Being born is a descent into darkness of the material world, a reverse enlightenment where we are so overcome and intensely focused on our ability to create a body that we become oblivious to the rest of the universe. When we are limited to the five senses of our own body, disconnected from the joyful photonic play of cosmic consciousness, we are beyond miserable. In our New Age, Parzival’s journey between realms begins when the Moon passes before the star at the tip of the Swan’s Wing during the changing of the Solar Year. The Celtic New Year (click here), when awareness freely passes through the veils between the quick and the dead, starts six weeks before the darkest day of the year on Samhain.
Now, Deneb, the Tail of the Swan, is one of the precession of Pole Stars during the 26,000 year cycle of the Great Year (click here), and is commemorated in many Neolithic monuments. And if one has found their soul path, and can follow behind the lead Swan as she flies along the soul path of the Milky Way, then the life journey is pretty simple and straight forward. However if the gate that opens to you leaves you hanging on the tip of the Swan’s Wing as she flies, you are going to be flapping all over heaven and earth, and it may take a miracle to keep your grip, never mind find your path.
In that place between waking and dreaming just as one of the twelve days between this Christmas and Epiphany dawned, I had a lovely bird-lady in white come visit me. I was admiring the way the rising sun shone through her wispy white cloak of downy feathers until she opened her mouth.
“You need to get back to a more normal level of activity.” is what came forth.
No kidding, Sherlock!
I was a wee bit miffed. Not only do I have a visitation interrupting both my sleep and my morning routine, but she’s offering unsolicited and utterly useless criticism of my life? A bit of advice: If you really want to see my bad side, start out by waking me up and telling me how I am failing your expectations before I have even had a morning pee.
Now my conversations with the non-human realm are rarely verbal, I am more prone to exchange multi-sensory images. So I tossed her the full load of obstructed regenerating traumatized liver effects.
” Here dear, shut your mouth and catch a lifetime of pain and frustration.”
I have to say, she did catch it, and proceeded to turn my liver inside out and thoroughly shake it clean. When she turned it right-side out again and handed it back, I also have to admit that I was impressed. Not so much with the liverish tissue itself but with the connective tissue that held it all together. It was a thick, glistening resilient, translucent, blueish-white bunch of gristle that held all its parts in the right place. I could see not just the structure of the organ but the veins, arteries, lymph, and bile ducts. The flow of chi, of life force, as well as blood, bile, and lymph, was flowing smoothly and evenly. Which was all the more remarkable as my disability diagnosis in my early 30’s was the most extreme case of myofascial pain syndrome that the doctors had ever seen.
Myo means muscle and fascia is connective tissue, and on the mundane level, my version of myofascial pain was probably caused by the mercury toxicity interfering with the calcium/magnesium pump that allows muscle cells to contract and relax. Mine were great at contracting, not so much at relaxing. For way too many years, moving felt like every muscle cell was a cockle burr ripping past its brethren. A lot of cells tore apart, which caused a lot of inflammation, and so my body created a LOT of scar tissue. One of the interesting attributes of scar tissue is that it tends to build up a negative electrical charge that interferes with cell metabolism. Not only is the cell unable to excrete it’s own metabolic toxins, it becomes a reservoir where the body can store toxic waste. So my connective tissue has been thin, brittle, cloudy, full of trash, and exceedingly prone to re-injury and inflammation.
On the esoteric level, what threw me over the myofascial edge was another early morning visitation. It was in the fall, about six months after my father had died in 1983. I was in that place between waking and sleeping and came aware with a profound sense of trouble. There was something seriously wrong, and as I sought it out, I found myself tangling with the energetic miasm behind my father’s familial auto-immune distortion resulting in untreatable cancer. Malevolent is a good word to describe it, and I realized that if I ever let it get to the point where western medicine could diagnose me as having cancer, I would be dead in a matter of weeks. So there I was, wondering what to do.
Running away was tempting but even the thought made the darkness surge and expand. Fighting it had drained my father not only of everything he cared for, but of his ability to care for anything, and eventually killed him. And my mother’s fear of it was so great she was willing to sacrifice her children, her self, her soul, and anything else she could get a hold of to it. I decided the first step was to figure out what it actually was. That old advice to know your enemy and keep them close does have a point. As a family of compulsively literate, overly intellectual, psychopathicly heartless sorts, what has been missing in my ancestral lineages is the heart. Taking that malevolent overarching darkness into my heart was the obvious route to discovering what it actually was.
So I did.
Then I realized I couldn’t leave it there without it killing me, and I couldn’t let it slither out of my awareness without it killing me, and I couldn’t throw it out without it killing me. Eventually, I had a bolt of inspiration and sent it out of my heart through my liver into my connective tissue, anchoring it into place with the knots of chips and scars from my earlier traumas. I now had the leisure to take the darkness apart and see what it actually consisted of. The vast majority, I’d say 97% of it, was unhappy ancestors and lost lineages. Untangling those threads was its own challenge, but I was terribly pleased with myself as it was no longer life-threatening. Then the deadly 3%, the psychopathic fishhook that twisted the whole fabric, demanding that I continue not only to repeat those miseries, but inflict them on others made itself known.
That, I refused,
but lordy, lordy, I had no idea how much it was going to hurt.
It is a lengthy tale so for now suffice it to say that that fishhook, that twist that distorted the entire weave of the field of my connective tissue, was the actual source of my pain as well as my father’s. Connective tissue is fascinating stuff. It is the first tissue laid down after egg and sperm meet up and begin to divide. It is the matrix within which the physical body develops. It holds all our bones and organs in right relationships, and absorbs and responds to every outside influence. In the first stages of development, cells that are moved from one position in the fabric of connective tissue will either migrate back to their original position, or they will become what the connective tissue decrees should be in that position. And it has been thoroughly ignored by almost everyone except a handful of rolfers and massage therapists.
