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THE BRIGHT-EYED HUNA

There was a young man who’d been brought up in a fairly strict Catholic home environment. Like most Christians, he was taught to worship a symbol in the form of a man instead of what the very human man was endeavoring to teach, which was that Mastery of Reality was inside everyone, and that it was easier than people knew, and that its foundation was understanding Love beyond the chemical flows Earth people mistake for that near Infinite concept.

Be that as it may, he was duly programmed his entire life in the way most are. As he came of age, to make his parents proud, he decided to attend Seminary. To his surprise, his dad suggested he instead attend a local community college that had introductory Divinity courses specifically designed to help an aspiring priest to understand the level of commitment being made. Little did everyone involved in those courses know, but they were implemented from higher levels of mind to weed out those with the propensity for attraction to choir boys.

So he found himself in school, at college, and living near campus. One night some friends suggested he join them at a party. Reluctant and fearful, he relented after much peer pressure. At the party he found he was having a good time among intelligent people around his own age, many of whom had admirable goals, were clearly more worldly, and looked upon him as though he were Amish. They weren’t cruel about it, but they certainly seemed as though they shared in a private joke he simply could not “get.”

Another week. Another party. A girl caught his eye. He watched her, and she knew he was watching her. One night she walked up to him and introduced herself. This girl made his heart pound. They began hanging out quite a bit, but he was duly adamant that he could not let things go beyond friendship, for his destiny was the Catholic Seminary. She was fine with that. She too seemed to know something he didn’t, and he finally got around to asking her about it.

“Sure you want to know?”

“Yes, I want to know.”

“What if it shows you something well beyond your religion?”

“Then I need to see it.” He was trying to be “cool” with her, and brave, but he also had something prompting him strongly forward with this…whatever it was.

Anyway, she agreed. On a Saturday night, at her parents’ home while they were out of town, she handed him something. It was a little piece of paper. “This…”

“Have you done this before?” he interrupted.

“Many times,” she said with a small smile.

“I don’t wanna know what it is,” he said, and put it in his mouth.

As he was beginning to feel funny, she put on Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and they watched, with the sound off, The Wizard of Oz. In between almost uncontrollable bouts of laughter, he found himself understanding things in the movie that he had never seen before, and the music was beyond belief for him. And so was she. There were moments of sheer terror, but she was so calm and gentle with him, ministering (yes, like a wise Minister) to him as he needed. She told him the terror came from everything he feared about himself and was unwilling to let go.

They wound up making love, and his entire universe opened to a previously unimagined glory that he fancied had been hidden from the world and could only be found in this little college town and these people whom, he laughed, could literally be running the world from some control room far beneath campus.

Now he was in on the secret. What he was left with from the experience is, “All I know with any certainty is that I want to know more,” and this he knew would extend forever, which meant that his path was set forever. He had never been so clear about his path without having a clue beyond that as to what he might want other than to be with this girl exploring the Great Invisible, like co-captains on a starship they had to themselves.

Within a couple of months, she broke up with him, which was devastating. Now he was adrift in some vast limbo between what he was leaving behind and now unsurely moving towards. He lied to his parents. What else could he do? Parents force children to be liars. They think it’s their job. They’ve been programmed to believe that they want what’s best for the child, when of course the child knows millions of times beyond them what is best for itself.

Between guilt, shame and the freedom he’d with his own eyes seen and experienced with every part of his being, and this limbo, he oscillated between staying the course with Seminary, or striking out on his own by coming clean with his parents. He assumed they wouldn’t pay for college if he didn’t take the classes they wanted him to. Through all this, he’d become ill, and it was getting worse. It was a pain in seemingly every muscle fiber. The doctors, several of them, concurred that it was fibromyalgia, and he accepted their assessments. They’re doctors. They know what they’re doing. They gave him something that made him sicker and it only cost the insurance company $14.55 per pill, taken three times daily on a full stomach with water.

