolved that these draperies never be pulled open again, and he should have simply had the window sealed up with stones or even precious metals, for inspiration, but had not. He had been too focused on his work, too committed.

Now the audible sounds from the crowds below his window blended and blurred with the impending messages he had been ineffectively attempting to ignore and desperately searching to conquer, and he knew he had lost. He had run out of time. All he had fought for, all he had waited for, all he had been promised was now being murdered, stolen, ripped from him with no opportunity to defend, much less attack.

And it was all her doing.

He whirled around as the massive wooden doors to his area burst open. The armored soldiers of the Seeker’s camp poured in, nothing but their eyes exposed. His own eyes frantically ran over his possessions, panicked, seeking what could be grabbed before he was grabbed.

They were on him before anything was able to be rescued, dragging him swiftly to the door. He felt the vibration of his voice making sounds he had never heard before as he screamed in protest. He glimpsed his tools and his work engulfing in flames as he twisted and fought—work he had devoted his every waking moment to, work he had nearly perfected, work that would make him even more indispensible to the Ancient and the people, if he was only given a chance to prove it.

The sight of fire being set to all he owned pushed him immediately to his breaking point.

Nothing was left to lose, if these were lost. Nothing would be gained if he didn’t try, and he had to try; he had not worked so diligently on this science and ability for nothing—what better test was there than the very real situation of these soldiers dragging him from his own sanctuary? He could show them all right; he could show them all, right here.

Abruptly, he ceased his struggling and closed his eyes. He allowed the sounds to continue rising from his throat, and brought his full awareness to the vibration they created. Then he shifted a portion of his awareness to the vibration of the floor boards as they shook beneath the stomping of the soldiers’ feet.

Mentally grasping each end of this vibrational rope—his voice on one end, the solid wood of the other—he inhaled sharply, drawing each vibration to the center of his belly, then exhaled as hard and fast as he could, willing the vibrations to enhance in strength tenfold as he shot the vibrations down his arms and out his hands, which were being firmly held apart by the soldiers.

The thunderous blast that impacted the soldiers on each end of his arms sent them crashing into the soldiers behind them. He immediately dropped to the floor in the confusion, and threw himself out the door. Shouts and yells filled the air of his previously peaceful sanctuary, adding to the rising cries of the crowds in the streets below. The soldiers scrambled to their feet and toward the door after him as he leaped to his feet and spun to make his escape—and suddenly stopped short.

She was standing there, still as an idol, an image of perfect calmness amidst the uncharacteristic chaos that had escaladed within the city these past months—chaos that had now peaked in this chain of events here and now. It was her doing, all of it. He knew it. Everyone knew it.

And she was right here.

She had won.

The soldiers took hold of him again, careful to grip only his forearms this time rather than his hands, all while she merely stood watching it all, as if it were the most commonplace thing in the world.

Never speaking a word, she gracefully turned and began to walk away. The soldiers dragged him behind her, following.

His shockwave had worked, and would have worked, would have spared him this predicament, and quite possibly his life, had she not been there. And this was not the first time she had gotten in his way, was it? She was the entire reason he had secluded himself away in efforts to speed his progress and preparation. But his labors were not for his own soul, as she thought—this is how he knew that he was the one in the right. He had done his work for the benefit of the Ancient, and though the Ancient did not yet know, he would see.

Or would have seen.

She led them all into the underground chambers that tunneled beneath the city. As they passed beneath the main streets, the rumbling and ruckus of the crowds above could be heard and felt even this far below ground. Dust and pieces of the stone supports broke loose and dropped among them periodically.

Sudden inspiration struck him.

Perhaps there was still a chance.

Wasting no time debating internally, he zeroed his focus in on the sounds and vibrations the warring crowds above were creating, inhaled the vibrations into his belly center, amplified its strength, and shot it downward, into the earth, adding the sound of his own voice to the power again as well.

He was amazed how much easier this level of magic was the second time, and marveled as the crater below him yawned open before anyone realized what had happened.

The soldiers cried out, releasing his arms as they twisted and desperately grabbed at the edge of the hole to save themselves, while he willingly surrendered to tumbling directly into the center of it.

