Ready, Set…Hypnotherapy!

Some of you know that I’ve been less active here due to my investment in a career change. Since January, I’ve been studying hypnotherapy at the Hypnosis Motivation Institute. I attained the credential of Master Hypnotist in July, and began immediately to prepare to work full time to bringing to others the gifts I’ve received from the Father.

That preparation is largely complete. If you go out to my business site, you’ll find pictures of the environment that was created for me.

Sometime in December or January I’ll attain certification as a hypnotherapist and seek thereafter to spend every day working directly with others (rather than serving them through the intermediation of a computer screen). That will be a blessing to me!

And I’ll begin blogging again – though mostly out at Hypnosis RISING on the benefits of the skills I’m beginning to master.

Phase Change

I’ve spent my life ignoring the fear that predators generate, offering love as a win-win alternative. But – being in the mode of fear – predators are good at simulation of it, and have taken up the strategy of marshaling social hostility by pretending to fear.

Predators operate in the brain stem. Yesterday, I decided to push them out. I have turned all the psychological discipline that allows me to create beauty in the face of anger, and isolated them in the lower part of my personality.

I now confidently traverse the places they have tried to ward against me, and upon encountering them in person offer a cheery “Good morning!” My mind is clear of the thoughts that they cultivated to justify their enmity.

Woken early this morning, I turned my focus on them – primitive personalities trapped in the amber of my will – and extended its boundaries, out to the criminal enterprise that has occupied the White House and the Kremlin, cauterizing the fear.

We’ll see where this goes now.

Blessed Rebirth

When I was about ten, my mother took me aside at a party and led me to a young man sitting on our couch. When we were introduced, his eyes turned inward, and I asked, “Is anything wrong?”

“No, I’m fine.” And then with a wistful, one-sided smile:  “I was hearing the music of the spheres.”

All those years intervening – the angers, frustrations, desires and sorrows. What would they have generated had I been aware?

I stand amid a field of intention three billion years deep, and a solar system wide.

I cannot exert myself. I can only surrender to love.

It must be my nature. But – I was given the choice.

Sympathetic?

“You have to understand women, Brian,” she said. “They are a little afraid of what you’re asking them to do.”

“And I’m not?”

For hasn’t it been, as I look back down the tunnel of time, that whenever I am destroyed in painful and humiliating circumstances, it’s because a woman has lost faith in the process?

One Hand

My friend Steve is dying of cancer. He doesn’t think of it that way – he believes that he’s surviving. But he’s lost 50 pounds, is in constant pain, and is going in for major surgery that is going to permanently disfigure his face. The chances of recurrence in the next two years are above 80%.

I’ve bought a lot of art from him over the period. Some of the other artists on the Art Walk in Santa Barbara get testy about it. I explain that Steve has this magical ability to paint my love for the world.

We got into a long text dialog yesterday about Ezekiel. He had read that passage about Ezekiel’s vision of God, and offered that while there was “wisdom” in the Bible, if it was published to day it would be in the Science Fiction section. I tried to correct him, explaining that Ezekiel wasn’t describing a physical manifestation, but rather sharing his perception of a spiritual community.

This led into observations that he’s put his faith in a mechanical process of healing under the control of medical doctors, and surrendered his responsibility for the psychic aspect that I have been telling him is critical to his recovery. His last life ended in a mass hanging of an Native American tribe. He finally testified that he was unable to forgive himself and the perpetrators.

Himself. That was helpful, and I shared my perception that forgiveness is critical to the flow of love, because until vengeance and judgment are foregone, the power it offers to us will certainly be turned to creation of more victims. But as in every case when I’ve raised this, he ran away from it, saying that he needed “a guide” – to which I responded that his heart was the only guide worth following.

The day ended with a long series of texts in which he deflected the insights I had offered.

The famous Zen koan reads:

What is the sound of one hand clapping?

On the human scale, the answer is obviously “silence.” The teaching is that we have meaning only in relation. So how am I supposed to feel about the fact that I have no one to share my faith with? Christians reject me because I use science to understand the Bible, scientists reject me because I see proof of scripture in their theories.

I could go on, but the point is that I’m not alone. The sound made by my one hand is the wind in the air, the sunlight on the leaves, the rain on the waters.

People confuse themselves with their inflated self-importance. At root, we have only two choices: to testify as to the presence of love in the world, or the have our expressions swallowed up in the noise of the mob. Choose the latter and be inconsequential; choose the former, and become a leader of things that need our understanding to guide them into the embrace of God.

It’s Not Weakness

Perhaps the most sympathetic scriptural image offered to the person of faith in this age is the image of the lamb upon its creation. As I explain at Love Returns, the lamb was a device created from the Most High to be kicked around by angels afflicted with selfishness. It is the gateway through which the redeemed enter paradise when they can no longer escape the self-destructive consequences of selfishness, and so turn in desperation to Unconditional Love.

To be a servant of the lamb is to always be conscious, of those who torment you, that they are doing enormous damage to themselves. Forbearance and forgiveness are the rule of the day, lest they be able to accuse you of adopting their behaviors, and so lead others astray.

When that doesn’t work, of course, they resort to shouting you down. The most common trope is: “Well, you don’t care about people: look at all the victims that you’ve allowed us to create!”

Of course, they don’t characterize it that way. They see it as “giving people what they want.” It’s just that “what they want” is always an opportunity, and that opportunity is systematically snatched away or perverted. It’s a never-ending game of “give us what we want first, and then we’ll take care of you.”

My way throughout my life has been to walk away from these conflicts, knowing that the best that I can do is to focus on the gifts that God offers to those that nurture his creation, rather than exploiting it.