Through it all, he admitted to his parents that he wasn’t sure Seminary was the right thing for him. They understood, and decided for him that becoming a lawyer was his destiny. What was perhaps most bizarre about the next eight years is that his symptoms would abate, to varying degrees, every time he set foot in a church. Reading from the Bible could make it seem as though hope for a solution weren’t a pipe dream.

After years of courses of medicines, he decided Western Medicine was clueless and needed to explore some options. Then one day, literally the day he’d taken the Bar Exam, out of the blue he ran into the girl who’d so long ago turned him on to LSD and opened his head with music and lovemaking and, of all things, the Wizard of Oz. He’d made something of a hobby of getting to the bottom of all the many layers of symbolism in that film, and was stunned to conclude that it was deliberately designed by people to wake people up from the inside.

They were genuinely glad to see each other. She could see that he was ill, told him it was plain to see in his aura, and explained to him that she had left school in the rearview mirror to the mindless robots when she’d been shown by her guru, Babi Notanantananda’a that she was a born healer and needed to rearrange her entire existence to become his student. She declared that she could help him and handed him a card with all her contact information. He saw that her “stage” name in the healing acts was Starburst Arcturian (after all, weren’t Acturians all about healing?), which was her Facetook username and fan page. He would need to send a note to her assistant and protégé to set something up.

Long story short, he found himself once again in the company of the woman who’d opened him up lo those many years ago. He told her he didn’t have much money, and she said the $200 he did have would be plenty for the first two sessions. What the hell..? Rent or being free of this pain, which in the last couple of years had become almost unbearable, especially in the morning. They sat down in her “office.” It smelled of incense, and the music was soft and cloyingly self-indulgent, fancying itself inspirational. He asked her to turn it off. Ignoring him, she waved some annoyingly pungent smoke in his face and then looked around him, not at him, but around him.

Finally, she said, “You have Dark Insectoids, Zeta Reticuli, attached to you and they’re draining your lifeforce, feeding off of you.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Because I see them. They can’t hide from people like me when we use our higher sight and this particular incense, made by my Guru…who, by the way, if he were here the problem would already be solved, but since I don’t have his soul power it’ll take a few sessions. If you use the law of attraction, you shouldn’t have any problem manifesting the abundance necessary to cover my fees.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“See? That’s your problem. You’re so riddled with doubt, and you’re so un-integrated, that they find you an easy mark. You have to be more positive, and fill yourself with love and light.”

“Who finds me an easy mark?”

“The Reptilian slave-masters.”

“Uhh…I thought they were insectoids from Zeta…”

“Would you please just stop? If you don’t change your attitude I think we’ll probably just have to shake hands and go our separate ways.”

“Have you done this sort of thing before?”

“Many times.”

“And did it work for them?”

“OK, that…I don’t think we can work together.”

“All right all right…let’s just do what you’re gonna do.”

After a rather lengthy lecture on thinking positively, she placed him in a white pyramid with some sort of geometrical model hanging from the center. She then surrounded him with stones of various sizes, colors and clarity, waved some smokes from various grasses and sages at him, making him cough and feel exceptionally nauseated. She then said some sort of prayer in a language that sounded like a mixture of French and something that didn’t exist, an “Angelic” language, she told him. Dipping feathers into an oily water, she flailed the liquid at his face and barked “Angelic” words. Later, she told him it was a bit like an exorcism, and that the insectoids were weakening.

The next morning he’d never been in so much pain, and wrote her through Facetook to let her know. Immediately setting aside some time, he went to her office again for a second “cleansing.” She told him that with this sort of work it could seem worse because of a healing crisis.

Over the coming days the pain was impossible. Bedridden, he logged-in to Facetook with his GeniusPhon-E Galact-Z and asked for help…anything she could do. Contacting all her powerful healer friends, they all agreed at an appointed time to send love and light to him. He watched their posts on his feedface as they all saw the insectoids becoming weaker and weaker. Soon, he would have liberation, for nothing can conquer love and light! All through it the pain had become so severe he, for the first time in his life, contemplated suicide.

