Terminal Dream

Asking for prayers and positive intentions from my network of friends. COVID has caught me in a financial vise. I went full-time as a hypnotherapist in 2019, investing heavily in marketing that did not generate revenues. I made a push in the retirement communities, and then COVID hit, sending my business development into a tail-spin.

I have been unable to get the IRS to accept my 2019 return, held up on technicalities. This means that I have been frozen out of COVID relief, as my 2018 income was nearly $130,000. Conversely, because my income actual was low in 2019, I am also unable to claim PPP relief.

I made it through the end of 2020 doing Census enumeration work. I have considered COVID contact tracing, but in Southern California that requires Spanish.

Fortunately, I continue to have beautiful dreams. Last night, I was homeless on the beach or in a forest, and shifted from fear into visualizations of all the gifts I have received in this life, projecting those that have shared them with me into the eternal realm of love. An ancient will called me forward to walk in the wilderness. I came upon a great tree that continued to stretch heavenward as I tried to see the limits of its branches, until finally they touched the sun.

This is a vision that I shared with some starting a decade ago, that the biosphere heals when we teach the simpler forms of life to be conscious of the loving embrace of the source of all life, and intelligent in focusing it for good.

Blessings to you all.

Confluences

I have been struggling with MYSTERY this month. I am at the end of my financial rope, and will be unable to pay my bills in January. I had a plan for contracting work, but the field was buffeted by lawsuits in 2019, and the job posting have disappeared.. So I must admit to being in panic mode.

My intimates fail to recognize the complexity and durability of the forces that constrain me, instead treating me like I am a stubborn child who is afraid of women. Conversely, I look at them and say “You know, everything you have – down to your very lives – you have only because of my alignment with the spirit that called them into being. If you force me off the face of the planet, BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN.”

Having run up credit card debt, I am out nearly $5000 per annum in interest payments, which I cannot cover. Once the credit cards are frozen, I am out of luck.

This is leading me to sidestep MYSTERY. There are other pathways to lunar energy, and I have decided to tap into them before disaster befalls me in January.

There is a tree named Luna in Humboldt County that I got involved with in 1985 or so. The history is a little disjointed, but Pacific Northwest Lumber, practitioner of sustainable logging, was devoured by a Texan resource stripper name Maxxam. Maxxam set out to clear-cut PNLs holdings in twenty years. The response by the eco-warriors was a campaign of tree-sitting and spiking to slow down the harvesting.

Luna was the 1000-year-old matriarch of a stand that was targeted for clear-cutting. In 1997, Julia Butterfly Hill spent two years on the tree, until PNL agreed to leave Luna standing. A year later, a poacher attacked Luna overnight, cutting a three-foot-deep scar half-way around her circumference. Tree doctors and PNL rallied to her aid, installed a steel collar.

In considering a trip to Humboldt, I had a dream that Luna was dying, and I resolved to visit her to do what I could to strengthen her spirit. Today, as I was out walking and trying to figure out how to keep myself going until the pandemic ends, I realized that she was a living expression of yin/yang balance.

I will be heading up overnight on the 20th. The solstice, of course, is the 21st. The waxing half-moon – another metaphor for yin/yang balance will – be in the sky.

All through the month of January, Jupiter and Saturn will be close enough in the sky to be seen simultaneously through most telescopes. This brings back another memory: ten or so years ago, sitting on the couch in my empty apartment, I had the sense of a man entering my mind. He hunted around until he found Jupiter (head of the Greco/Roman pantheon) and then Saturn (head of the preceding pantheon of Titans). Seeking to subdue them, he pushed them together until they joined, and then began laughing maniacally. One of many such “WTF” moments over the last twenty years.

As well as visiting Luna, I hope to find a broad stump to dance on for a couple of hours. I will run some Christmas music on my sport phones and let it rip.

My WordPress subscription for the site will renew sometime over the next month. I guess that the site will roll over to a free format if I fail the payment. I have done the best I can.

Today I spent ninety minutes with Rob Bell, one of his “So I Have Something to Say” coaching sessions. I won’t go in to details. He told me that when COVID is over, people will be ready to hear what I have to say.

You know, that is the only meaningful encouragement I have received in twenty years.

Maybe I should figure out how to hang on until then.

Turned Off

I do not subscribe to shame. It is somewhat pitiful, rather, that they need it so badly that they rape me in my dreams.

