Enlightenment

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Enlightenment

Post by overmind » Sun Mar 17, 2013 6:11 am

I came to the realization that the idea of enlightenment is flawed. There is no real "enlightened" state since our knowledge and wisdom rarely stops growing. We can only become more enlightened than we were before, but there is no end state involved. This is tied into our goal for gradual perfection on the Paradise journey. People aren't really seeking enlightenment because this is an impossible state to maintain, they seek perfection and that which it entails. Even if you change what the word means, so that enlightenment does not encompass everything, it still cannot be a final state. Enlightenment could simply be grasping a single truth, but truth itself is alive. The "enlightened" are still students, no matter how many others may be under their wing. The truly enlightened are the Gods (Paradise Trinity, the Supreme and Absolute, etc). And I think even then, God the Absolute would best hold that title.

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by Sandy » Mon Mar 18, 2013 6:45 am

Hey Overmind,
I hadn't really looked at this before but what you said makes complete sense as even when we obtain perfection (zillions of years down the road it will be for me. :lol: ) We still won't know everything. In fact, why do I suspect that we will still be looking at God and the Knowledge inherent in God and the Trinity on those far distant days still from the perspective of a little child with much yet to learn. But that is all right with me...imagine an eternity filled with new knowledge ...new jobs and new experiences either here in our own Grand universe or the ones to come. 8)

Oh I just had a thought... the Urantia Book says we will be embraced by God doesn’t it when we complete Paradise. We may have no idea what that entails so who knows.

Your post reminds me of something I came across about Truth when I was looking for something else.
Urantia Book Paper 132 page 1459
http://www.urantia.org/urantia-book-sta ... journ-rome
3. Truth and Faith

(1459.1) 132:3.1 Nabon was a Greek Jew and foremost among the leaders of the chief mystery cult in Rome, the Mithraic. While this high priest of Mithraism held many conferences with the Damascus scribe, he was most permanently influenced by their discussion of truth and faith one evening. Nabon had thought to make a convert of Jesus and had even suggested that he return to Palestine as a Mithraic teacher. He little realized that Jesus was preparing him to become one of the early converts to the gospel of the kingdom. Restated in modern phraseology, the substance of Jesus’ teaching was:

(1459.2) 132:3.2 Truth cannot be defined with words, only by living. Truth is always more than knowledge. Knowledge pertains to things observed, but truth transcends such purely material levels in that it consorts with wisdom and embraces such imponderables as human experience, even spiritual and living realities. Knowledge originates in science; wisdom, in true philosophy; truth, in the religious experience of spiritual living. Knowledge deals with facts; wisdom, with relationships; truth, with reality values.

(1459.3) 132:3.3 Man tends to crystallize science, formulate philosophy, and dogmatize truth because he is mentally lazy in adjusting to the progressive struggles of living, while he is also terribly afraid of the unknown. Natural man is slow to initiate changes in his habits of thinking and in his techniques of living.

(1459.4) 132:3.4 Revealed truth, personally discovered truth, is the supreme delight of the human soul; it is the joint creation of the material mind and the indwelling spirit. The eternal salvation of this truth-discerning and beauty-loving soul is assured by that hunger and thirst for goodness which leads this mortal to develop a singleness of purpose to do the Father’s will, to find God and to become like him. There is never conflict between true knowledge and truth. There may be conflict between knowledge and human beliefs, beliefs colored with prejudice, distorted by fear, and dominated by the dread of facing new facts of material discovery or spiritual progress.

(1459.5) 132:3.5 But truth can never become man’s possession without the exercise of faith. This is true because man’s thoughts, wisdom, ethics, and ideals will never rise higher than his faith, his sublime hope. And all such true faith is predicated on profound reflection, sincere self-criticism, and uncompromising moral consciousness. Faith is the inspiration of the spiritized creative imagination.

(1459.6) 132:3.6 Faith acts to release the superhuman activities of the divine spark, the immortal germ, that lives within the mind of man, and which is the potential of eternal survival. Plants and animals survive in time by the technique of passing on from one generation to another identical particles of themselves. The human soul (personality) of man survives mortal death by identity association with this indwelling spark of divinity, which is immortal, and which functions to perpetuate the human personality upon a continuing and higher level of progressive universe existence. The concealed seed of the human soul is an immortal spirit. The second generation of the soul is the first of a succession of personality manifestations of spiritual and progressing existences, terminating only when this divine entity attains the source of its existence, the personal source of all existence, God, the Universal Father.

(1459.7) 132:3.7 Human life continues — survives — because it has a universe function, the task of finding God. The faith-activated soul of man cannot stop short of the attainment of this goal of destiny; and when it does once achieve this divine goal, it can never end because it has become like God — eternal.

(1460.1) 132:3.8 Spiritual evolution is an experience of the increasing and voluntary choice of goodness attended by an equal and progressive diminution of the possibility of evil. With the attainment of finality of choice for goodness and of completed capacity for truth appreciation, there comes into existence a perfection of beauty and holiness whose righteousness eternally inhibits the possibility of the emergence of even the concept of potential evil. Such a God-knowing soul casts no shadow of doubting evil when functioning on such a high spirit level of divine goodness.

(1460.2) 132:3.9 The presence of the Paradise spirit in the mind of man constitutes the revelation promise and the faith pledge of an eternal existence of divine progression for every soul seeking to achieve identity with this immortal and indwelling spirit fragment of the Universal Father.