But by the next day enough of the edge had come off the pain that he could actually function. Through Facetook he messaged her and said he didn’t think any of it had worked. No reply was forthcoming, but he did see posts on the facefeed from her friends that he was blocking their love and light, and there was nothing they could do to help until he changed his attitude to a more positive polarity. Finally she did write and let him know that only her guru had the soul power to free him, and that he could see him in his ashram in India in eight months. It would be only $5000 for his God-like ministrations.

He respectfully declined.

Time wore on and through his own research was able to find various sites with information on diet and yoga and tai chi, and how they’d been useful in helping with these stubborn autoimmune disorders. Putting all that to work, he decided that if he continued with his pain-reducing Bible reading, none of which did he himself actually believe anymore, maybe the whole regimen could help. And so it did. But the pain never left. It was a constant companion, and one that taught him much about conscious living.

Within three years he was employed at a reputable firm. There he met his wife-to-be, and within a year they were inextricably bound together in a legal entanglement called marriage that would install energetic hooks, stemming mostly from obligation and compromise, between them that would take a true healer to unravel when it was time in his future to do that work. On their honeymoon in Hawai’I, he spotted a young man many times, here and there around the hotel, the beach, the bar, once in the elevator. He was a smilingly handsome young man…maybe four or five years younger than himself.

Finally, the man said “Mahalo” to him, at a perfect moment when his new subconscious complex and source of guilt and limitation, his bride, was off getting a massage. This engaging Polynesian man had something about him. His eyes were clear…I mean really clear, and it was effortless to be drawn to him. He told him he could see his pain and thought he might be able to help.

“Ah…I don’t think so. I spent quite enough time, money and hope on that. I…”

“Oh, Sir, I can’t charge for what I do.”

“How do you live?”

Opening his hands, his white eyes and teeth smiling hugely, he said, “Aumakua provides.” And then he became instantly serious. “But listen…let me see if I can convince you. So look at me.” After a time of just staring into his eyes, the young man leaned back and said, “You were going to become a priest, and then decided not to.”

He sat bolt upright in his lounge chair. “How did you know.…”

The young man held up his hand to silence him, staying focused on his eyes. “But what I don’t get is where these bug-like creatures come from. I’m having a hard time making out what their deal is. I can’t really track ‘em.”

“So they’re actually there? I thought she was full of…of….”

“Who?”

“A healer friend of mine who said she saw them and could help me be rid of them.”

With this the striking Polynesian man-boy leaned back and laughed so hard and with such honest enjoyment many people around the pool looked, annoyed, in their direction. This went on for a couple of excruciatingly long minutes. Then, when he’d gathered himself enough to talk, wiping tears of hilarity from his eyes, he said, “OK…your healer friend created them, and through her focused attention, emotional energy and visualization firmly attached her creations to your lower self."

"What's so friggin' funny, Bro?"

"Everything. Don't you get it? Everything is funny. But anyway...I imagine the pain went crazy right about then.”

“It did. What about the bugs?”

“Ok…well…they’re nothing. Just phantoms of a shared mind the two of you intermingled over the course of some beautiful, and not-so-beautiful, experiences together. We’ll also have to work to get her…your healer friend…to get her sexual energy hooks out of your pelvic bowl. If you’d like, I can start that work right now. The real problem is one that could take some more serious work. I’d say about four or five hours on my plant and sand mattress.”

“Four or five hours? That’s it?” This surprising man had some serious confidence. For the first time in his life he felt as though he were in the company of someone who actually knew what they were talking about.

“Let me explain something to you. All of us in this perceptual plane have multiple selves, two of which are of this plane, and several of which are not. In your world one of these selves is called the subconscious. This is a self that perceives reality all on its own, and the world it perceives can be quite different than the world you perceive. It has very limited reasoning capacity but can work on levels of energy that can be pretty potent, which is why ghosts can move things around. They also deal in energy, meaning mental and emotional, have excellent memories and aren’t really connected to time. Most of your memory access is in fact stored by them, which is why you have spent so many years in this condition.”