Even at this turn of events, he had still heard no sound or utterance from her as he pulled vibrations from anything and everything his awareness could touch, and blasted himself diagonally deeper into the earth, deeper and deeper each time, finding it easier and easier with each thrust until he felt he was a safe distance from her, from the city, from everything.

Now nobody knew where he was.

No one would be able to find him, and he could simply wait here a few weeks until all the disturbance and uproar worked themselves out, leaving his city, his home, in peace once again. He would rebuild his sanctuary, and begin his work where he had left off—this time with the renewed faith and confidence from his experience escaping her.

But she had found him now, hadn’t she?

It had been more than a week, hadn’t it?

The walls of his temporary earthen sanctuary suddenly seemed to close in on him, darkness flooding his awareness even faster than the trickle of water dripping on his head was soaking his hair. He had been so clever, so careful—hadn’t he? Where had he gone wrong?

The water dribbled down his face, and he felt a tingling numbness slowly spreading through his body. As the water reached his shoulders and began wetting his chest, he felt his body completely paralyzed—or more accurately, no longer under his own control.

She had him.

Remembering that his mind was clearest, and his chances of finding and attempting an escape were greatest when he was calm and submissive, he willed his mind to resist struggling to make his body move. Panic would only make things worse.

Ramika, he thought upwards, knowing she would be able to hear him through the water connection she held on him.

I am no longer called that, came the instant reply. I have become Sierra.

Tears immediately welled below the surface of his face, but were denied the gift of birth. His mind reeled and tried all the more desperately to take control of his body and his weeping.

So it was true.

He had lost track of time. He had waited too long to return to the city, to his work. He had allowed her too much time to hunt him down.

And now she had him again.

How did you find me?

I always knew where you were, Murphy. I found you the same day you buried yourself within this self-appointed grave. I simply didn’t need you yet.

Levels of dread never felt before shocked his nervous system.

She had known, all this time.

He had never been safe, never been hidden.

How long has it been?

Time is measured differently now as well—not that time ever held any meaning for a prophet, hmm? But in the way we counted it in the Old Days, it has been over two hundred and sixty thousand cycles.

How was this possible? How could she be speaking truth? Yet that was what she had always done, wasn’t it? That was her service in the city.

What do you want with me, if all is… lost?

The same thing I wanted with you before.

But if all is now gone… Are we the only survivors?

We were. We are no longer. I thought I had things firmly in my control and would not have need for you, but I am now concerned that is not the case.

Then it seems you are still repeating your own patterns, Ramika.

Call me Sierra! I am no longer that other—she foolishly grew too comfortable, too arrogant to succeed. I am new. I—

Have just confessed you’ve done the same once again: relaxed in a false confidence as your prize slipped from your hands.

No! I have not! I am here to retrieve you to ensure I do not fail again—this shows I am not the same!

Murphy made a silent mental note regarding the weakness and sensitivity he had discovered in her, for future use, as he relented, to watch and wait.

How could I possibly be of any help to you, if it truly is a new world? I know nothing of it.

Silence followed as Sierra seemingly debated whether to continue

Suddenly he became aware of a low, rumbling vibration slowly descending around him on all sides. It grew in intensity until it was deafening to his trained senses, even after all this time.

What are you doing?

Mental images immediately flooded his mind. Rain. Trillions of endless drops of rain, crashing onto countless people, metal moving objects, oddly shaped castles, endless tree and plant leaves, and hosts of all sorts of animals. He felt each and every drop on each and every object—individually, and as a whole simultaneously. Visuals of all the energy, all the information, all the sound being gathered into a massive vortex high in the sky and slammed down directly over his earthen sanctuary overwhelmed and overloaded his system.

Just as suddenly, all but the rumbling around his body disappeared.

Precious vibrations for you, Prophet, she stabbed into his mind. Get up here now.

—

The Healer: A Novel © 2014 Lloyd Matthew Thompson

All Rights Reserved

Gentleman

“Gentle is a holy word” I wrote in my journal back in 06/2006.