(1460.3) 132:3.10 Universe progress is characterized by increasing personality freedom because it is associated with the progressive attainment of higher and higher levels of self-understanding and consequent voluntary self-restraint. The attainment of perfection of spiritual self-restraint equals completeness of universe freedom and personal liberty. Faith fosters and maintains man’s soul in the midst of the confusion of his early orientation in such a vast universe, whereas prayer becomes the great unifier of the various inspirations of the creative imagination and the faith urges of a soul trying to identify itself with the spirit ideals of the indwelling and associated divine presence.
(1460.4) 132:3.11 Nabon was greatly impressed by these words, as he was by each of his talks with Jesus. These truths continued to burn within his heart, and he was of great assistance to the later arriving preachers of Jesus’ gospel.
I have always been fascinated by the word truth and the way many different people use it to justify their beliefs. I have heard more than one person use the Spirit of Truth in justifying their chosen outlook, belief, assumptions, and spiritual material they have read as it must pertains to all people. And I have wondered if maybe we are possibly using this term incorrectly when we do this for justification... or at least not looking at it in the divine purpose that eventuates with the individual reaching the goal of Paradise and perfection. I'd say we all have various 'truth" (beliefs) to which we lean/adhere. My own would more than likely be mostly the teachings of the Urantia book...But it seems it would be amiss to think that all people on the planet would naturally be drawn to it just because it resonates so strongly with me. It seems like this passage may be suggesting that real truth cannot be found in anything material, but rather something far greater than this... in our individual efforts to connect personally with the Creator and by allowing this infinite “Source of all Truth” to teach and direct us via Spirit...something so much more eternal then the mortal language. I can't put my finger on it...but it seems no one would ever be in danger of loosing their way if they were to sit humbly with God in some personal fashion and this will never change I think. Christ Michael provided this example when He lived as the mortal man, Jesus. Jesus communed often with God and whenever He was facing confusion, hard decisions or problems he spent time alone with the heavenly Father... By this he found peace and direction...the ability to choose wisely, even when the way ahead seemed harsh.

Jesus, in the passages bolded seems to be telling us to embrace “spiritual and living realities” and in this we will find Truth straight from the heart of the Divine. Perhaps as we meditate on God we will find that all encompassing Truth that unites all beings some day. It is like you said, Overmind, "Truth is alive." .. and anything that is alive is breathing and growing, maturing... I am beginning to think that truth has nothing to do with our words and our beliefs...these may very well be simple tools in our journey to help launch us towards Real Eternal Truth found over and over by communing with the Source of all there is.

As you pointed out, in speaking of enlightenment, we will probably never completely obtain it. Truth Like enlightenment I think can go hand in hand . Will there ever come a point where we will ever enjoy enlightenment in its' completion? Will we ever know Truth... Know God completely? Not sure...but we do know we will have an eternity to find out. :bike:
Love,
Sandy
Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.

~ Chief Seattle ~

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by George » Mon Mar 18, 2013 7:40 am

Hi Overmind,

I see enlightenment as a hi-jacked word given the new meaning of knowledge and wisdom, when in reality it always meant "being illumined" -- being in receipt of an energetic new mind endowment (the first or sometimes even the second aspect of the morontia mind) -- IOW that which is often described as a halo, tongues of flame, or the Great Master's Golden Flame.

IMO the best writing to obtain on this is Richard Maurice Bucke's 100 plus years old book, COSMIC CONSCIOUSNESS.

The average person won't understand it, learn from it or be able to say "I know what enlightenment means," by scanning the text, however, the diligent reader will fully COMPREHEND the work and feel as one with Pascal, Descartes, Spinoza, Blake and Whitman.

Although it was more of a rescue mission at the time, this was one such enlightenment event...

