A Message from Rand: The Ruling Fear Meditation

My late partner, Stuart “Alex” Lucker, channeled a writing exercise designed to help people identify what we want—or fear—most about a certain situation or aspect of our lives. This exercise, which I call the Ruling Passion Meditation, can be applied to subjects we would consider negative. So for this blog post, we’re going to take on the topic of our fears.

The Ruling Fear Meditation

  1. Number a sheet of paper  from 1 through 21 down the lefthand side.
  2. Set your timer for 5 minutes.
  3. Now write down everything you are afraid of, big, small, and in between. Write down whatever occurs to you, no matter how you are tempted to deny it. (Only you are going to see this exercise sheet, so you can be totally honest with yourself.)
    • The fears you write down might include fears around physical matters such as money, an upcoming vacation, losing one’s job, the roof of your house caving in, screwing up the math exam, contracting a terminal illness, nuclear war, being cut out of mother’s will, bankruptcy, staying fat forever.
    • Your fears may include inner, feeling-oriented matters such as a spouse leaving you for someone else; trouble with in-laws; the safety and happiness of your child or pet; rejection by teachers, family, and potential life-partners; feeling alone and unloved.
    • Deep intellectual, spiritual, and ethical fears, too, can be listed, such as fear that death is the end and a loving Higher Power is a fantasy; fear you have missed your true life’s purpose; fear you have chosen the wrong profession; fear that your work accomplishments will be derided, stolen, disproved, or forgotten.
  4. Try to come up with 21 different or related fears, one fear per line. If you can’t think of 21, or if you think of more than 21, list all those you can think of and stop there.
  5. Next, we’re going to grade the fears by intensity.
    • Set your timer again, this time for 2 minutes.
    • Read each fear in turn, asking yourself, “On a scale of 1 through 5—1 being the absolute worst, and 5 being simply bothersome—how strong is this fear in me today?” Number each fear from 1 to 5. Go down the list ranking each fear as quickly as possible, guessing if you’re not sure; don’t overthink it.
    • Now put a check mark next to all the fears you ranked number 1 or number 2. These are your Ruling Fears, the things, people, situations, and/or outcomes you most dread. Now you can take these fears and work on finding all the support you may need for taking action on how to prevent what you most fear from manifesting.


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A Message from “The Family”: A Threefold Approach to Fear Mitigation

Mister Rand has been experiencing a great deal of anxiety concerning the fate of gay half-Jewish psychics like himself under the present political system. While to an observer this may seem a dread unlikely to be fulfilled due to the specificity of its parameters, Mister Rand’s fears are generated not by reason but by memory:

  • Mister Rand’s memory of his secular Jewish father’s dread of antisemitic persecution;
  • Mister Rand’s memory of persecution at the hands of his abused and abusive older brother;
  • A memory of the sense of Otherness which caused Mister Rand to hang back from full involvement with life from an early age; and
  • The memory of other incarnations to which he is linked on a spirit and soul level.

mercy

The multidimensionality of persistent, fearful life outlook cannot be ignored without sometimes severe repercussions in the life of the fearful one. In our observations of human existence, it appears to us that the best approach to take for clearing the soul of such limitations is an approach that employs physical, psychological, and perceptual tools in more or less equal measure.

Physical, because the neuromuscular systems bear their own memories of pain inflicted upon them in the sometimes deep past, pain that can respond well to empathic bodywork, tension-relieving exercise, dietary changes, deep breathing, progressive relaxation, sexual play, and certain medications;

Psychological, because even the most rational humans, contemptuous or dismissive of such notions as Inner Child, Inner Parent, and intergenerational trauma transmission, can respond positively to mental fear-mitigation practices such as therapeutic mentorship, mindfulness training, support group involvement, and journaling; 

Perceptual, because the way one views reality can have stress-relieving, stress-inducing, or numbing effects on the sufferer, depending upon the world-view adopted.

(Mister Rand is somewhat embarrassed by our discussing his vulnerabilities so publicly. We remind him, however, that he has complete control of what we say and how it is disseminated. We further remind him that, as his neglect of this blog has allowed his followers and their “hits” to dwindle to almost nothing, it is highly unlikely that what he writes here will spread like wildfire across public media.)

Next Time:  Fear mitigation exercise #1 — Identifying the fears that rule you.