Thinking back, I had clearly been going through a shift at that time.

I had been struggling to find and figure out where I was heading, what I was supposed to be doing, and how things were going to happen. Clinging to specifically desired outcomes, grasping at wanting to know all things before they happened, and receiving no answers whatsoever had left me restlessly floundering.

I had been fighting with—and disgusted with—the anger and frustration that overwhelmed me in dealing with people, particularly difficult and nasty people, and especially in working a corporate job. I knew I was supposed to look for and find the good in others and in whatever situation I found myself in, but I was finding my attachment to futures and results that did not exist yet was not the way to manifest and dream those wishes into being. “Exchanging self with others” was not a concept I could get my mind to wrap around yet, much less successfully put into practice.

I knew what I desired myself to be:

Gentle.

Kind.

Unconditionally loving.

And watching myself fall far short of those things daily only added more anger fluid to the flames I was already roasting in.

I remember the one thing I could feel in that time was myself—my future self, or at least one from a timeline I wanted to choose and bring into this timeline of reality. (These are my 2014 self’s words—I don’t think I understood or thought of realities in those terms yet at that time LOL)

When I found I could not focus on goodness around me, I found I could focus on the goodness of what I wanted to be, the man I wanted to embody.

And I remember a deer was beside me then, even before I was aware of anything shamanic or totem-y whatsoever! But there was a gentle, graceful deer with me I drew from when my outside world grew too much of a bee-swarm.

How do these things differ from the reality I find myself in these days?

I don’t find they do.

The same thing exists at every level.

As I spoke with my future self back then, my past self steps forward and speaks with me now… the names, places, and scenery has changed, but the burning and longing is the same, if not even more so when allowed to roam unchecked (See my WORLDSTORY 2013 essay)…

And my choices and core desires also remain the same:

Gentleness.

Kindness.

Unconditional love.

So… Lloyd, love? Be a deer, won’t you?

Bring me back Home now.

— . —

Gentle is a Holy Word

06.29.2006

Gentle, Gentle,

Simple and nonviolent

It wouldn’t matter what befell

If proper Vision were unveiled!

Gentle, Gentle,

Radiance majestic

Emphasizing empathizing

Imagine wings on ev’rything!

Gentle, Gentle,

Whispering to Me

One inside a vessel dearly

Opens Ear to see You clearly!

© 2006 Lloyd Matthew Thompson

 

.

Bloodshot Eyes

I come from a line of unshakable Christians and preachers, and even now, nearly all of my relatives—immediate and distant—follow that genetic path without question…

Ministry is in my blood.

But it has always been very clear to me I have different eyes.

I have the sort of eyes one receives on a mountaintop, after conversing directly with the Creator, after whirling dervishly in perfect and subconscious synchronicity with one’s brothers and the Divine, after touching the Universe itself via the walkie-talkie embedded within one’s own Heart—the eyes of the mystic who finds God in all things, light and shadow…

And I have reached the point where I can no longer do nothing.

Of course, I do not mean to imply that they or any other do not find true connection with God in their chosen ways. My thoughts are only on the contrast I see around me between following rigidly set rules, and naturally following the flow of the Heart and the direct connection and communion with the Universe that brings with it—between the enforcing of bubbles, and the popping of bubbles.

Just as Jesus spent eighteen years in retreat, studying and focusing on spiritual growth to prepare for that which was to come before emerging to embrace the Whole as it is, raw and naked, it is now time for me to emerge, a spirit bear coming out of hibernation at the dawn of spring.

I am aware this active engagement calls for a new boldness, a new strength, a new level of authenticity… but how can I not? How can any of us not?

Yet even in this,

a balance,

a middle way.

There is danger in extremities on BOTH ends of the spectrum.

Not so passive as a sheep.

Not so activist as a wolf.

To everything there is a time.

Time—though an illusion—never slows.

There will be times when one must slow, as one’s own self-care and self-healing must be paid mind first and foremost, if one is to make any difference at all here, but still there will be other times when action is called for and can be done or said or not-done and not-said.

May the discernment and discretion to know each be with us all.

And so it is.

 

.