Chapter Five

José Goldblum

It used to be called Shell Shock. Later it was defined as Battle Fatigue. It now goes by the name of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You may casually call it PTSD if you are exchanging information with a colleague, or if you want to vainly impress others with your extraordinary knowledge of psychology.
One and the same disorder, it will probably get a few new names in years to come. Teased apart into subgroups, for which all kinds of clever, professional sounding names may yet be invented, it will probably always be hard to treat and frequently fail to respond to treatment. The healing process can take many years and, at times, the patient may never fully recover.
It’s not limited to soldiers doing it tough at the front lines. Seemingly, everyone is a candidate. A violent assault, a particularly nasty home-invasion, an armed hold-up, even a severe natural disaster, illness or accident can produce a flourishing PTSD.
In the case of José Goldblum, a victim of inhumanity perpetrated by ‘sub-humans’ on a most undeserving guy, the abrupt effects of this newly acquired mental disorder were nothing less than astounding in their ferocity. This out-going, resourceful, optimistic and boisterous pillar of the local Latin Community was suddenly reduced to a fearful, quivering and confused little heap of human misery — flattened by the onslaught of insurmountable difficulties that were dumped on him from seemingly nowhere to destroy his happy life.
But the healing of José was just as fast as the onset of his disorder. Not only did he come out of a healing session of some four and a half hours completely healed, José Goldblum, to this day, continues to astound those around him with the absolute pure genius of a brand-new and brilliant mind. It remains one of three or four of the most dramatic psychic healings George Barnard witnessed in his long and involved career as a mere-mortal helper in a platoon of Spirit Guardians. It also left him half blinded for days.
Better not try this at home.
* * * * *
They were soon to become a three-way partnership in the business of servicing the transport industry. One of them, an engineer, was an experienced technical man and George knew of him. The second partner was a professional administrator George had not yet met. The third was a sales and marketing man called Warren Mears. Barnard knew him to be a keen negotiator, reliable, a pleasant fellow with whom he had done some business in years past.
They seemed to have an ideal combination of skills and George thought their likely survival rate in business to be better than the average two-way, both-of-the-same- profession kind of partnership.
The launch of their enterprise was only weeks away, and it had been agreed with Warren Mears the Barnards’ family business would support the new firm through its initial teething problems. George’s specialized field of endeavor would also make him one of the partnership’s major suppliers. They were counting on George’s help, renting a factory in a nearby industrial estate, and already some of their smaller orders were being processed by the Barnard teams.
It was late on the Friday afternoon when Warren telephoned. He was on the road, he said, selling up a storm. His partners were still in their old jobs, and all three wanted to see George on the following day, at the Barnards’ home, to plan for the production of much work to urgently come George’s way. Weekdays were still inconvenient to them.
George told Warren, “Saturday is fine. However, between eleven and twelve I’m taking care of a patient who looks prettier than you do, Warren. Ladies first. But bring as many partners as you like after twelve. Have an early lunch with my family and me, and I’m all yours after that.”
So it was arranged.
* * * * *
All three were just arriving as patient and therapist left the clinic. Warren Mears did the introductions, and then he said, “I know you’re damned good at what you’re doing, and now I find you’re a shrink as well.”
It was a quick, aggressive statement, and Barnard was more than a little peeved about what Mears had said.
So often, people most in need will rubbish those involved in the mental health professions. Those who are fine will generally just accept the practitioners for who they are. And fear, most likely and most often, may well be the cause of the scorn so glibly expressed.
“I’m not a psychiatrist,” George told Warren bluntly, “I’m a clinical hypnotherapist, if you must put a ticket on me. And I have the uncanny ability to reach into my patients’ minds, know their talents and weaknesses, know how they feel, what they did, and why, and therefore know how to help them shape their all-important future.”
The aggressiveness of his rapid and lengthy response shocked even the therapist. What bothered him most was that it was simply not true what he had said. It was a myth and it had seemingly come from nowhere.
It was rare for George to suddenly sense the whole picture — to feel how the patient felt, know the cause and the cure. He certainly wasn’t using it as an everyday tool. This kind of information did arrive in his mind, but only on rare occasions, and only when badly needed.
But as George looked him in the eyes, and as Warren stared back at him, the therapist ‘soaked up’ all Warren’s pickled old sins. All his bothers of half a lifetime ago were simply emitted from poor Warren’s mind. George ‘read’ what he had been up to in his younger years, and it wasn’t very good.
Barnard didn’t want to know all that. He got it all the same. And Mears knew the therapist had picked his brain. He was nervous, and quickly avoided Barnard’s eyes. Too late, Warren, old boy. Perhaps, some day, you will be my patient, George thought. That might be it. We’ll be off to a flying start.
They got down to lunch and business after that, and George gave his ridiculous statement and Warren Mears’ depraved past no more thought. The therapist had seen it all before — another sad re-run of the same old movie with a slightly different cast.
* * * * *
All of it became clear to him, months down the track, and at that time the new partnership was running routinely. Barnard received another call from Warren Mears, late one afternoon at his home, smack in the middle of dinner. Warren sounded most upset.
“George,” he said, “a good friend of mine is in deep, deep trouble. He looks like a ghost, he’s talking rubbish, and shaking like a leaf. He’s frightened of himself. He’s got all these guns, hunting rifles, and I think he’s going to blow his brains out. You’ve got to help him! Fix him up.”
“If you think your friend is suicidal,” George told him, “and if you are in fact right about that, he’s beyond my help, Warren. Get this through your skull, old mate. He needs psychiatry, for sure. I’m in no way qualified to do anything for him. Take him to Casualty at District Hospital or St Clare’s and they will give him a shot to calm him down till they find a psychiatrist to straighten him out.”
“They’ll kill him!” Warren answered with great conviction.
“They’ll save him,” George replied. “Or have you, perhaps, suddenly acquired all the needed qualifications to make a diagnosis of this magnitude, old son?”
“They’ll kill him!” Warren insisted. “Please, George, please! Please don’t ask me how come I know, but I know. They’ll kill him!”
Barnard tried once more to convince Warren, and in the most unkind of terms he could think of, that Mears didn’t know what he was piffling on about, and to take the chap to the hospital. Quick smart, before it was too late. Mears kept on about not knowing why he knew, but his being sure about what he was saying. His friend would die in the hospital, long odds-on.
Suddenly, George remembered what had happened just before that Saturday lunchtime meeting, and how he had picked Warren’s brain. Again, he saw it all. Suddenly, he sensed it was never meant for him to know all Warren’s moldy old trespasses. It was meant for Warren to know George could, sometimes, actually do it.
There was nothing logical about this sudden revelation. It was simply there! It was undeniable! There was no more doubt about this than there was about George’s poor dinner getting cold, and his not looking forward to a heavy evening session.
“Bundle him up in your car,” George told Warren. “Don’t let him drive. Keep him warm and be prepared to stick around all night to take him... God knows... wherever.”
* * * * *
“George, this is José Goldblum,” Warren Mears introduced the man, “and he comes from South America. Some thieves got into his business premises and stole all his goodies. But as soon as the insurance company paid up and he bought new stock, he got done over again. But now the insurance company won’t replace anything, because there was a delay with the installation of new burglar alarms they’d insisted on. José is now broke. He has lost everything, his house, his car, everything.”
