Casting a backward glance at the Bush administration...

Most scientists are familiar with the theory of Occam’s Razor. It stipulates that when it comes to considering how things work, the most simple, elegant, and straightforward explanation, is most likely true.
My Jewish grandmother agrees. She taught me that this rule applies to philosophy as well. Having been around for quite a few years, this inordinately wise woman has successfully distilled the ageless wisdom of the entire Jewish people down to just two simple words: ‘go figure.’
Words to live by… and according to Occam’s Razor, probably true.
For my grandmother—and for me as well—those two words explain nearly everything. Like the Holy Grail of science, they successfully tie all disparate philosophical loose ends into a unified field.
Lets see your philosophy do that!
The most intelligent people on the planet, smart as they may be, write book after book squawking about each other’s errors of reasoning. Even great minds, it seems, are prone to bicker and are unable to agree on much.
Go figure.
See what I mean? ‘Go Figure’, like a wastebasket, is an all purpose receptacle where the sum total of all that is inexplicable can be tossed. How can that be?
Go figure.
See? Works every time.
But before all you would-be Jewish sages out there toss your heads proudly in the air (and go scrambling over the floor looking for dropped yarmulkes), consider this: another group of people have devised yet another philosophy that trumps even ‘go figure’ in depth and simplicity.
What group is that? Why, children of course.
By and large, children, a loose coalition of beings grouped together primarily by age, without even the benefit of higher education (and in quite a few cases, no education at all), have devised a slimmer one word philosophy that also explains nearly everything, and is as irrefutable as ‘go figure.’ This great wisdom is found in a child’s one word answer to nearly everything: ‘because’.
“Mary, why did you put play dough up your fathers’ nose while he was sleeping?”
After a moment of deep thought, “because.”
Of course! Brilliant! Why? Because!
If you break the word down into its’ constituent parts, the true secret of its power is revealed.
‘Be’, means to exist, and ‘cause,’ to make something happen.
Because—as a reason—simply states the obvious, ‘I did it. I may not know why I did it, but I pushed the play dough up fathers nose.’
How elegant.
This is good news for Occam’s Razor, and for us all. Our soon-to-be post-Bush society needs a simple generic reason for the mess we’re in, because like little Mary, most of us have no idea how or why we got into it. In fact, when it comes to ‘why,’ very few of us actually know why we do much of anything that we do anyway. Oh, we manufacture plenty of reasons—many of them after the fact. Take for example the nimble way George Bush manufactured reasons for a war when no W. M. D.’s were found. But when push comes to shove (as in shoving play dough up a nose, or shoving thousands of troops into Iraq), when an idea that tickles us suddenly arrives, without much thought—like our commander in chief—most of us just do it. Why? Because!
Of course, since our culture sustains a long tradition of personal responsibility, when a wide-eyed child offers us up a ‘because’ to explain their misbehavior—in their own uncomplicated way— they are simply reminding all of us—including the Bush Administration—that even if we don’t know the why of our behavior, we should at least stand undefended, ready to pay the piper for what we’ve done. All kids know that if you get caught, you’re going to ‘get it.’ An angry parent may ask ‘why,’ but they don’t really care. You’re still going to get it.
Gazing into the ‘why’ of our behavior then, is merely a question designed to keep psychologists busy. And according to them, the human mind—a murky place at best—is not really a singular rational entity anyway. It’s more a hybrid grown from an amalgam of many seeds. Our vast subconscious, stuffed with memory, unresolved feelings, and beliefs, make it nearly impossible for us to truly assess our motives. Our unconscious psyches are so fertile, so rich with turmoil, that despite our protestations, weird tendrils of thought—like some strange plant oddity—may sprout in the dark of our dreams giving rise to a new quirky part of our personality that persists even in the light of day. Consider for example, that lady astronaut, who, after years of technical training and regimented behavior, suddenly tore across the country in a diaper looking to exact revenge upon her lover’s lover (that kind of surprise behavior, by the way, is explained by another aspect of Jewish Philosophy: a concept known as, ‘Who knew?’).
Like the emperor in his new clothes, we strut like peacocks, proud to think we know exactly who we are, but we may be only fooling ourselves. Thinking we’re Jekyll, we may in fact behave like Hyde.
Waist deep in this kind of muddy is where we find the neoconservatives of the Bush Administration. Thinking themselves to be as loving as Gandhi with motives as pure as the driven snow, by most accounts, they behaved more like followers of Attila the Hun.
Surrounded with the trappings of high esteem, many of them appointed by another appointed person to an important appointed position, they succumbed to the puffery that comes with serving in government. A fanned ego exerts a powerful influence on a mutable mind, and not wanting to appear stupid, bureaucratic egos often talk like they know what they’re talking about.
But any logic not mitigated by a strong sense of the heart’s ability to empathize is off center. And with so little support for heartfelt thinking available in Washington, whether anyone’s logic is actually logical is a turkey shoot.
For my money, it takes either a complete idiot or a deeply mature and reflective soul to sometimes admit that they have no idea why they do what they do.
Asylums are full of people who admit to the bedlam in their minds. Washington on the other hand, is full of people who don’t. But very few asylum inmates start wars, while Washington’s neoconservative’s do.
And why? Unfortunately, since reason dictates that most of them don’t know, we’ll probably never know either.
But there is one reason for the war that does make sense. No doubt, experts will sift through all the subconscious complexities of personality that wallpaper George Bush’s mind, and write a plethora of books about it. But I suggest, that if he cares about his legacy at all, Mr. Bush himself should cut through all the rigmarole and apply the theory of Occam’s Razor. That will surely leave us with the only plausible explanation of why we went to war—‘because.’
Any child could understand that.
But taking responsibility for it all—to try and ameliorate the pain we leave in our wake—something any person of heart would immediately undertake—is also a foreign concept to many in Washington and not something I believe those who helped instigate the war will try and do before they leave office.
Go figure.

