Tuesday, November 10, 2009

It's this or nothing.

As I was meditating one day, the Spirit descended upon me and took me up into the heavens, whether in body, or in a dream, I do not know.

In the Workshop, I saw my Brother overseeing a manifestation of Plague. It was time for the new pandemic to be rolled out, under the supervision of the appropriate spirits of  Saturn and Venus.

"It's going to kill millions of people," I said, and my Brother looked up at me.

"Yes, it is."

"But why? Why like this? That's going to hurt, and leave families without children, children without parents, and it's going to hurt the poor worse than the rich. It's not fair to any of them."

Gently, he sighed, and got that look he gets when he's going to tell me something I won't like, agree with, or understand.

"They have to die."

He just looked at me. His face is always so compassionate. He knows what it means to be human, mostly cut off from our birth-right, yet still conscious enough to be aware of the disconnect. He knows I don't see the beginning and the end the way he does.

"Like this?" I asked.

"Yes. Exactly like this. It has to happen."

"Why? You're God, or close enough for it not to matter any more. You can let them live and find their deaths of old age. What could happen if you just had mercy and spared us from this stupid plague?"

"This," he said, and took me over to a corner of the workshop that seemed dustier than the rest. He sat me on a stool and sat across from me. "Close your eyes."

He's totally done this before. It's a vision trip, where he shows me shit that I can't understand in words.So I know what to expect; he's going to show me a future with too many people, or something to justify the horrors this disease will cause.

Instead, all I see is nothing. Deep nothing. Nothing without even anything to compare it to, no way to know it is nothing. Nothing. No eyes to see, no me to look through eyes, even if they were there, nothing for my brain to process, no brain to process with. Nothing. Empty.


"I didn't see anything," I said.

"Right." My blank stare spoke volumes.

"Look," he said. "Remember the sign on the Boot Hill Saloon?"

(The Boot Hill Saloon is a bar in Daytona across the street from the old Boot Hill cemetery, where outlaws and the destitute were buried.)

"You're better off here than across the street?"


"That's the big mystical secret? It's this or nothing?" There was a brief pause, and I heard laughter in the distance. "Nothing's a hell of a lot better than unleashing this disease and suffering!"

He returned my gaze without flinching for a long moment, and when he had my full attention again, he simply said one word.