Barnard had seen the Goldblum store. It would have easily contained half a million dollars worth of high-tech computer, radio and other electronic gear, probably more. Some of George’s Spanish patients knew and respected José. Goldblum helped people, advised his countrymen.
George shook Goldblum’s hand and asked him some questions. The man was hard to understand, confused, hesitant. One needed to get used to his accent, forget about the Spanish and even some German that ‘shone’ through his stop-start English phrases.
Warren Mears said, “Well, George, you don’t need me any more. See you later.” He was out of the place like a flash, driving off with one of his partners and leaving Goldblum’s car in the drive. Poor Warren Mears was spooked and could handle no more.
Barnard took Goldblum into his living room. The clinic was hardly the place for the man at that stage. They needed to have a quiet chat, not a professional interrogation, as this patient might see it.
George asked the man some simple questions, but something was happening to the answers that came. José was giving him three, or four, or five answers to each question, and none of the answers was complete. It seemed he was searching the hemispheres of his brain in turn. His answers were switching from the factual to the emotional, with nothing in between. He would not present the simplest of problems to both hemispheres, so they could function in unison, and begin to solve the problem. That’s how the therapist visualized it.
That’s a Dissociative Reaction, George thought, then he almost immediately discarded the idea. Or a severe Anxiety Reaction? he wondered. No. That isn’t it either.
Oh, Christ! This is a fresh-of-the-shelf, and virulent Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He was sure of it now. And it might well be of a most complex nature. This chap would be signing up for long-term treatment, and not in George’s clinic. He needed a more capable mind than Barnard could provide. But George would try to settle him down, and ferry him off to St Clare’s later, much later.
He made Goldblum a drink and seated himself across the coffee table from the man. He watched him drink some of the coffee and said, “How do you feel, José?”
“I fear!” José answered. “Scared out of my weets!”
“Of what are you afraid, young man?”
“I don’t know!” Goldblum answered. He took his time to look around the room as if he had not noticed anything in the place. “I see nothing here that frightens me,” he suggested. “All se same, I’m scared... a fear... a fear... a fear... search me. Why should I be scared?” he asked George with great expectation on his face. The concept of his being so full of fear seemed ridiculous to Goldblum. And if it wasn’t so sad, it would almost certainly be funny. “Do you know?” he asked hopefully.
Perhaps he thought his therapist had that simple answer written down somewhere, in a book, under F for fear. The therapist could look it up for him, explain to the patient what it was, and that would clear that problem out of the way once and for all. José would then happily go home and that would be that.
One could jolly well read it on his face. “What you think, Meester? Goldblum is never afraid!” Here was an energetic, highly motivated businessman, who daily worked his way through a mountain of work, come to a grinding halt on a dead-end side-track of his life. Nothing of the buoyant, get-it-over-and-done-with personality was missing, but his mind had taken a wrong turn and lost itself, no doubt of that.
“Maybe I gone koo koo?” he suggested. He suddenly looked worried about that idea.
“No, José,” George told him, “You are definitely not crazy.” The therapist’s casual remark seemed to cheer him up a little. He visibly relaxed and appeared to notice his coffee for the very first time. He checked the level of the brew, felt the warmth of the cup, and decided it was his coffee. Typical of PTSD, pure logic was telling him there were two people in the room, that the therapist was holding his own cup, the other was his. It had to be! He knew Barnard would never be so rude as to make two coffees for himself and none for his patient.
It was also the third time he was studying the exquisite print on the porcelain cup with great care — another dead-set give-away.
“Listen to me now, and stay with me, José,” George told him. “You’ve been through a lot. You are probably too damned intelligent to go for a cop-out cold, a freaky temper tantrum, a cross-eyed migraine, or a phantom back-ache. But you must abreact the trauma in some way. Now you’ve got yourself a fear of a fear of a fear and you don’t even jolly well know which way to run from it. That’s a novel thing to do! I’m ever so proud of you for thinking that up all by yourself. It’s a beauty!”
Goldblum was laughing about what George had said, but it didn’t make his problem go away. It did however settle him down. He had looked ill and drawn on arrival. There was now some color in his cheeks, some light in his atypically-blue South American eyes, an occasional, embarrassed smile.
“I’m going to ask you some questions now, José,” George told him. “And I want your concise answers. Now! Every time you skip the answer, I’m going to ask you the very same question again. Every time you slip out of my clutches, you renegade, I’ll grab you and I’ll stick your nose right back on that question. So, listen to this: What happened to your business, José?”
Goldblum appeared to be enjoying the conversation, the company, the light-hearted chat, but they were struggling. Barnard felt like he was hungry, but he had only just finished a big meal. His eyes hurt and he felt tired for no good reason.
“Tell me about the business, José, not about your brother if he lives in Argentina. You gave him no shares in your business? Good. Tell me about the business, José.”
Ever so slowly, Goldblum’s ability to concentrate improved a little as they battled on.
“Tell me later about your wife, José. I’m sure she’s a good mother and that you love her. But she does not work in the business with you, does she? Right. Stick with the business, son.”
There was some progress with his ability to stay with it, but even the term ‘marginal’ might have been an overstatement. Barnard was feeling faint.
“José, I’m convinced your children are lovely and well-behaved, as you say. But they are too little to serve the customers in this country,” George suggested. “Stay with the business.”
It was an all-out fight for his continued attention. Barnard’s eyes felt strained.
“José, you are not running the business from your home, are you now? Fine! Stick
with the business. Later we talk about your home,” the therapist suggested.
The eye-strain he was suffering from was alarming him. He could no longer focus on José Goldblum. His patient seemed to be wrapped in an all-over coating of mildly iridescent fog. Barnard was now feeling very ill. He might soon pass out on the carpet, right in front of this young man. That would do him a helluva lot of good, his cynical mind told him. He’ll be running down the road, screaming. Or grow an extra set of thumbs out of sheer fright.
For Jesus’ sake, help me, George’s mind pleaded with the Spirit Guardians. Then he realized they were already at work. That illusive Golden Light was all around José Goldblum. It was also touching the therapist.
Barnard was now practically blind. Something beautiful, unexpected and awesome, but also frightening, was happening. A healing. Enlightenment. A re-birth.
“Oh, God...” he mumbled under his breath. “Give this poor, innocent mammal a warning, why don’t You?”
* * * * *
This strange and age-old phenomenon has many names. Its recipients may have always felt the need to speak of it in their own terms, more descriptive of the ecstasy it brought them. And, perhaps, before the advent of electricity, the term Fire, Flame, or Tongues of Flame would have been a more appropriate way to explain such wondrous events.
The great Blaise Pascal spoke of Fire. John Yepes, Whitman... And for that matter, the leader of a nation, Moses, the prophet, Mohammad, Guru Nanak. Many others did. Today, most speak of the Light. Over the years, Barnard needed to, at least in his own mind, differentiate between the different phenomena — the Glow of the Golden Flame, the Great Master’s Golden Flame, and the Ember of the Golden Flame.
Within hours of arriving at the Barnards’ home, José Goldblum was to experience the full and exhilarating impact of the Great Master’s Golden Flame and deservedly become one of the Creator’s latest ‘bright boys.’
José had no idea what was about to hit him, heal him, and change his life for all time. Neither did Barnard. At least, George wasn’t certain, and didn’t really dare trust his luck. He was hoping, praying for help and only briefly, before he lost all consciousness of time, place, purpose and self.
It turned out to be a Christmas present in the spring for one lucky, but deserving Argentine!