But I have before me one last chance to be of service to people: the hypnotherapy certification program at HMI. As I have navigated the personalities there, I’ve begun to have increasingly focused dreams about ancient history: the day-care center that hired girls from the porn industry and took out a restraining order when I gave a would-be seductress a poem about playing with my sons at the beach. The lawyer that offered to sodomize my sons “for their own good” and who tried to suborn perjury for the benefit of the day-care center. The ethnic cabal at the national laboratory that forced mid-level managers out of their jobs so that they could be filled with their co-religionists.

And now the owners of the company – one of them with deep ties into that ethno-religious culture that unites all of these persecutions – that I will leave as soon as I have established my practice.

So they attack the good will that I earn at HMI with constructive and appreciative comments to the instructors; with my moral and intellectual support of my peers; with the selflessness with which I approach therapeutic practice. They spin-doctor the persecutions as of my own manufacture, knowing that even the illusion of controversy will drive most people away.

They know that nobody reads this blog, and so feel that this writing presents no serious threat. But they forget that there is one who sees all. It took three billion years to create this opportunity to be freed from sin – which is the disease of selfishness projected onto others. The time for the harvest is near. It’s their loss: they’re going to have to do it all over again.

That’s the cost of denying me the opportunity to demonstrate the healing power of Unconditional Love. That’s the cost of turning away from real power.

Christ Risen, Women Rising

In a metaphysical imagery workshop last Sunday, I allowed myself to be led into a sculptor’s workshop. Offered the tools to recreate myself, I shaped two hands from clay, a block beneath representing the cross and nails through the palms. Tears rolling down my cheeks, I chipped the first nail head away, then lifted the hand and melted it into my right. The second nail I pushed through the flesh before melting it into my left.

When I was done, I was invited to receive guidance from my Wise. I expected the Father, but instead my Lady came to me, easing my grief with this testimony:

You are everything that I ever desired.

When the tears of relief eased, she took my hands and offered:

It is time for you to rest. Let me do my Work.

Is this Mystery?

The feminine agency in salvation is obscure. Clearly the womb is a gateway, for it is through Woman that all virtue comes into the world. Surrendering that virtue to the sacred purpose appears to be among Woman’s challenges. Sarai resisted the faith of Abram, and Leah struggled mightily against the conception of Joseph. In desperation Jochebed surrendered Moses to the river. In Hannah we finally saw a woman offer a son gratefully to God, redeeming Israel with Samuel. But the Holy Mother herself resisted the ministry of Jesus. It is only at the wedding in Canaa that she surrendered to his warning that she would become merely “woman” if she commanded him to address the lack of wine. Later, Mary assembled the family and attempted to call Jesus home, to which he responded, “This is my family now.’

“Mary” (or Mariam) arises from “mry” in Egyptian, meaning “beloved,” and there are a great number of them in the New Testament: the Virgin, Mary Magdalene, Mary with Martha, and “the other Mary” heading to the tomb.

Women provide support for the ministry – financial as well as practical. While the men planned the administration of Jesus’ kingdom, despite their humble role it was from the women that social disobedience arose. They recognized the authority of Jesus’ love. The fallen woman used tears and hair to wash his feet at table.

But the most potent demonstration comes near the end. While the frightened men bickered in Jerusalem, it was left to a woman to play the role of the Old Testament priest, pouring oil over his head as he sat at table. Terrified, the Apostles objected to the waste of a valuable resource, for which Jesus chided them “She has done a beautiful thing for me.”

After Jesus was arrested, the Apostles scattered and Peter denied him. During Interrogation, both Pilate and Caiaphas demanded “Are you king of the Jews?” to which Jesus, foreseeing the disaster that would befall both Jerusalem and Rome, suggested gently: “You. Say I am.” Both feared that such testimony would incite the wrath of Herod, and so remained silent.

It is only right, then, that it was women bearing oil to the tomb who discovered the truth of the Resurrection. Even so they were shaken; both the angel and Jesus pled “Do not be afraid.”

I have private insight into the role of Mary Magdalene in the Passion. When I first encountered her spirit, we fell back through time to the Crucifixion, and as he struggled with the burden of our dependence on sin, an elder woman leaned over to whisper into the Magdalene’s ear: “He has need of you, child.” It was thus through the Magdalene’s devotion that time was opened to him, and to that devotion he returned. That yearning is evident when they reunited: she clasped him tightly – he responded obscurely:

Do not cling to me, for I have not yet returned to my Father in heaven.

Sera Beak documents the consequences of the Magdalene’s yearning in “Red, Hot and Holy.” Jesus was still rooted in the earth, and it was the Magdalene’s desire to continue his line that concerned him. No child should grow in a cauldron of suffering such as he experienced.

But what is a woman’s alternative? What other role does scripture offer her?

The answer is found in Revelation. In her first appearance, the Sacred Lady indeed manifested as a mother. But she remained after Christ was called back to heaven, bringing forth children to struggle against the dragon. To some, that tends naturally to the role of Mystery, the woman riding on the Red Beast. But in Revelation 20, a different outcome is foretold. The Bride steps forth, clothed in the works of the saints. It is not flesh that women should seek to gestate, but virtue.

While still suppressed, it is in Islamic history that women become active as facilitators of the sacred purpose. Khadija and Fatima are the avatars, and in Mohammad’s twelve wives we hear a strained echo of Israel’s twelve sons. In the great Muslim love poem, Yusuf and Zuleika, Potiphar’s spurned wife eventually reflects of her forbidden love:

Virtue was my beloved and thou
Had virtue’s impress on thy brow.

While walking Ventura’s March for Our Lives, I was touched more than once by Emma Gonzalez. I hold her most tenderly in my heart, her and all her friends. I offered that she could withdraw from her role – the feminine focus that holds her generation as it is led to wisdom. But she refused.

And in that endurance, strength and hope, I can indeed rest.