They have been proud of the control they wield over the President, but the hammer blows fall faster and faster. They try new gambits.

So after the rape, this dream: I am appealing to my sons for financial support, and they ignore me. Flying toward an ancient city, I float over a carpeted field of discards. Drawn below, I tug at the loosened ends of a roll. Two ceramic plates? No, they didn’t like that.

A pause, and I try again. Two tablets. I turn the first one on and the dream shifts. The screen displays the vibrantly-hued pages of a comic book. I look around me. Rich color everywhere.

You see, I cannot see pictures when I dream. They have occupied that part of my mind, and do not let images through.

Am I supposed to be impressed? You have trapped yourself in the avenues of my imagination. I will see visions again, with or without your consent. The question is only whether you will be torn apart in the realization of that eventuality.

So, no, I did not feel obligated by the gift. Rather, I calmly asked, “And just what does this do for the people that I love and serve?”

Sixes and Sevens

This month Ecstatic Dance LA starts its seventh year. Next month, I start my seventh decade. That could be an a coincidence, but I find an odd meaning in that parallel.

The Hindus chose seven chakras and the Holy Books have seven days of creation. Understood correctly, the two are related. I look back at the last three decades and I see the chakras progressing through the heart (seat of wellness and social trust), throat (seat of social expression), and third eye (seat of personal realization). Looking forward, I pray that my seventh decade will lead to divine manifestation.

In entering its seventh year, Ecstatic Dance LA has no other path forward. Until January, I made the trip down from Ventura twice a month to join you physically on the dance floor. In February, facing financial ruin and suffering from a premonition that disaster was about to befall us, I stopped. It was only a month later that the doors closed and the dance became a virtual experience.

That may be frustrating for many of you, especially those that rely upon physicality to engage reality. The body has its perks, but also pitfalls. Confronting its dominance during the dance, over the years I did my best to raise consciousness. Sometimes the response was grateful; sometimes incredulous; sometimes hostile.

Ecstatic Dance merges personalities through music and movement. Through physical contact, we facilitate that merger, negotiating control and surrender. If Ecstatic Dance is going to survive, we must see beyond the physical metaphor. We must reach up into the divine realm, knocking humbly at the gates of love, and allow it to temper us as we merge in the realm of spirit.

I hope that you will join me there.

Responsibility

For the last twenty years I have wandered the world talking with people that claim the authority of Love, telling them that they were sending Love’s precious children into places of darkness that were painful to them.

Without exception, their response was “Who do you think you are? Some people gave me a piece of paper. And these other people pay me money to do what I do!”

At the end of last year, the pain finally wore me out, and I started telling them, “Look – love does not take vengeance. It does not punish people. It just goes away. Understand me: in its raw form, the natural world is a destructive place.”

And they said “Who do you think you are?” Worse, they started telling others to ensure that I do not have the resources to continue the work that I do.

My response: during the first wave of the COVID-19 outbreak, the evening news on MS-NBC documented the fear and exhaustion and heartbreak of the front-line healthcare workers. At night, I opened my heart to that pain and called angels down to sustain and protect them. After my tears had exhausted themselves and I drifted across the globe, a man’s voice range out to announce: “It’s Brian Balke.”

I rescue those that I can.

Purpose in the Madness

The writing gathered here is evidence of a frustrated personality. I have a clear vision of human potential, and have tried to organize concepts that make that potential accessible. That effort occurred in a vacuum, and was not supported materially. In fact, the tendency is for the world to resist such manifestations.

My shift to hypnotherapy is symptomatic. When I interviewed at the Hypnosis Motivation Institute, I questioned Mario Pescatore regarding the community ethic. He assured me that hypnotherapists had enough commercial opportunity that they did not attempt to exclude new practitioners. In fact, I find myself wandering in a Game of Thrones psychic battle zone, among competitors that resort to attacking my clients when they find me immune to their influence.

So I was beginning to feel sorry for myself at the end of February, and resolved at the beginning of March focus on leaving behind the therapeutic philosophy and methods that I have evolved. I am serializing it out on the Hypnotherapy 601 Facebook group.

And then I had a sending.

The etheric realms are anticipating the arrival of a huge number of traumatized souls. They need 1) to understand the structure of human nature in this era, and 2) methods to identify and retain the loving core in each individual.

This is my purpose for being here in this moment, at this time, and nothing else matters. I am at peace.