Chapter Six

The Great Master’s Golden Flame

“‘Sapiens’ mind can probably not survive for long without being associated with a living brain,” Barnard suggested to Veronah Miller, “That’s if it can survive at all. But I can’t see the mind as a mere force, simply generated by the brain. I astral travel, like millions of others do, and take my conscious, reasoning mind along with me, not my brain. I leave that organ safely tucked away in my skull. But the mere fact that mind cannot be seen, touched, or weighed on a set of scales does not mean it does not have form. It is the anatomy of the human mind that interests me, Veronah.”
The practicing psychologist was sipping at the straw in her lemon squash. She nodded and vaguely waved for the clinical hypnotherapist to go on. Minds did interest Veronah, Spirit Guardians would always remain a big, fat joke to her.
“With nothing else to go on, let’s model it on the brain,” Barnard suggested. “Especially since brain and mind function so well in unison. Brain is likely to be the first or initial aspect of the brain/mind partnership. The brain of a frog will not support a sufficiently complex mind that will allow the amphibian to go and fetch a stick for you. The brain of one of your cats will not support a sufficiently complex mind for the feline to knit you a scarf, unravel it perhaps. But the human brain in all its intricacies can malfunction. And most of what we know about it, we’ve learned by observing physical trauma to, or degeneration of, specific parts of the organ, like a forceful blow to the back of the head can cause blindness.”
“But your patient may wake up in the morning and think the curtains are closed. It takes him time to realize his sight is gone. His mind still knows how to look around, but his damaged brain is no longer doing its part of the job. One segment of his brain is dysfunctional in an otherwise healthy brain.”
“Now apply the same concept to a severe blow to the psyche. There remains a perfectly healthy brain, but a segment of the mind has become dysfunctional.”
Veronah gave the concept some thought. “What happens, in your book, to someone’s mind when they’re suffering from Alzheimers?”
“The mind is constantly less capable of function as neuron breakdown progresses. The mind I visualize to exist in progressive/interactive segments, let’s call them that, should be able to function less and less with that failing brain. But it should fail in distinct stages. The reverse is also observable — the way a human infant is capable of organizing its brain/mind capacity to roll over, crawl, pull itself up with the support of a chair, walk, and finally start grasping the theory of relativity — rarely the other way around.”
“George,” Veronah suggested with a sigh, “please don’t suggest this to any other member of our Association. You’ll be swinging from the gallows at the crossroads by dusk of tomorrow. What on earth are you basing this theory on?”
“The sudden absence of a specific mind function after equally sudden psychological trauma and the sudden acquisition of additional mind capability in the process of Spiritual Illumination.”
Barnard and Miller had been discussing one of Veronah’s severe cases of PTSD. It was a tough case which had so far failed to respond to any treatment. Long ago, the two practitioners had spoken of the patient being the deciding factor in the onset of the disorder. So many of them knew precisely when things had become too much for them. When, with their emotions pushed beyond the limit, they had opted out, virtually embracing the disorder, to enable them to ‘kind of survive.’ Both George and Veronah suspected the corpus callosum to be involved in a form of blocking of information between the hemispheres of the brain. It was known to be able to block physical pain. Why not emotional pain?
But right now, Barnard was coming up with the theory that a segment of mind, not brain could be blocked in its function, even be ejected from a group of interactive mind segments. It was all too much for Veronah Miller.
She gave the therapist a tired look. “George, we’re not going to discuss Spiritual Enlightenment,” she answered at last, “and if we were, not here in the club with a gaggle of our members hanging around. As far as concerns the loss of a specific mind function, they do, at times, come back, you know. That’s what we are there for, if you hadn’t woken up to that yet.”
“Can’t eyesight suddenly return after sufficient regeneration of the neurons? Speech, when a tumor is removed? Mobility, when the pressure of a stroke is surgically alleviated? The mind as an organ of progressive/interactive segments, building blocks if you like, is still my favorite model of its anatomy. Brain and mind are so different and yet, perhaps also so alike. Help me thrash it out, Veronah. Keep it in the back of your mind, observe. The physiologists won’t do it for us.”
Veronah nodded. “I can’t argue with the concept,” she said. “It does fit. What makes you think of deep things like that? Heavens above! Do you actually lie awake at night conjuring up these theories, or does it come from your Spirits?”
But in the ten or eleven years since that discussion, Barnard and Miller had made no further progress. Except for the theory that in severe psychological trauma the misplaced, lost, ejected, or dormant ‘progressive/interactive’ mind segment might return with the use of an equal-force, staged trauma. They both knew of specific occurrences. They decided, however, that neither of them could dislike anyone enough to further traumatize the already traumatized, simply for the sake of research.
They were healers, contributors, and proud of their achievements.
* * * * *
But the decade-old idea of Homo Sapiens Sapiens’ progressive/interactive segmented mind was very much in Barnard’s thoughts as he sat there talking to José Goldblum. He knew something was happening, a spiritual healing, no doubt. He had no idea of what the extent of it would be.
Slowly it began to dawn on him that the way he felt was the way José had been feeling. Barnard had entirely taken onto himself this patient’s physical symptoms. That’s why the patient appeared to be looking so much better when George looked at him before, no wonder.