Do You Believe In Fairies? Clap Your Hands

Spoiler Alert: Last night, on Netflix, I watched a British film called “Hippopotamus”. The main character and narrator is a  late middle aged British critic whose sardonic skepticism is equaled only by his sense of personal failure and self-loathing. In the film, he is called to an aristocratic country home to investigate rumors that a younger son there—the critic’s godson—has developed supernatural healing abilities. A man, a horse, and several women have been reported as cured of life-threatening illnesses when the boy laid hands upon them.

“Hippopotamus” is well scripted and well acted. The main character’s acerbic wit both appeals and appalls. But the ending is predictable. The critic—a former poet plagued with writer’s block for decades—unmasks the “healings” as a con on the part of the boy: one of the women dies, and the others’ symptoms return, except for the horse’s, who turns out to have been suffering from nothing worse than a hangover brought on by lapping up an alcoholic beverage accidentally dumped into its water bucket by the critic.

There is a happy ending of sorts: the boy admits to the con; is reconciled with his father, whom the con had been designed to impress; the critic’s writer’s block dissolves; and he starts making poems again. But the underlying assumptions of the film are what I’ve come to expect from modern secular media: there is no God; “miracles” are simply chance occurrences explicable by natural law; and anyone who believes in God, the supernatural, faith, or life after death is a self-deluded lamebrain.

True confession time: The movie depressed me. Against all experience and true expectation, I had deep down hoped that the main character would at least have been left with some doubts about the certitude of his materialism. When the hope was dashed, my ancient doubts concerning the true nature of my own mystical and psychic experiences rose up chattering. This is nothing new—my mind has always been a house divided, rationalist on one side, mystic on the other—and when such dark moods descend on me, I feel like a charlatan who has wasted his life living in a dream world.

Oddly enough, when I go into trance, or throw the cards for a client, or am in the presence of others who have had mystical experiences, my doubts recede, and the quiet joy of knowing that Divine Love is real, and that we are all,  ultimately, safe, returns.  But when I am alone in my flat, at night, it is more difficult to recapture that startling sense of peace I experience in the day.

This dualism is in part inherited: My father was an agnostic and purported rationalist; my mother, a high church Episcopalian who taught me from an early age “If I should die before I wake, I pray my Lord my soul to take.” I always felt torn between them, to the point where, as a child, I taught myself to sleep on my back rather than on my left or right side, because Daddy slept on the left side of the bed he shared with Mommy, and Mommy slept on the right side, and I felt if I chose right or left I would be siding with one parent against the other.

Tonight, as I lay in bed suffocating beneath the dread that the materialists are right, and that my mystic experiences are nothing more than brain farts, I could understand how some people believe in demon oppression or soulsucking negative thoughtform attacks—because I felt attacked, not by demons, but by the overwhelmingly pessimistic materialism of modern secular intellectual culture. And the thought came to me: You don’t have to give in to these doubts. You have a choice, based upon your experience, to believe in spirit guides, nature spirits, ghosts, reincarnation, soul travel, ESP, Tarot, channeling, and other manifestations of nonlinear consciousness, or not to believe in them. Which choice makes your life run more smoothly while not violating either your reason or your intuition? Choose now.

My lifelong difficulty reconciling my father’s agnosticism with my mother’s emotional religiosity was predicted, many years ago, when I was a sophomore at St. John’s College in Annapolis, Maryland. I developed a crush on a bisexual upperclassman who dabbled in the occult, inspired by the characters in John Fowles’ The Magus. One day, while in a pot-fueled trance, he predicted that I would spend my life standing on the crossroads showing the way for others to follow, while never taking that path myself.

Tonight I say: I choose to believe that life is more than a molecular dance, wondrous though that dance may be. Tonight I choose to believe that Spirit is real, and that my experiences of It are glimpses of a truth underlying, upholding, and surrounding the truths of physical reality. To put it another way, words deliberately chosen to irritate the the sophisticated atheist who lives inside me: tonight I choose to believe in fairies. And if you choose to believe in them, too? Why, do what Peter Pan invited us to do when Tinker Bell lay at death’s door. If you believe in fairies, clap your hands. •

 

A Message From “The Family”: On the Theory of An Evolving Deity

rainbow_crystal_eggWhen Mister Rand first entered physical reality in zygote form in the womb of his present incarnation’s mother, he … brought with him into physical reality many experiences of standards fallen short, and his grief and pain over these actions (perceived by him as “failures”) were deeply entrenched in brain and body, so that he literally could not imagine a reality where the concepts of Good and Evil, Beautiful and Ugly, Friend and Enemy, Wanderer and Destination, Beginning and Ending did not hold universal meaning throughout all realities.