Not All Lost

Spent a fair portion of the day yesterday in the Santa Clarita area. Both church services I attended focused on Thursday’s events at Saugus High School. When I returned at 7 PM for the vigil in Central Park, the park was packed with people – I ended up standing 200 or more feet from the stage.

I did the best that I could to support the speakers, several of whom teetered on the edge of emotional collapse.

I was heartened that both of the deceased children were memorialized. I’ve been to several cities after such shootings, and this was the first time the shooter was remembered as a loving, active presence in the community. I consider it a huge step forward.

Q.E.D.

Those of you who have followed my blog will have noticed that I have gone silent. In part this reflects a shift in focus: I’m still producing creative material out at Hypnosis Rising. But the work that I began here continues, it’s just shifted into another phase.

So why not continue writing here?

It’s not that there’s no point to the writing.

So what was the point?

Around sixteen, I placed love at the center of my intellectual universe. Listening to the confused public discourse of the ’70s, as splintering demographics set out to stake out their rights and privileges, I realized that the word had become degraded. So I set out to reclaim it.

What I realize now is how critical that decision was to my intellectual growth. We can either wrestle ideas into our service or we can facilitate their interaction. Any serious attempt to assess the material here will confront its astonishing breadth and depth. I know, because when I have free time and go back and look at it, I am flummoxed. Where did all of this come from?

Well, it came from ideas that were allowed to seek their natural place in the service of love. To understand that statement, I guess I should clarify that I see ideas as little angels. I don’t try to force them into my possession, I allow them to use my brain as a means of reorganizing themselves. They seem to enjoy working with me.

So to explain my silence: I don’t write because I can no longer see the borders of the universe that they have formed around me. They seem satisfied with what we have accomplished. No, “satisfied” is too weak. They are joyous.

Unfortunately, we live in an era that uses mass communication to suborn ideas to the end of self-promotion. That practice chews away at the periphery of my intellect. Most of my energy is spent holding the chaos at bay.

For those familiar with the phrase, “the center will hold.” The events will probably surprise you as they unfold. I point you to Martin Luther King Jr.’s last speech. I’m not about to allow those that control the mechanism of exchange to pollute my intellect, nor will I cede our power to them. Instead I pity them, for in attempting to do either (as proven in “Love Works”) they destroy themselves.

They subscribe to the prerogatives of selfishness and the outcomes of Death. I have chosen Love and Life.

Random Acts of Grace

While the material aspects of existence have been troubling, over the last four months I’ve had sublime experiences in the spiritual realm.

Since starting hypnotherapy full-time in January, the practice has been a financial disaster. I won’t go into the details, except to say that it appears that destiny is testing my commitment. By stretching out my credit cards and pulling down my 401(k), I should be able to make it through to September, at which point I’m going to have to throw myself on the mercy of strangers.

But hypnotherapy is only a metaphor for the greater work, and having freed myself from the projections of anger and greed contingent upon my employment, what emanates from me now stimulates grace-filled events.

When walking to Ecstatic Dance LA on Easter, a drunken youth waiting with three friends at a bus stop calls upon me for a blessing.

During a conversation with a new friend, I ask if she would mind if I projected the song she had offered to play for me. It resonates powerfully on the right side of my mind, and my female friends in the office building whisper and bow their heads to me the next day.

Having overcome the political cabal that has sought to suppress my business, female friends start showing up at Dance Tribe on Sunday. In the early morning hours, I have a terrible dream about trying to research hypnotherapy on the web. While one of them waits in the background as a passive support, I can’t type the terms into the search box. Another female presence tries to push me toward her, but I cry out to heaven, “Father! Help me! I can’t do it any more!” I wake up and announce to the air “You’re just trying to beat me down,” while I fix my attention on the female Chinese hypnotherapists that had set up the scenario.

And again today at Ecstatic Dance LA, where on Easter I first called the Tree of Life from the center of the floor. A graceful young beauty appears for the first time. She assumes that I’m trying to seduce her until I project that I’ve got far more important things to worry about. We skirt each other for two hours until the end of the dance, when I hold space for her as she winds herself into my energy. Assured, I reach down and raise the Tree of Life over the gathering. While I project the broad canopy from my outstretched palms, she starts to dip toward the floor before flinging her arm imperiously upward. And suddenly my heart cracks open and I scream in grief – two long agonizing cries before I realize that multitudes of men are escaping my heart. Men that died for love, now seeking healing among the leaves.

I guess that I’ve got your attention, ladies. What happens next?