 

Mother Sorrow, Natal Manifesto

My heart has been broken,

And those pieces have been broken,

And the pieces of those pieces have been broken.

And as my heart has been divided,

And had the divided divided,

I realize

With ever-sharpening clarity

I am

Only

A mirror,

A sentient reflection of the Whole which lies broken around me.

I am no different than,

And not immune from

The Whole.

How was such separation allowed?

How were such things tolerated and ignored, back when it was still not too late,

Not too fragmented to still put a foot down rather than turn eyes away and pretend such things were not happening?

Is it too late?

Is all now lost to us forever?

This place has been before,

And Noah wept night and day.

This place has been before,

And Moses wept night and day.

This place has been before,

And Jeremiah wept night and day.

This place has been before,

And Jesus wept

Even while demonstrating another Tao.

 

When will we fucking learn????

 

And frogs in pots is no excuse or justification for those who also claim to be the image of the Divine.

 

Whether the ancient stories were ever true,

They show the deeper awareness of the Whole

Knows

There is a point,

A boundary,

A line.

 

WHY is it not apparent enough that UNITY and LOVE feel SO much better

Than anger, hate, and greed to DO something, to MAKE CHANGES?

 

And my heart is broken

At all I see,

At all I feel,

At all I know things could be.

 

What do we do?

Where do we start?

I can only make a decision for myself.

I can only choose what I alone do.

 

And I have to.

Do.

Something.

 

This is not how it was supposed to go…

 

I have to demonstrate another Tao,

Whether by my hands,

Or by my words alone.

 

.

O Manjushri

Homage to Venerable Guru Protector Manjushri!

At your Heart you hold a Dharma text, showing that you see all ultimate and conventional truths with a wisdom that has dispelled the clouds of obstructions and radiates like the sun.

With a melodious speech endowed with sixty qualities, you love like your only child all migrators in the prison of samsara, who are confused by the darkness of ignorance and tormented by suffering.

The roar of your speech, like the sound of dragon-thunder, rouses us from the sleep of the delusions, and frees us from the iron chains of karma.

Your sword, held aloft, dispels the darkness of ignorance and cuts through all roots of suffering.

Pure from the beginning, having accomplished the ten grounds, your princely body in the aspect of a Bodhisattva is complete with all good qualities and the one hundred and twelve marks of a buddha.

O Manjushri, all-loving one, with the brilliance of your wisdom,

illuminate the darkness…

OM AH RA PA TSA NA DHI!

•

Sweating Bullets

I’m dying.

Again.

I do it every so often, you know.

And so I suppose it is only fitting that in this my numerological 9 year—which is completion, wrapping up another full cycle—I find myself dying again.

And it feels good.

We collect so many energies and dust mites as we go through life, and drag these behind us if we don’t clear and release them regularly… but often, life get in the way and keeps us going going going, and we forget that sort of self-care… until it reaches a point where a death becomes necessary—a shaking, shattering, breaking-open death… so that the reBirth simmering underneath is able to then break the surface, and sprout to the Light.

They tell you your entire life flashes before your eyes in your last few moments.

They’re right.

And when one keeps a journal or blog, as this technological world so easily allows these days, it is that much easier for one to review their past life, reflect on where they were, compare the contrast of where they find themselves now, and consciously choose the tweaks their Heart and the Universe prod them toward…

I’ve been going through my old posts, writings, and artwork for these very reasons.

Then one in particular came to mind—a very important key turning point for me in the past—that I discovered had not been transferred in various digital moves I’ve done with my things over the last six years. So I expanded my search to all my backed up in-house media, until at last I found it—the words and the painting that poured from me after my first Native American sweat lodge ceremony on May 31, 2008.

I feel led to share it again here, for the multi-layered reasons of archiving in the blog again, declaring its relevance and reignited intentions in this present day, and sharing it for the possible inspiration and encouragement of you who are reading.

You are loved.

— • — • — • — • —

Sweating Bullets

06.01.2008

[The following is my account of my first experience in a Kiowa sweat lodge ceremony...]