George wondered what he looked like now. José was just sitting there, quietly, but it was hard to focus on him. It felt like the therapist was looking at him from the very corners of his eyes, with his head half turned away from José, straining to make out his features, when he was squarely facing this young businessman across the coffee table.
Why is he no longer answering my questions? George wondered ever so vaguely. That isn’t a very polite thing for him to do! Then, slowly, the therapist realized what was happening. I’m not asking him any questions! There was no need for José to think about answers. All he had to do was listen to what George was telling him.
So, what am I saying to this man? Barnard wondered.
Suddenly, the therapist realized that his speech was ringing out clearly. José Goldblum was receiving the instructions he so desperately needed. This would put his life back in order. All of it was brilliant, so concise, so perfectly logical. But none of it was coming from Barnard’s mind. As the therapist finally, slowly realized what was happening, he relaxed. He gave in. Someone with a mind, much greater than I am blessed with, has taken over, George vaguely realized. Whoever he is, he deserves to be in charge. I’ll just sit there and say the words.
The entire process was interrupted when George’s children came into the room to bring him a goodnight kiss. The children never noticed a thing! As soon as they left, he heard himself talking again. It was so easy. Just let it roll, he thought. And slowly, his mindfulness of being in the room, being there with José, being responsible for the man’s welfare, and having an awareness of the passing of time, evaporated. Barnard was as if in a light sleep, and for many, many hours.
* * * * *
Suddenly, José Goldblum lit up brightly and at that moment Barnard’s full awareness returned to him. It was half past twelve in the morning! They both now realized they had been there for hours on end. It was a time of great excitement.
“You’re all lit up!” George told the man. “Fantastic! José, compared to the one hundred watt ceiling lights, you’re putting out five hundred watts! Easy! It’s all around you and it’s much more intense around your head.”
“I know dees,” the patient answered. “And I can feel eet too. Look at se hairs on my arms are standing up on end.”
There was no doubt about this fellow being back in the land of rational thinking. But he looked a sight. The hair on his head was standing up and out like the bristles of a worn-out broom. Again and again, he kept smoothing it down, but it just kept popping up again.
“You are se professor,” he informed George.
Barnard laughed about that remark. “I’m not a professor,” he told him.
“In Argentina professor mean teacher,” José explained.
“Not even was I your teacher, José,” George suggested. “What you have heard this night did not come from me.” He momentarily wondered if he had been sitting there all night, nattering away in Spanish. Anything is possible. How would I know? At that time, there was zero recollection of anything he could have told Goldblum. It might have been gibberish, though he doubted that very much. Barnard simply didn’t know.
“How are you feeling now, José?” he asked. “Are you fine now?”
“Yes, I feel ter-ree-feec!” he answered. “I know ex-act-lee what to do! Thank you very much. I’m going home now.”
George laughed about his spontaneous outburst. His last few words had come so fast — speech, reminiscent of machine-gun fire, he thought.
“No you don’t!” he shouted at José. “Don’t you dare leave! You’re going to stay right here. I want to watch this Golden Light. And I don’t want you out there looking like a flaming mobile streetlight. You’ll get arrested, and chucked in the stockade.”
“What happen to me, happen to you?” José wanted to know.
“Long ago, José. Long ago,” Barnard answered.
“Eef you say it deed not happen,” he answered with a smirk on his face, “I know dees already. It deed happen to you, too.”
“I call it the Great Master’s Golden Flame, a rebirth. What you were before, you no longer are.”
José Goldblum made no comment, but decided to stay put. They talked about his home, his family, his plans for the future. He spoke very fast, but Barnard was to later learn he tended to always communicate in that way. José knew precisely what it was he was going to do. He knew how it would all work out. He knew unerringly what was going to happen in the years to come.
Someone had provided him with a concise record of the future — the concepts, or the pictures, perhaps — but Barnard would never know. Did he learn all that from my voice and Someone else’s mind? he questioned. I may never know the precise answer. Strangely, José refused to believe George had nothing to do with his being healed, other than his sitting there and being used for the purpose. He still refuses to believe it, even to this day.
Barnard had been almost completely blinded in the process, but now his sight was slowly improving. Within days it would be back to normal. The redness and inflammation did eventually clear.
José Goldblum looked so healthy now, like he had just returned from a fortnight’s snow-skiing. After some twenty minutes, the Golden Light around him slowly dimmed. Shortly after, he drove himself home, convinced George Barnard had some unusual power of his own. To José, nothing supernatural had happened. Just a routine day at the office for his new ‘professor.’
The guy is an absolute scream.
During the years that followed, Barnard treated many of this fellow’s countrymen, all referred to him by their ‘Don José.’ But George could never look any of them in the eyes until they were seated in the clinic’s recliner chair. The therapist learned that quick smart. They, also, were very cautious not to face the therapist until they were comfortably installed.
Before they arrived at the clinic, José Goldblum would hype them up to such a degree, they would simply fall down in a heap, anywhere, instantly, deeply hypnotized. José had made up his mind — it was all in the professor’s eyes.
And no one dared question the great Don.