Big and small, short and tall, victor/victim,  do you not see that these dualities are only meaningful in Thought Reality? In the other levels of Reality, such as the Physical Planning State, the Dream State, the Nonphysical Planning State, the Plane of Light and Sound, and ultimately, the Plane of the Great Self, dualities slip away and are readily recognized as woefully inadequate to describe the enormous complexities of enfleshment.

But how can this be? asks Mister Rand. In physical reality, pain is real. Cruelty is real. Evil is real. How can you treat these intense negative experiences as neither good nor bad? Or as illusory? They are not illusory. They really hurt. How could a loving God create a universe where such pain can exist? Millions of children all over the world dying of starvation. Justice is one of the faces of the Divine, too. Are you saying that “justice” and “injustice” are meaningless concepts in the quote Higher Realms unquote?

We did not say that these things are illusory. We said simply that they have a reality only in Thought Reality, that reality connected to all minds past, present, and future by your reckoning. As for a loving God creating a universe in which suffering is not only possible but certain, given circumstances, some of your teachers [posit] that God has evolved over the eons of earthly existence, expanding through the levels of consciousness from Force, Threat, and Blame (all the vengeful deities of ancient times) to Acceptance With Intent To Learn; Giving; Loving; and Knowing … One’s true, complete, and immutable nature.

Another way of looking at these matters: that God, having evolved over the billennia into the most expanded consciousness, recognizes that It is not bound by space and time. And so Its expanded awareness is free to proliferate up and down the time stream, throughout all probable universes,  …  [expressing] Itself throughout time and space as though It had always been free to do so. In this way, Divine Love obtains access to all of reality and is free to seek to integrate Its mercies with the entire timestream from the very beginning to the very end (if “beginning” and “end” are words of meaningfulness in this context).

Mister Rand says, This is very complicated. Are you saying that God was once a brute, but having evolved into pure Love, is now rewriting the history of Itself so as to appear always to have been pure Love? We are not saying that deception is involved here. We are positing that the pain and travail available in Thought Reality is a remnant of a Maker less aware of the suffering of Its creation than It later became. And now that Maker, unable to remake what already is, is seeking to bring healing to all of history in all its permutations through the expanding consciousnesses of Its  “little” selves, i.e., the sentient creatures sprung from Its womb who are capable of moral choice and compassionate action.

And so It introduces agents of healing and change into the timestreams, “bodhisattvas” if you will, who emerge, have emerged, and will always emerge at various points in history to bring integration of the divine love-nature into Thought Reality and spacetime experience.

Mister Rand asks, So you are saying that some of us are time travelers sent by All-That-Is into physical reality and Thought Reality to introduce ripples of Love and Light into various periods of history? To which we reply, “That is correct.”

And we thank you for sharing. •

— Channeled 23 July 2017 by Rand B. Lee. All rights reserved.

A Message From “The Family”: On Eating Disorders

Mister Rand has long suffered from what is termed an “eating disorder,” in his case the compulsion to eat more than his body requires especially of carbohydrates, sugars, and fat-laden proteins. As a result, he has developed a deformity of the torso that weighs him down and  prevents him, he thinks, from finding love and acceptance from others whose opinions he cherishes.

Eating disorders are, as we see it, at core, disorders of the heart chakra, and they can come in many forms, such as compulsive overeating and vomiting; compulsive undereating and self-starvation; and compulsive exercising and dieting. To bring these disorders into balance, it is necessary for the sufferer to identify the core need, which is love; and to develop strategies for opening the heart both to Divine Love and to human love as well.

In the Twelve Step group “Overeaters Anonymous,” there is a series of contemplative exercises designed to accomplish just the sort of heart opening to which we refer. At root, they involve:

(1) admission of powerlessness over the addictive urge when it strikes;

(2) acknowledging that Divine Love exists and is eager to relieve any and all self-harm compulsions if that is what the sufferer truly wishes;

(3) a commitment by the sufferer to placing one’s will and life into the loving care of the Divine Healer on a daily basis;

(4) listing all the ways  one’s pain and loneliness have manifested in waking life;

(5) breaking silence by sharing this list with another human being;

(6) agreeing, one day at a time, to permitting the Divine Healer complete access to one’s innermost core being, for the purpose of adjusting one’s attitudes and actions so that they reflect our beauty rather than our pain;

(7) performing a ritual in which one formally invites Divine Healer access to one’s core;

(8) making a list of any persons we have harmed, and becoming willing to make amends to them all;

(9) making amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others;

(10) working daily to keep one’s heart open to the Divine Healer’s correction when one acts towards others out of a consciousness level of force, threat, and blame rather than the consciousness levels of  acceptance with intent to learn, understanding, giving, loving, and knowing that one is intrinsically whole;

(11) communing consciously with the Divine Healer on a daily basis, so that we may receive the daily power and blessings that Divine Love wishes to pour upon us; and

(12) offering oneself as a channel of Divine Love to other sufferers on a daily basis as opportunities arise.