 

I came to this place to die…

I came to this place to die…

I came to this place to die…

 

 

The East, South, West, and North gathered around me as I prepared to take my final breaths.

I knew full well I had come here to die today. I had willingly put myself in this situation, knowing completely what was going to happen.

As I stood silently and listened to the Winds around me, feeling their caress, I looked in to my Heart to see how I truly felt about this death.

I found no fear whatsoever there.

I felt no clinging to the life that had run its course.

I had no regret for all things done good or bad, and, in fact, could see no difference between the two.

I felt a serenity that cannot be described.

I found patient strength, Lovingly waiting for its time…

 

“When the fire is lit, you are lit…”

 

My spirit combusted along with the fire as it engulfed the stones in the most passionate orange flames I had ever seen. I stood before it, unable to move, mezmerized by the union of this fire and my soul.

I felt it surrounding

I felt it consuming

I felt it searing away my InvisibleFlesh…

My time had come.

 

When the stones had heated from brown to red to orange to white, I and those ten other souls fell to our knees and willingly re-entered the Womb from which we all came,

the Buffalo sheltering from the chill of the Snow,

the Native American sweat lodge ceremony we were so honored to participate in.

Day One: four of the stones were brought into the lodge and sprinkled with sage.

The door was shut, delivering us to utter darkness as water was poured upon the stones, creating steam. The sweating, purifying, and prayers had begun…

Day Two: seven more stones were brought in, increasing the heat and steam in our Womb. Songs and prayers for unity regardless of age, status, or level were offered, and we were cleansed through our pores more aggresively than before….

Day Three: ten more stones were now brought in for the Healing round. The heat and steam were now so intense a towel was needed to cover our face in order to breathe. Sweat poured from us as a waterfall.

The last of my impurities now exhausted their life. I stepped aside as I watched that body collapse to the earth and exhale its last breath.

I stared at it in amazement,

seeing,

knowing,

feeling that part of me gone,

dead.

I circled the body as my throat vibrated OOOOMMMM for what seemed like ages. The rattle in my hand shook with a life of its own.

There was no sadness here.

Simply amazement and… relief

that this burden and annoyance had been so vividly and Lovingly murdered…

Day Four: almost all the rest of the stones were brought into the lodge for the final round. In the near unbearable heat, with our backs aching from crouching in our Womb, I was asked to pray for all beings past, present, and future. As our purification and detoxification came to completion, I gushed forth this pure Love inside me like the sweat gushing forth from my entire being. I expressed deep gratefulness to our ancestors for preparing our way for this Life’s experience and growth and the knowledge and wisdom we tap in to, prayers for guidance and growth of all living and experiencing Life now, and welcoming all yet to come, preparing the way for those whose ancestors WE will become…

 

I left myself lying in that no-thing-ness.

I crawled out of the Womb,

reborn and rejuvenated,

experienced breathing again for the very first time,

tasted the most delicious food imaginable,

gaped at the stars and the lightning for the first time in my Life,

stared awestruck at the overwhelming beauty in all I saw,

and knew I was new.

 

 

With my body, speech, and mind,

I know who I am…

 

—

Below:

Aho (“Amen,” “Thank You,” or “Kill Him”)

by Lloyd Matthew Thompson

acrylic on canvas, 06.01.2008

Firsthand Darkness — My 2013 Worldstory

WITH THE RELEASE OF the first annual Starfield Press WORLDSTORY 2013 Treasury—a various author compilation sharing the experiences of growth and change 2013 brought others all around the planet—I decided to go ahead and share my chapter contribution from this project here as well.

It takes a lot of reflection, introspection, and meditation to review and recap the major lessons and themes of a year… And it takes even more bravery for one to open and share very vulnerable places and emotions within themselves. I’m very proud of all who exposed themselves for this project, and encourage everyone to read the stories they have shared, taking what applies to you to reflect on and process your own experiences and change…

• — • — • — •

FIRSTHAND DARKNESS

Lloyd Matthew Thompson

IT WAS IN THE year of two thousand thirteen that darkness touched me, firsthand.

It was then I realized just how deep a darkness people are capable of.