Barnard was surprised to learn that José’s banker had lent him a six figure sum of money. It needed to have been around half a million dollars at least, for José was deeply in the red at the time. The branch manager had not sought approval from Head Office either. That was a risky thing to do. José had simply been extended the funds upon request, right there and right then. A handshake had sealed the deal. That was all. He was now running three separate new businesses, working tirelessly and for long hours. “No time for social veeseets,” he told Barnard. “Making plenty money, Meester!” George knew he would be. The Great Master of this universe had showed him how to do that.
And there is no better Professor to be found.
Some years went by, and Barnard had moved to a new and bigger factory, but Goldblum quickly tracked him down. He had something to tell the therapist that just couldn’t wait. His accent was as thick as ever.
“Eh, Professor Georgee!” he said, “Dees ees José Goldblum!”
Barnard burst out laughing. “I would have never known, if you hadn’t told me, José,’ he laughed. He simply couldn’t help himself in responding the way he did.
“Can you guess what I just deed?” Goldblum put to him.
“How would I know what an Argentine gets up to?” George asked in return. “Anything at all could be expected.”
“I just paid se bank eighty-three dollars and forty-two cents.”
“You did, José? How kind of you! But I think it’s hardly generous, my friend.”
“I know dees. I know dees already,” he suggested. “But you see, eet is se last eighty-three dollars and forty-two cents.”
He had entirely cleared his debts, and had always looked forward to the day he could advise George of that victory. By this time, Barnard had long ago remembered some of the advice that came Goldblum’s way — that many miracles were possible in the Great Master’s universes. Sadly, there was little else he could recall. That lengthy, hours-long message was always for Goldblum, not for his therapist.
* * * * *
In the days immediately following Goldblum’s promotion into the ranks of Graduates of the Great Master’s Golden Flame, his energy was phenomenal. It had also gone wild, uncontrollable. He again came to see George, four, perhaps five days after the event, a little sad about having lost some close friends.
José had been talking to them in their kitchen, just leaning against the bench top. All of their most expensive table silver lay curled up in the drawer. His merely being present for a time had wrecked the lot.
“More than one tousand dollar worth,” José suggested. “Nothing broken. All going in circles, dees things.” The superstitious couple had thrown him out their door, and crossed themselves as he walked off down their street. Likely, they thought José was possessed.
He picked up a stainless steel teaspoon and looked at George. “I show you dees?” he asked.
“Yeah. Sure! Go wreck that five cent thing,” Barnard invited him.
Nothing happened for at least two minutes, then it flipped over in his hands. Just like that! The therapist had never seen that done by anyone who wasn’t in a deep trance. It really excited Barnard, but it didn’t impress José.
“Perhaps I should hypnotize you, José,” George suggested. “You may be able to control it better under hypnosis. It could be useful. You’re doing precisely what Yuri Geller does for a living!”
Goldblum wouldn’t hear of it. This strange, unwanted ability was going away now, thanks to ‘se Dear Lord,’ and he didn’t mind losing the power. He knew precisely what he had to do, and bending spoons wasn’t it.
Wine bottles had rocked on the shelves as he came near them, and both the refrigerator and the washing machine had ‘gone for a walk’ in his presence. It had bothered him for days, and he was sick of it, spooked by it.
During the following days, José spent much time at the Barnards’ home. He worked around the homestead and yard all day, and on any obvious project he could find. To some degree he unnerved the therapist. There was the possibility that the sudden healing had also caused a major new problem.
This fellow might be identifying with his healer in a most powerful way, George thought, wanting to be like me, perhaps even wanting to live my life for me, as a result of the shock to his system — however positive that shock had been.
Identification of that kind was hardly uncommon, but the therapist could have saved himself the worry.
“Everything feeneeshed,” Goldblum came to announce, “what I can see. I go home now, George.”
“Thank you, José,” Barnard told him. “But you know, you really owed me nothing. You paid me for your consultation, and honestly, I just sat there and did nothing. Nothing much. A great battalion of Spirit Guardians put your mind back in order. All I did was ask for their assistance.”
“Every day I hear dees,” he answered the therapist. “You owe me nothing. You owe me nothing. I know dees. I know dees already. You say I owe you nothing? Okay! I owe you nothing. Nothing to you. But I owe. I owe and I must pay. For a great Gift, I owe a debt. Nothing to you, but I must pay.”
He paused and looked his therapist in the eye, a wide grin, stretching from ear to ear. It told Barnard he was trapped, tied up, and soon to be roasted over a slow fire. “Nothing to you,” Goldblum repeated deliberately, “but I must pay. So, I seelect you to pay dees debt to, because you help many others.”
Don’t argue with an Argentine. You can’t ever win.
* * * * *
José Goldblum runs a business, just one business now. Those of his employees who hail from his part of the world know there is something special about their employer. They know that long ago something changed in him. They now call him Don José.
His friends, too, all know that one José Goldblum vanished way back then, another José Goldblum returned —_ a smarter, more caring, more thoughtful José. But he doesn’t want to hear about the Great Master’s Golden Flame, or talk about Spirit Guardians. Telling him about it is a waste of time. It’s all in that Professor’s eyes, you see?
The seemingly easy solutions to complex problems that flow from his incredible new mind now rate him well and truly within the classification of genius. And perhaps our minds are really constructed of progressive/interactive segments, one of which got squeezed back in, the other, a brand-new gift of great value, was popped on top. It was the very least the Guardians could do for one of the most deserving of contributors Barnard met in his life.
Goldblum still owes his therapist nothing, and he ‘knows dees already.’