What’s Your Next Step?

These are amazing times.
The speed of global communication is accelerating, opening our awareness faster than e-mail. Unseen energies are propelling us toward a mysterious unknown destination. The spirit of the Earth (Gaia), angels, ascended teachers, and even extraterrestrial beings whose presence we know little about, are quietly supporting us, encouraging us to make a quantum leap in human evolution.
All of us—everywhere around the planet—are embracing more expansive ways of thinking and downloading more information than at any other time in known history.
It’s no wonder then that many of us find ourselves sheepishly standing in front of the doorway of what we are becoming with our feet stuck fast to the floor. We’re not sure whether to take a step or just stay put.
No need to worry… Sooner or later, in some unique way, some influential force magically shows up to encourage us. But until it offers us a push or just flat out drags us through the door by our heels, whether we are stuck, pushing back in resistance, or simply awestruck at the possibilities, we continue starring blankly ahead into the void, clutching at the door-frame.
What we are becoming is still uncertain—a mystery. Yet something in us believes we will succeed, if only we can take that first step. A growing sense of faith seeks to convince us that we can, and in our own right timing, we do. As we step across the threshold, each falling foot bears the precise balance between our own efforts and the beckoning Grace of God. Step after step, a compelling force of light guides us, a strange attractor that leads us both inward and forward.
"Finally!" We sigh with relief, and a bit of surprise, as we pass through not one but many doorways, all of which lead us to our destiny: an all-encompassing heartfelt embrace with divinity…
Welcome home.

Size Counts

Some years ago, in a little town in England, a representation of the universe painted onto a museum wall caused quite a stir... The wall was a large one, and the depiction of the stars, space, our galaxy, and our own planet's teeny tiny pinprick of a spot in it, left many museum goers feeling insignificant. Expanding their minds to such extensive proportions without a corresponding personal sense of connection to the whole led many to feel isolated, alone, powerless, and devoid of purpose.
Suicide rates in that small town shot up astronomically.
Facing the reality of how small our bodies and egoic identities are in relation to the vastness of creation can be frightfully confronting. That's why we need a spiritual practice. We require a tool to pry us from our grip upon the ego's own small story of who we are - our day to day identity - and allow us an ever growing dose of expanded awareness, a medicine that will one day dissolve our minds into cosmic consciousness, the state of feeling one with all of space/time.
The painting on the museum wall amounted to seeing a snapshot of who we are when we're able to let go into the grandness of our true selves, a picture impossible to believe without first hand experience.
Spiritual practice then, can sometimes be described as the step by step journey of unclothing ourselves of the ego's identity, and allowing our naked minds to once more roam free among the wilds of eternity.

Writing from the inside out...