“Go on.”

“You spent your life being programmed by your parents in rigidly religious ways, right? And to gain their approval you decided against the dictates of your own heart, your intuition, to become a priest. Because Western Religions are so based in punishment for sin, this approval seeking becomes hugely important, mainly because it gets embedded in the lower self, which will then help to further pattern your thinking and block you from higher messages of truth. Because so much excitement was generated by this in your family environment, which produced bursts of really potent emotional energy, your lower self bought into it, just as it had bought into the punishment-for-sin equation, and it associates, to this day, the need to punish you for getting off track and not becoming a priest. It lies ever in wait for a feeling of guilt or shame to signal yet another need for punishment.

“Emotional energy is its impetus, and often its energetic power. The images created by your desire, coupled with the emotional energy infusion, more or less created a monster inside you that has never agreed with you changing your mind and heart about the Seminary. From its perspective, you have chosen to walk away from all that is happiness, which for it was all those beautiful feelings and images and emotions created by the prospect of becoming a Man of the Cloth. You have found some method of relief…right? I’ll bet it had to do with you doing anything religious…”

“Dead on.”

“Perfect. Then maybe you understand what I’m getting at.”

“For the first time in my life I understand. What about the phantom bugs?”

“They’re gone. While I was collecting your thoughtforms I called in an ancestor, an uncle I know and love very much, to gather them up, strip the energy of your friend’s images, which left them in a purely energetic form without image encoding, and sent them to Aumakua to be dealt with by those wiser than us.”

“Oh. Wow. Your uncle…is he…is he…”

“Dead?”

“Yes.”

“No. You and your people would think that in that incredibly adolescent way of yours. But he’s just in a freer form after his passage from this plane. He in fact taught me much of what I know. I started as a kid. I could start fires with my palms by the time I was fourteen. So…you wanna do it?”

“Yes…but I can’t let you do it without payment of some sort.”

“There is a family I know who can use some help. I’ll give your money to them.”

So the next day our hero found himself on a mattress of various grasses on a beach beneath palm fronds. It was very pleasant, comfortable and inviting. The wife refused to attend. The first thing this young man did was sing, and it was beautiful. While he did this, he cried. It was very clear it was a powerful experience for him. The next thing he did was place hot stones on his spine, and then gently pushed with his fingers into different locations on his back. Throughout this activity he spoke softly in what our hero could only guess was Hawai’ian. It turned out it was a language “not here anymore.”

After a time, someone brought a brew of water, oil and ti leaves, and the healer used a brush from some sort of animal hair to stroke this concoction onto his body. After a time, he had him stand, and he took the leaves he’d been lying on and said, “I need you to watch this,” and then he shook the liquid from the leaves into a large firepit.

Then he had him lie back down. He said, “There is no sin unless there is deliberate harm. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to your lower self. I’m talking to unipihili. It’s soothed by my touches and is softening its stance.” He went on, “Your twin is a good man. He has never harmed anyone. His decision was right for him to make, but wrong for him to not consult with you before making it. For this he is sorry.” He took our hero’s chin in his hand. “Are you sorry? And don’t lie.”

Our hero found himself choked up, and for reasons he didn’t understand. “I am truly sorry.”

“Can you forgive him?” the healer asked, then abruptly stood. “It’s gonna take some time to get it used to these new images we’ll be giving it. I need you to imagine what it would be like to be pain free so that it can see the images are associated with the absence of pain. It's the type of simplicity it can relate to. It’s important, and don’t be ridiculous. Be real, man,” and he left.

Meantime, our healee fell asleep and dreamed quite vividly of an enormous faceless monster-mass consuming the planet, but a little girl with a flower and a smile caused it to change and morph and shrink, and soon it was giggling with her over imaginary child tea, looking uncomfortable in the Lilliputian furniture.