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by overmind » Mon Mar 18, 2013 3:18 pm

Thanks George, your books are still fresh in my mind, so I remember the examples of illumination quite clearly (I just never attached the experience to the more general goal of enlightenment). I guess there is a difference between understanding the knowledge that the experience would bring and actually experiencing it. Like how you once experienced the consciousness of the whole planet and started glowing in that classroom; I can imagine the revelation it would bring, but I can only guess based on my own experience. Still, if we use that definition of enlightenment, illumination, what comes next? Super enlightenment? Ultra illumination? I just don't like using words that act like absolutes when the process of advancement is actually more gradual.

They actually have the Cosmic Consciousness book on kindle, I think I'll take a break from A Course in Miracles and give it a read. http://www.amazon.com/Cosmic-Consciousn ... sciousness

This doesn't really count as illumination, but I did recently find a guided meditation on youtube that actually activates my spiritual energy. It's supposed to trigger an OBE, but it hasn't done that yet. It seems like it gets my "kundalini" to rise a bit. Energy springs up from the area of the root chakra and focuses in my chest around the heart (my chest seems to automatically expand in this phase and breathing in becomes easier than breathing out) and then it sometimes reaches up to the throat. I've done this about 4 times and the experience seems to be slightly different each time. When I did it most recently, I could also feel a slight temperature increase, similar to when I open my heart in meditation and love pours in. I think I was right outside the vibrating stage, but I can only guess. I twice activated a similar state through willpower (mentioned elsewhere on the board), but my heartbeat seemed so fast that I deemed it unhealthy at the time. Luckily that isn't an issue anymore, but I haven't started glowing yet. :lol:

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by George » Mon Mar 18, 2013 4:00 pm

We have a brain and a mind, overmind, but also a soul or mid-mind.

The first and second aspects of the morontia mind seem to connect up more with the mid-mind than with the "brain-mind".

Let the info of the COSMIC CONSCIOUSNESS book seep into the soul and you will comprehend the subject matter.
It's info will ring your truth bells.

Cheers...
George.

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by overmind » Mon Mar 18, 2013 9:22 pm

I am under the impression that our more physical mind is a loan from Nebadonia, supported by the adjutant mind-spirits. I don't know if the brain simply connects to it, sets it up or has the mind installed into it. Maybe it's a mix of all three. If our minds upgrade through morontia blending, couldn't it possibly reach a state where our mid-mind/soul starts doing all the thinking? Right now it seems a little distant, it's not easy for me to figure out what I subconsciously think or desire. Perhaps such illumination simply reduces that distance.

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by George » Tue Mar 19, 2013 5:02 am

Overmind, bear with me as I try to explain that for which we have no real words, and as I see it.

The seven master spirits function (interact) with the mind which is both inside and somewhat outside the body, but particularly noticeable around the head. The mind functions (interacts) with the brain.

From childhood the master spirits connect in order -- worship and wisdom the last to arrive. With dementia and other diseases like Alzheimers -- worship and wisdom are the first to disengage.

The Morontia Mind, 1st and 2nd, are even more fickle in connecting with human mind and mid-mind, even more easily lost. However, as a receiver of messages, practice allows one to lock on again, sometimes fluently, sometimes less so. ( Biorhythm may well be a factor ). That's what meditation and "imagineering" does.

I feel that I got to comprehend it all better when Primary Midwayer, Andrea requested to be provided with the first aspect of the Morontia Mind so she could talk to us directly. It was an aspect of the Morontia Mind she never before had.

She had the 2nd aspect of the Morontia Mind and some further aspects of the Angelic Mind.

Like I said, all this can be "comprehended" to a degree, not likely understood... theories without proof.
However, we can make it work for us.

Cheers...
:bigsmurf:

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by overmind » Tue Mar 19, 2013 5:44 am

Interesting, thanks George! I guess none of us will completely understand it until we can comprehend the morontia state itself after reviving on Mansonia. Although I find it understandable that there is a gap between the spiritual and the physical that needs to be filled, I have little idea how this form of higher matter/energy whatever operates since humans can't really study it right now. The more we learn, the less we know it seems. It goes with revelation as well. The more certain new concepts are taught, the more you know you cannot comprehend.

I still can't wrap my head around Bzutu's "bands of time" explanation. I simply won't get it until my experience of time changes. Obviously they experience time differently because they can set up all of these coincidences that work together, but if I think about it too much I will go crazy. I can't comprehend the complexity of such tasks, so I'll be lazy and let that be God's problem, lol.

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by George » Tue Mar 19, 2013 6:17 am

On time/space.

ABC-22: "Look at it this way. How can the spider be perturbed and her web be in disarray when at her time of 3:00 PM I walked through her web at 2:55 PM of my time?"

So, IMO only, as they alter time forward or backward they seemingly also alter the physiology of space. We know they can only go so far... minutes, hours perhaps, I don't know. However, the Gods can foresee all, and create the reality that suits them best by placing the personalities apt to bring about the conditions that are required.

See ye tmorrah !
:mrgreen:

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by overmind » Tue Mar 19, 2013 7:08 am

I get that when objects move at different speeds, they age at different rates. But this seems more complicated than that. I wonder what happened at 2:55PM of the spider's time.

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by George » Tue Mar 19, 2013 7:51 am

The Midwayer moved throught the spider AND her web in "no time" as far as the spider was concerned.

Same as going through a fly screen, window pane, brick wall

By altering time in the Morontia sphere the physical sphere ceases to be real, so it seems.

You are right, it's complex, and it can send you nuts, for no one human can fully grasp these Morontia laws.

However if your watch is an hour slow, mine an hour fast, neither of us would catch the 10 o'clock train on time.

OK, I'm joking here. :lol:

However, it seemed hardly unusual for me to instantly appear halfway around the world to complete a complex task in the late 70's...
and be back in Australia immediately after. :roll

Enlightenment, however, does bring acceptance of such non-linear-time phenomena.

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Re: Enlightenment

Post by overmind » Tue Mar 19, 2013 10:30 pm

I think it would make a lot more sense if they were moving through traveling objects. I can see how this would be possible if someone started standing in one spot at 3:00 before moving again and the midwayer moved through the person at their time of 2:55, because even in the physical world that person would not be there at 2:55. But moving through solid structures confuses me if this is solely a time-based phenomenon. I could imagine the particles of matter that the midwayer may inhabit moving through the spaces between the particles of the solid object, but that's all I can think of right now.

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