Some books are easy, some aren't.
The ones that flow often come out of a mind tuned to an information avalanche already downloading within... Others don't because the memories your mining, like rocks, may require a little smelting before they give up the gold. ... And sometimes, it's both.
And all the while, you imagine others will value the gems you uncover.
That's what I came away with from the book reading the other night: a little objectivity.
The lawyer that represents himself has a fool for a client; the actor who directs himself may be lost in the false glow of their own publicity, and the writer who produces voluminous pages but keeps them hidden from critical view may lose himself in the woods of his own ideas.
Watching eyebrows rise, eyes widen, mouths curl as I read - all these signs informed me about what it is I have.
To write is wonderful, but to be read, sublime.
I want what I write to be read... and so I may do another night like that soon; enabling me to dip my writing toe into the water once more. Lost in the frenzy of pounding the keys, I sometimes grow numb to what I'm doing and require a group of readers give a listen. Their sensitivities help to suss the temperature of my work... L.

Books and Books...

Thursday June 4, 09
After a wobble or two, we had liftoff... the second stage of my challenge: to gather a group and read from my new book: Medium Rare, Memoir of a Slightly Mad Mystic... A child with a fever caused us to change venues at the last moment; some who had hoped to come got lost in space. Still, for those who made it, we had another cosmic night. Rather than simply read, I talked about what the book talks about, and I simply quoted a few small passages to illustrate my points. Appetites to actually get the book were wet-ted. If only I was done...

The beginning of a new beginning...

Thursday May 14, 09
Yesterday marked the inauguration of my career as a speaker... Invited by a dear friend, Raynor Needleman of Sausalito, I addressed a group of her invitees on my favorite subjects: birth, death, and the mystical moment in between. Unmasking the Near Stranger, A Frank Discussion About Life in the Hereafter, proceeded with such intense focus, even at the appropriate pause, no one in the room dove headlong for the snack table (which was right in the center of us all), or the bathroom. I was amazed!
The openness each visitor brought to the gathering turned the key to a mystical doorway that elevated the conversation, and indeed, all of us, into a rareified place. Two natural completion moments passed... yet the space remained filled with questions and further discussion until, needing to bring the night to a close, I simply got up and walked out of the room. The spell finally broken, bunches of fingers then fished through the many bowls of chips and cookies, reminding us all that life can be fun.
L.

Here's what's news, read all about it!

Here's what's news, read all about it!

Hi... Welcome to Musings From A Rare Medium...
Here, you'll find essays on everything from current affairs to what's happening in the spirit world.
In addition, if you're a reader, you'll discover some wonderful stories, all with a mystic twist, from my upcoming book: Medium Rare, Memoir Of A Slightly Mad Mystic.
Written as e mails sent to my son, now a thirty six year old man that I've been separated from since he was a toddler, Medium Rare, through a collection of true stories, informs him about the mystic life his father led.

