November 1st - A train of thought
Tá brón orm. The sadness of the world is upon me. But I shall not become the sadness, instead I look for awesome hope.
I realised it was November when I noticed on my morning walk that the sun had shifted and was at a particular angle in the sky, the light had a quality of coldness about it, as if it was no longer the warm and loving sun of summer. The wind had also picked up and has a bite to it, not yet sharp enough to justify coat hat and scarf, but getting there. The trees have more than halfway shed their leaves.
As I was walking I was coming to terms with the passing of days. A man I had never seen before said ‘hello’ to me as he went by. He was walking his dog and had his earphones in, so it was unexpected, but nice, this connection with another human. It made me wonder about quantum entanglement - was there an exchange of energy between us in that moment, with a simple ‘hello’? It also made me think that most people are just doing their best to make a decent life for themselves. What if we all just got along?
I had this sweet, sharp pain in my heart from the night before when I said goodbye to October. We won't have another October until next year, and I had just realised she is my favourite month of the year. Why? The light still has a warmth, it's not winter yet, the marvellous colours of nature are on display and it's a really good month for healing. The leaves remind us of what no longer serves, the energies are friendly and kind, October feels like an opportunity for endings and beginnings. As I turned my eye to November I wondered what does November have to offer us? When I felt into it energetically I got a twisting feeling, shifting from something warm into something else, colder, harsher. October will always be followed by November, therefore I needed to find some saving grace in November to keep me on an even keel with October now that I had this idea in my head.
I was never a fan of January at all, but I can manage December because of the Christmas lights. The saving grace of January is the winter solstice, the days creep slowly away from darkness once more. Last year I forced some tulips early, it was lovely to have flowers in January. In fact, I think my garden always had a flower in it during the whole of last winter. But we are not there yet. So I sat with a sadness around it. And that was okay, it is what it is.
Just as I had tuned into November more deeply I received an email from a seer who said that there is sadness coming. Her words amplified the feeling in my heart until I reminded myself that at this point, nothing to warrant any sadness had actually happened in my life. I acknowledged the emotion flowing past, knowing that the only thing that had changed was me. Nothing has yet happened to make me sad, nor did I wish to create something to justify the emotion. But in the wider world, there has indeed been plenty of grief.
Was this what the seer was talking about? As the injuries and death from the needlecraft mount up, how can they continue to deny what is going on? I had seen an article in The Atlantic suggesting everybody just forgives everybody else for everything around the plandemic and moves on. That old paradigm again - forgive and forget. It does not work for me. Never forget. And I'm not ready to forgive just now.
‘Not ready?’ you ask. ‘What? Didn't you just teach about forgiveness?’
Yes, I did. For everything. And I’m not ready to forgive people for this. Knowing that is part of the process and I am totally okay with it. Are you? Just knowing there is something to work on, something I need to heal, is enough for me right now. I will never forget what was done, and I never want to forget. I pray that the world will also never forget, however, it feels like we have awoken from some dream, the memories of which are slipping through our fingertips - the way an actual dream does as we go about our day. We have been sprayed once more with the elixir of amnesia. The broadcasting satellite on the Moon has been tuned to the frequency of “forget everything and move on” and it is turned up to full blast. How much of this is my creative imagination and how much of it is real? All I know is that the impetus to speak out is becoming replaced with a lackadaisical apathy, tiredness, and exhaustion. Amplified, of course, by the weather (real or manipulated?) and the coming lack of sunlight.
‘So here's where Abby turns it all around!’ you say in anticipation as you read these words, as you’re possibly also feeling the sadness and numbness I speak about and are frantically looking for an antidote. ‘Here is where Abby finds the magic, pulls it out and shows it to us, to take away the pain and give us all some hope.’
I am dictating these words into my phone as I walk, and when I look at the translation on-screen, it has translated ‘all some hope’ into ‘awesome hope’. I like that. I’ll keep it in. Hope at this point, considering this particular topic would need to transcend the day-to-day. And that, indeed, would be awesome. But in this case, hope from me at least, is not forthcoming in the way you might expect.