He awoke with a start. The healer’s hand was on his shoulder. “Come with me.” He followed him along a   jungle path until they emerged onto a beach. There was a hotel a quarter mile down and a few people over that way. The healer walked directly into the azure waves.

“Come on. Now’s the time.”

“What are we doing?”

“I’m baptizing you…that’s the concept your lower self understands. I’d call it ritual cleansing. It has to see you do this, just like it had to see through your eyes as we shook the energy of sins off of the leaves and into the firepit. It has to feel the water through your senses. Now understand, it thinks your senses are its senses, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the ritual that counts, because your lower self sees the automatic gathering of elementals, and since baptism is part of its ingrained imagery, it has made something of a deal. You do this and it will forgive your decision to turn away from the priesthood and will accept your new images. Got it?”

“Yes.”

With that the young man seized him with surprising strength, forced his hands into a cross across his chest, and then supported him with his hands on his back as he fell backwards into the water, all while saying something he couldn’t piece together between the plunges. He dipped him three times, then said, “It’s done,” and clapped him on the back with the robust fervor of a tipsy Russian Comrade. “Feel like a drink?”

“You mean this…this….”

“It’s done. The pain will cease to be within 48 hours, maybe longer. Your lower self is in complete agreement with all this and is quite happy.”

And with that, our hero took a few paces, his face crumpled into a mask of a lifetime of expression, of pain, of worry, of hope dashed, of agony for the world. They don’t understand, he thought. Then he fell to his knees in the waves and wept from the wellspring of sorrow, his body wracking with the sobs.

The healer left him to his purge, as all purges on this level are to be done alone, and went to make a customary post-session drink. In a coconut, of course.

Fifty-six hours later, while still on honeymoon, the pain was gone, and there was a destitute family in the neighborhood of the healer who would have a couple month’s worth of food and clothing from an anonymous lawyer from Pennsylvania.

Our hero left law and devoted his life to this work. His entangling limitation, thinking him insane, took him for everything, which was to him a favor. It took him years, but he finally was able to piece together why he’d chosen such a painful, powerful, cathartic and beautiful experience for this transient embodiment. Well, at least apart from the obvious reasons. But that’s a story for another day.

He is now a quite credible, lucid, genuine, accomplished practitioner of traditional shamanic healing arts. He hasn’t written a book. He hasn’t made a YouBoob video, nor have a Flitter account, nor does he have a Facetook Fan Page. He goes quietly about his work in a humble attitude of service, quietly, powerfully, and in tune with Nature and Her stunning pantheon of intelligent spirit life. As part of his act, he wears a native mask, and nobody but our smiling friend in Hawai’I knows who he is. This entire motif suits his system of being quite well.

Stardust Arcturian, more or less forced to change her act, wrote a channeled book called Book of Ratanda: A True Master Speaks…to Me Alone. It talks with authority on topics like “crystalline DNA grid activation in morphogonic fields of fifth dimensional lighbody merger activation of antiactivated non-matter realmic causality through intentional energy quanta syncosis.” What is obvious to her followers is that this will soon elevate everyone on Earth who have made The Choice to merger with the crystalline lightbody so that all can dwell permanently in a realm, all violet and gold, devoid of the horrible ugliness that is Earth, where Insectoids and Reptilians will be left to reign after the Ascension, all managed by Monsanto and the Republicans. She is an international best-selling author with 700k Flitter followers. Her husband, the guru Notsomuchananda, is now her disciple. She secretly despises his skinny shaved head and constant subservient posture. So does her lover. Her closest disciples call her Master and refer to her in glowing light-filled buzz terminology. Because she is so busy being a Great Light in the World, constantly depleted from her side healing practice, she insists her devotees post all their adorations on Facetook.

As is clearly the case, she is as crazy cool and outrageous as ever, a sister doing a job.