Medium Rare… Memoir of a Slightly Mad Mystic

An Overview

The boundary between mysticism and outright madness is fascinating territory. I know; I’ve walked that razors edge.
The madness came calling at around eight years old. In the way black ink spilled over parchment spreads inexorably through each fiber of the paper, a terrible darkness began oozing through my mind. Thoroughly saturated and consumed by the competing voices of sub-personalities and obsessive-compulsive behavior, at the age of fourteen, when my mother came home from work one evening, she found my exhausted body under the bathroom sink dying.
Unable to distinguish if I was dreaming or awake, I sought resolution by slashing my wrists.
With my head wedged between the sink trap and the wall, I listened to my mother phoning for help, while my sister—needing to do something—tried to wrench my head loose from the pipe. She couldn’t, so until the medics arrived, I languished there, upright, my life’s blood emptying onto the bathroom floor.
But there would be no death in our small house in Columbus Ohio that day. My soul had other plans.
Thus began my spiritual journey: a strange mystical adventure that led first into the wildly strange world I discovered as a teenager incarcerated in a mid-western mental asylum.
Despite their good intentions, brandishing treatments that felt more like punishments, all the good doctors succeeded in doing was to convince me that I was really crazy. After stuffing me with drugs and rattling my brain with electro-shock, instead of better, I became professional, a professional mental patient.
But a strange twist of fate cast me onto a path of healing. The prescription that helped more than any of the drugs or remedies they offered, came as a result of my dying—three times!
Each journey to the 'other side' left a deep impression on my psyche. After dying for the second time, my 'wall of forgetfulness,' the buffer our minds use to focus our attention completely into this current incarnation, melted away. The complete memory of having died many times before washed over me like a powerful deja'vu. And after my third encounter, I knew that as spirits cast into a confusing world of powerful symbols and ideas, I wasn't facing them alone. None of us do. We have help from the unseen spirit realms, a world I now know exists.
So while the age of Flower Power bloomed in San Francisco, back in Ohio, even in the sterile halls of the hospital, I suddenly found myself reveling as well, in newfound lucidity!
When the time was right, with the help of a spirit that manifested right before me one day on the ward, I escaped. Terrified but determined, ignorant but committed to self-discovery, I left the whole mid-western way of life behind and headed west, searching for the Grail.
The road trip out of Ohio—a feast for the senses—served as my initiation into a new world... meaning that the old one, the insane life I had come to believe in, began to melt like ice cream in summer, and my mind was ushered into an entirely different reality. Each day, one miracle after the next catapulted me into an upward spiral of spiritual awakening. Rather than drugs that numbed my mind and shock treatments that shook my brain into senselessness, it took the shocking reality of everlasting life to replant my shriveled soul in fertile soil.
And there was more to come.
I landed in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, a place brimming with nature, new thought, and an amazing array of colorful people. Showering in the freedom, creativity, and love I found there, I scrubbed myself clean of Ohio's small mindedness. The sunny open-mindedness that characterized the rugged landscape of Northern California turned my old etched-in-vinyl reality to its flip side. Discovering an Eastern spiritual teacher in a most astounding and mystical way, I adapted a spiritual lifestyle and learned to meditate.
As I began the practice of turning my attention inward, my outer world blossomed with excitement and fun. I apprenticed myself to a magician, and it wasn’t long before I too was supporting myself via the art of conjuring. Joining a troop of actors, I traveled across the country and around the world, performing in front of thousands of people and in some marvelous venues.
Along the way, my obvious fascination with death led to its opposite. I investigated the American way of birth. Not happy with what I found, with the help of some very brave and dedicated people, I explored procedures and practices in which babies could feel more welcomed into the world. Over time, I developed a spiritually oriented practice of Midwifery.
But regardless of the excitement, growth, and beauty that prevailed in my life, by the summer of ‘92’, I once more sank into existential malaise. Instead of speeding into the future, once again, I found myself stuck in the mud.
Accepting the offer of a friend, both my girlfriend and I sought solace with him on the nurturing island of Kauai, in Hawaii.
Not long after we arrived, while camped in a secluded lagoon near a cool sparkling waterfall, I fell to my knees for some heartfelt prayer. Within minutes, I fell into a deep, hypnotic-like trance.
If God were a realtor, then for the next ten days, my body became God’s open house. Countless numbers of disembodied Spirits, one after another, began dropping into me. The procession of extremely wise and friendly high-level off planet beings channeling through just didn’t stop; they came and went day and night (I caught some sleep just a few hours at a time), and these were nobody’s dead relatives! Some had lived out a number of Earthly lifetimes and some hadn’t; but each of them had enough experience under their belts to be Teachers and Guides for those of us still here.
Many of my otherworldly visitors weren’t human at all. Some were the quirky and unimaginably unique entities that occupy realms unfamiliar to us. I communed with the spirits of plants and trees, wind and water, as well as a fair number of fairies, elves, and gnomes (yes, there really are fairies, elves, and gnomes!). I also hosted members of the hierarchy of Angels and some creatures I could only describe as extraterrestrials: beings who are definitely not from this planet.
Whatever kind of person or creature showed up, they all opened doorways in my psyche to facilitate their return, and so before leaving, they each left an imprint, and energetic signature. This tag—spiritual graffiti if you will—allows me to recognize them and makes it easier for them to enter the next time.
When the whole event blew over, the angst that had delivered me to Hawaii was gone, cured by an inoculation of astonishment, awe, and wonder.
I soon realized that the experience of having so many varied types of living vibrations pass through my mind was an initiation, a kind of ceremony in which the lingering residue of their other worldly perceptions endowed me with mystic vision.
How mysterious are the ways of God…
The adventure on Kauai led me through some extremely peculiar situations and some interestingly bizarre altered states. I climbed out of a snake pit in Ohio, a place full of degrading experiences, but on Kauai, I was catapulted into realms of exalted spiritual rapture. I spent the next few months stateside integrating the mind-stretching aspects of it all, grateful to be easing my way back into the quiet day-to-day joy found in ‘chopping wood and carrying water.’