I haven’t found a satisfying explanation out there for how it works, so I have come up with my own. I ran across an online article some time back (which has since disappeared) discussing how, in their effort to find ways to picture soft tissue structures and injuries, researchers have found that if they shoot photons into soft tissue, they do get a reflection of what is inside. This has not become mainstream medicine in part because what happens with healthy connective tissue is that only half as many photons exit as are shot into them, but those photons are moving twice as fast as the originals. Puzzled and disconcerted researchers rarely make it from the lab to the marketplace, but looking further into the subject I found that all living cells are bio-photon emitters (click here), producing extremely coherent albeit weak pulses throughout a wide spectrum of light.
Most of the research has been done on an intra-cellular level, primarily focusing on DNA. DNA is fairly static except when the cell is dividing, but there is another form of spiral proteins inside living cells that is highly dynamic. Micro-tubules (click here) maintain cell structure, transport material within the cell, and organize cell division. They consist of sets of 13 spiral proteins that hook up like lego blocks, and are filled with water, pure H2O. They easily grow or shrink depending on the needs of the moment. Each protein in each set may be neutral, or it may carry a negative or a positive electrical charge. There is (extremely unofficial) speculation that micro-tubules are where consciousness resides. All of our computers are binary. That means they store information as long series of 0’s and 1’s. If their capacity was exponentially increased by adding a third factor: 0’s, 1’s AND -‘s, the amount of information stored also explodes exponentially. That is what we have on a microscopic level inside each and every cell.
So next time you run across some poor fool proclaiming they had their 13 strand DNA activated, or worse, that you should pay the idiotic charlatan to activate yours, set them straight. Micro-tubules are dynamic 13-strand intra-cellular spiral proteins that constantly undergo catastrophic collapse and dynamic rescue in response to information in their environment. It is possible to perceive accurately in the visionary realms, but to communicate those perceptions it is essential to find the most precise terminology that can be understood and agreed upon between various schools of thought. In Tibetan Buddhism, this experience is described as the direct transmission of a spiritual lineage. It is inexcusable for ignorant, sloppy, self-indulgent con-artists take terms from a scientific discipline and distort them to manipulate the gullible. It discredits every visionary out there and it is especially despicable when science offers a beautifully accurate and precise model that confirms the subjective experience.
As it turns out, spiral proteins have some astonishing attributes, one of which is that they absorb and emit photons and our connective tissue is also made of spiral proteins. Spiral proteins are dynamic structures that store,organize, and transmit information within the individual cell, between cells within the individual organism, between individual forms of life, and throughout the fabric of consciousness in our environment. I had found a framework to understand what is happening in my own connective tissue:
- Information can be transmitted and transformed by bio-photons through spiral proteins of the DNA and micro-tubules within each cell, and throughout extra-cellular connective tissue.
Bio-photons and spiral proteins are how the Bird-lady and I communicate. The weave of connective tissue that holds our human bodies together functions as a complex mathematical formula and holding our bodies in a specific position is very much like tuning a radio to a specific wave-length. In the heightened awareness of the shamanic trance we are capable of deciphering distinct and coherent fields of information. The innate propensity of spiral proteins to transmute both the number and speed of the photons they interact with, means that suddenly we are able to interact with and transform those fields of information.
Add the fact that photons are the smarty-pants of the sub-atomic world to the above information. In comparison, electrons, protons, and neutrons are all-stick in-the-mud’ s doing their predictable thing. Photons can be either a wave of energy or a particle of matter, depending on how we decide to look at them. In an experiment where scientists shot photons down a split tunnel, the photons ALWAYS went down the open branch. Scientists are not particularly fond of have their subject matter talk back as it were, so they went to some effort to prove that photons were NOT capable of responding to their environment. And found themselves proving the opposite.
It has taken a while to find the intellectual framework to explain what I did, but apparently my decision to filter and compost the information trapped in my ancestral fields of energy through my connective tissue was an effective move. It could be I made that decision because it wasn’t my first experience of that darkness. It has only been recently that I realized how peculiar it was for a thirteen year old girl to be obsessed with living in the light. When my parents separated in 1970 or so, I was dropped into a world of emotional darkness, alcoholism, neglect and abuse. I had to go before my conception, let alone my birth, and past my death to find the light. Find it I did, and wove a light-path from one state of non-being through this physical life to the next . It seemed a self-evident solution , and the experience left me completely bemused by the re-birthing fad. For years I could not understand why any one had problems remembering conception and birth. Although my ease might have been because one of my very earliest memories when I was a mere toddler was of my grandfather singing me out of the physical darkness of pain and injury into light in the aftermath of the car accident that should have killed me.
While my visit from the Bird-Lady has not made me instantly well, it has provoked my liver into getting rid of a variety of junk. The process has actually been a fairly miserable experience. Having my liver produce things capable of clattering seems a terrible imposition, and I am pretty sure that the amount of black waxy sludge it has dumped recently must be manifesting out of thin air because there simply isn’t room for it all to have been stored inside of me. However in Oriental Medicine the liver is the wood element in charge of growth and moving energy. It is the general organizing and moving troops and supplies in the human realm. And in the physical body it is responsible for sustaining the integrity, accuracy, and resilience of the etheric map woven by our connective tissue.
So what I do have as a result of clearing the turbulence and debris is a clearer insight into Parzival’s story and the alchemical Nigredo. Pop psychology feeds our desire to live in a Disney realm where the darkness is dismissed as teen-aged angst, the wicked witch is always overcome, and the prince and princess are eternally newly wed. But Nigredo is more along the lines of the Buddhist realization of the suffering of all sentient beings. It is the overwhelming inescapable truth that to be in the body is to feel and that to feel is to suffer.