When I got back from my walk I did a tarot card reading on it to get a deeper level of insight. All the cards I pulled were sad and worrisome and confirmed the emotional stream of consciousness I was experiencing. Yet I noticed that the cards that came up were all the suit of disks, which are about material objects and what we perceive to be real - such as the ground we walk on, the car we drive in or the house that we live in. It’s also around crops and food, abundance and having enough. I could stretch this to cover our physical body too, that material, living breathing entity, in which our spirit resides.
So where is the awesome hope?
It took me a moment to connect to it. But it was there, as it always is. When we release our expectation that we own what we own and that things are the way we think they are… If we can take a step back from reality as we know it and unclench our tight hold on what is materialistic and connect to our higher selves, only then, and there, do we find the hope we are looking for.
It's very possible that reality is like a computer game; the information supporting this postulation is of course hiding in plain sight, through Hollywood imagery. Not necessarily my imagination again, but that of the collective. And there must be some truth to it, as it arises on more than one occasion. Perhaps we are in a hologram, as per The Matrix; plunged so deeply into some other dimension with experiences so powerful we forgot where we actually are. Or, as in The Orville, S1E4, we have forgotten that we are connected to the greater Galaxy and think that what we see is all that exists. As in The Peripheral, a new show from Amazon Prime, our ‘real bodies’ are somewhere else wearing fancy tech while our consciousness has been downloaded to a purpose-built carbon body living a second life where, again, the experiences are so real, it’s confusing to know where in time and space we actually are. Who we actually are.
Scary, isn’t it, all of this hiding in plain sight? Mythology and storytelling unravels the fabric of our reality to reveal the mysteries of our existence.
Another show with food for thought - The Lazarus Project - we blow ourselves up time and time again, returning to a checkpoint in time so we can try again until we don’t. It is possible we have driven ourselves to extinction many times before. Perhaps this is our 15th chance to try again and get it right this time. It could explain the feeling of ‘jumping timelines’ and the experience of deja vu. Scary thought.
I digress. I bring myself back to the sadness that still rests its weary self upon me, pull myself back to this being now, November, and am lead to the question - what is it, then, that we actually do know?
Well, I don’t know. But what I do know is that I'm not going to adopt an attitude of futility. I am going to focus on what I love the most - my family, my connection to God, the work that I do and my dear friends. I have of late found a fellowship that I have not had before, with excellent people that I am excited to get to know better. I am going to enjoy this winter because I am going to make a point of doing so. I want to see more beauty in my life, so I will deliberately fill my life with beauty. No, I have never had a pumpkin spice latte, and I do not intend to start now. But I will not deny myself an occasional indulgence, should the desire take me.
So, my friends, I make no apologies for this long meandering train of thought as I prepare to go to Manchester this weekend with Mark Attwood and friends. I will be in a room with 400 excellent people, all of whom have had the same experiences as I do, are growing as you and I are growing, all feeling this same sadness as I expect you will feel at some point this month, if you have not experienced it already. All of us are wanting above all else to shine our lights and light up the dark, to support each other to do better, and come from a space of higher purpose.
Letting go of our expectations is difficult. Being in sadness is difficult. But there is awesome hope, if you look hard enough for it. What this world actually is has been hidden for far too long by those that wish to disempower us. As more light comes in, we slowly claw our power back, and we can see where the darkness has always been. It has always been there. And at the end of the day, the only thing that I do know for sure, is that we are doing this, together.
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Ah the sadness.
Terrific post, thanks.
Before March 2020 I never liked the dark winter months from November to January or even February. I regarded that period as almost like a penance to be endured. I used to think of hibernation and how lucky those animals were to be able to sleep through the darkness and wake up in spring.
Then I discovered the sheer joy of the outdoors. At first it was about getting enough Vitamin D into my body while the sun shone and then storing it for the winter. But the sun shines in winter too, however briefly. So I kept going out in all weathers and found the beauty of the winter world in the woods and by the sea, even when it lashed down.
That's been a great blessing of this period and I am grateful, amid all the nasty stuff, to have finally copped on to it.