It is vital to recognize that the process of recovering from eating disorders cannot take place in isolation: one must become so sick of being sick that one is willing to ask for help, despite one’s shame and inner accusers. This is why Mister Rand attends a Twelve Step meeting designed for compulsive overeaters; he has found, over time, his fear of being seen and harmed by others has diminished considerably owing to the consistent, nonintrusive love shown him by other members of the group.

Furthermore, any healing of the heart results in increased awareness of feelings, inevitably including feelings one does not wish to feel, such as shame, fear, resentment, anger, and other responses to the illusion that one is starving emotionally. A daily choice must be made to allow these feelings to come to consciousness, and to use various tools, such as writing and sharing verbally with others one can trust, for the purpose of acknowledging these feelings and releasing them on a daily basis into the love of the Divine Healer. For it is the Divine Healer alone Who can repair the damaged heart chakra; bring peace, love, and resilience to the emotional body; and silence the voice of the inner accuser who calls Mister Rand a failure and a troll.

And we thank you for sharing.•

For further information about Twelve Step programs for compulsive eaters, check out the website http://www.oa.org.

 

 

A Message From “The Family”: On Atheism

celloatSarajevoMister Rand is often disturbed when he encounters advertisements or Internet posts from and about persons espousing atheism as a rational, more balanced approach to understanding and coping with life than theism, religiosity, mysticism, or theomancy. He is disturbed because deep down he himself does not entirely believe that he can be lucky enough for his channelings of unconditional love and light to be accurate and valid. Particularly since his mystical experiences feel so undramatic to him—familiar, almost ordinary in their safeness and familiarity—and never accompanied by UFO sightings, beams of mysterious light breaking through ceilings, angels with outstretched wings, and so forth.

But true mysticism is not always expressed via the melodramatic  memes one encounters in television and film. True mysticism is less likely to be a riotous adventure of alien abduction and much more likely to be turning a corner in one’s day and discoverin g that one is suddenly seeing everything afresh, as though one were awakening from a dream.

Beliefs are not the same things as experiences. One can experience the mystical without believing in it; similarly, one can believe in something without experiencing it. The keynote of whether a belief is core or a superficial adoption lies in whether one takes that belief and builds a world for oneself to inhabit out of it.

Atheism is currently fashionable, particularly among certain classes of intelligentsia in the USA where Mister Rand dwells. As a belief structure, atheism dates back thousands of years in Western civilization, and like religious beliefs, atheism often arises from (1) trauma, (2) acculturation, (3) home rearing, and/or (4) gender role identification.

Traumatic atheism, like traumatic religiosity, arises from unbearable psychological wounds such as those suffered by rape, war, accident, and bereavement victims. Traumatic atheism, however, often can be traced to an individual’s abuse in childhood or another vulnerable life period at the hands of overtly religious persons or institutions. Hence, for the traumatic atheist, atheism can be experienced as a liberation from the manacles of “terror theology”—religiosity rooted in Force, Threat, and Blame, that seeks to expunge the individual self and soul in order to make the self more easily controllable by the religious hierarchy. Where traumatic atheism does not arise from religious abuse, but from unbearable pain due to violence and loss, it can provide liberation from the torment of a sufferer’s wondering whether their suffering is a “punishment” by Deity for some deed or character flaw in a given or former lifetime. Traumatic atheism can also be an expression of rage against a deity one secretly still believes in, the atheist “punishing” that deity (or one’s parents, or one’s pastor) by refusing to worship the deity one has been taught to venerate. In all these cases, therefore, atheism serves the same purpose as other belief systems: protection or liberation of the self from the unbearable weight of pain.

Opportunistic or social atheism is our term for atheism arising from an individual’s desire to fit in with a desireable social group, usually a group that confers upon its members or adherents social, intellectual, [monetary] or political status not afforded to individuals who are theists or religious. Fad atheism, like fad religion, depends upon group pressure for its continuation; when the individual outgrows the need for group authentication, fad atheism—like fad religion—often fades.