Before 2013, sure, I saw how awful this place could be, how downright horrible and devastating. But even then, they were really just stories; I still held the highest faith in people. I stubbornly insisted that people were inherently good; that above all, people would always choose the best for everyone involved—Grinches with bejeweled hearts secreted away.

I probably even imagined them taking out those precious hearts, and enjoying them behind the safety of closed doors—they just didn’t want anyone to know about it, right? Bullies are supposed to really be teddy bears, once you get to know them.

I know I trusted they would act from this space of kindness at the end of the day, when things came down to the wire.

But I had not yet been put to the personal test of experiencing such things in my own life.

What I should clearly have known—what movies and stories endlessly attempt to portray to us—is that the “bad guys” are bad guys for a reason, and will most likely remain the bad guys, defiant and insistent on it to their very end, spitting curses at the hero as their very body dissolves into a gulf of flames.

I discovered that Grinches, with all their heart-growing-at-the-end-of-the-episode, seem to be the exception, not the rule.

But that is not really the point of my story here.

It is easy to accept the fact that there will always be hateful people. It’s easy to voice that you know there will always be somebody trying to weasel anything free out of anyone they can; that there will always be those who will not bat an eyelash at harming others physically, emotionally, or spiritually, if they believe it will gain themselves something—even if those others are their own families and children.

It is also easy to read and study and fancy yourself “practicing” a higher set of standards, telling yourself you are living by them, when in reality all you’ve done is imagine them—imagine what you would do if certain situations came to your life.

When the reality of those certain situations—at times very difficult and impossible situations—hit you for real, as real, it is then that you discover exactly what your true colors are. You begin to see what you really have inside.

And I found my natural response to hatefulness was… hate.

Anger.

Irrational ranting and plotting.

Where did that come from?

How did I drop so quickly to that?

Twelve years of meditation, studying, and patterning myself to make sure I was a gentle, compassionate, and unconditionally loving person were instantly overridden by an emotional, chemical, and primal nature the moment my family and myself was threatened.

It is extremely difficult to maintain the view that certain people are “simply hurting and hopeless, and just need more love shown to them” when they are stomping on your face and holding your most precious treasures hostage for the sole purposes of controlling you or getting something they want from you.

And I feel that in 2013 I truly real-ized: until one has come face to face with an experience of something, and has gone through it directly, one cannot know how one will react in a given situation. One cannot know what one is talking about. One cannot claim to be an expert at it. One may have the knowledge of and historical facts on the best and worst ways to handle a thing, but until they have been tried, tested, and burned by that thing, one simply does not know.

You see yourself in a whole new light when you reach this point. You come to the crossroads of deciding you’ve wasted your time for years and should throw it all away, since bullies and manipulators seem to always get their way without consequences anyway, or to continue believing that although the world is full of spew, every ounce of light beamed from even the most insignificant of people does make a difference, gather your resolve, and transmute the crap into fuel to spur even greater feats of strength, untouched.

So now that I know, and now that I see… which do I choose?

In sitting with the pain…

In sitting with the character I wish to embody, and have worked so diligently to become…

I strip away each, and frantically search for what rests at my core.

And I find…

All the work I’ve done for thirty-five years has been able to be done because it is who I am.

It is what I always return to, always bounce back to, no matter what, because it is what I am.

I find an incredible peace in honestly and nakedly discovering that it is no act put on for my readers, no show performed for the clients I heal, no ruse to pretend I am a good person—I truly am… this.

I choose to carry on.

Am I stronger now, thanks to 2013?

Surely I must be.

I know myself—my dark and my light—better than I ever have before, because of these experiences.

Is that then the purpose of “bad guys” in the world, these people spewing and vomiting filth on this otherwise amazing planet?

Are they here for more than the vague textbook answer of “to bring balance” and be the dark’s opposite to the light?

Do they volunteer and choose to come be nasties here, so that those truly aspiring toward higher realms will have catapults for their ascensions?

If this is so, it would mean that the “hatefuls” are the most benevolent Bodhisattvas in the world—those holy beings who willingly stay behind to assist others in growing ahead.

Now isn’t that a trip to consider…

—