Environmental atheism, like environmental religiosity, is atheism arising from family or bonding-group indoctrination. It is cultural in origin, with powerful emotional triggers and anchorings. For such atheists, theism can seem like a betrayal of intensely intimate familial and cultural values and kinship ties.

Gender-based atheism arises, usually amongst boys and men, when they are exposed to the notion that religiosity is somehow effeminizing, something that “real” men do not believe in—the province of moral, intellectual, or sexual “weaklings.” The statement, “Religion is the opium of the people” is [in our view] an expression largely of gender [role] based atheism.

Then there is a kind of atheism that arises from a genuine, heartfelt examination of one’s observations of the world and experiences therein. This kind of atheism, which we may term “true” atheism, is a true reflection of the internal process whereby an individual seeks to make emotional, intellectual, and philosophical sense of a frequently violent, apparently heartless, and often random and impersonal world. Just as “true” religiosity may be said to arise from an openhearted examination of evidences for universal consciousness, “true” atheism may represent a “high” and transfiguring awakening within the individual to a broader sense of reality. As such, true atheism can be a powerful tool for healing, acceptance, resourcefulness, and balance within the individual. And we thank you for sharing. •

— Channeled by Rand B. Lee on 7 September 2015 6:40 AM MT.

Aftermaths

MAJORTRUMPS.XXI.DeathOne of the most painful things about the death of a beloved is not how much difference it makes in one’s days afterwards, but how little. My sweet 14-year-old cat, Urdwill (a.k.a. Burd), was as much part of my day and night as any close family member might have been; but I still have to get up in the morning as usual; shower as usual; make my basic three daily meals as usual; go to my Twelve Step meeting, counseling sessions, and supermarket as usual. I spent part of this week repotting sweet peppers and tomatoes I am raising from seed; shmoozing with my landlord’s sweet American bulldog, Julie; accessing and returning my friend Lee’s car, all as usual. How, I ask myself, could I have gotten over my pet’s demise so quickly? “You never really loved him, that’s how,” the Accuser whispers.

Of course that is not true. The mourning that began with wails of grief has simply shifted, that’s all, downsized itself, gone largely underground. My rented room feels empty, now, without him. When I am out chatting with a friend I think, “Oh, I had better get home now, Burd will need his dinner,” then remember that Burd’s dinner is no longer my concern. When I come back to my landlord’s house and unlock the outer door, I automatically check the area around my feet to see if Urdwill is crouching there, ready to spring past me into the street. At night, whenever I would wake (and I wake up several times a night), Urdwill would be there, ready for affection, action, food; I sometimes nearly tripped over his black-furred body, invisible as it was in the darkened room. The relaxation of my hypervigilance concerning him—the relaxation issuing directly from his death—has been a relief. But it has also been a source of enormous feelings of guilt. How, I ask myself, could I be so heartless as to feel relief over Urdwill’s passing? “You never really loved him, that’s how,” the Accuser whispers again.

Such accusations would have no power to affect me were there not a long, old history behind them. In Ireland, where they had lived for six or seven years, my mother died of alcoholism in 1991, a year after my younger brother Jeffrey, her caretaker, died of AIDS. I hated my mother for having emotionally and sexually abused me, and I felt as liberated by her death as I had felt devastated by my brother’s. It took years before I could acknowledge my love for the part of her that was good and kind, and feel any  grief over her passing. “You could have saved her from drinking herself to death,” the Accusers whispered at the time, but this was a lie easier to shrug off; I knew by this time that alcoholism is a progressive illness, and that she had not been willing to do the 12 Step work that could have helped her find relief from it. The Accuser’s other whisper, “You could have saved Jeffrey from dying of AIDS by insisting he return to the USA for treatment,” was harder to shrug off. At the time in Ireland, so strong were the laws against birth control that one needed a doctor’s prescription even to buy condoms in Ireland; AIDS treatment was even more primitive and limited by public prejudice than it was in the US, where our present cocktail of meds had not yet become available.

In the end I have been forced to the conclusion that my brother, my mother, and my beloved cat Urdwill had their own paths to follow, their own stories, and their own Higher Powers. I have been asked by Spirit to accept that I, like they, am a student of Love rather than a master; and that no matter what the Accuser says, I could no more have rescued my little brother from AIDS than I could have cured my cat’s cancer. The only power I have is in the here and now: the power to choose Love right now, today. •