The Irruption Of The Inexplicable

“Life is what happens when you are busy with something else.”  The real life -unknown, incomparable- is a breath of fresh air that burst into the monotony of everyday life. The rest of the time, you’re only half alive.

How many exceptional moments have you scored? I’m talking about really huge, beautiful, unexpected moments, of the kind that illuminate a life, and make it worth living. How much, tell me? One ? Two? More? Whatever number you remember, I can tell you this: all your nights are full of these precious moments. No, naughty girl, I do not want to talk about that, my rascal boy. I think of all those divine follies that happen to us without our knowledge, when we sleep.

Our lives are full of these forgotten wonders, fabulous experiences of a non-ordinary reality. They are totally disconcerting, absolutely inexplicable and they don’t corresponds to anything known. Our brain is programmed to repress data that does not fit with the representation of the accepted world. So we forget them when we wake up. And we grope in the sad world -mechanical and too routine- without remembering who we really are, the infinite powers that are ours as soon as our conditioning stops. What happens only when we sleep. Or in very rare moments that our brain hastens to forget, so much they disconcert us.

To talk about it, I’m going to have to juggle the words. These moments bring out all the ambiguity of the human condition. Who wants to make the angel, makes the beast. But who forgets his divine nature is the game of the exploiters. A crowd of people are interested in us, rarely for our good. A lot of big boxes feverishly store all the data that concerns us, and it’s not to help us find the North. These people only want to enslave us more. To simply remain ourselves, we must constantly mobilize all our energy, reinforce our will, strengthen our shell at the risk of becoming insensitive, which suits our exploiters.

One-third of life is spent sleeping, most often without remembering “dreams” that are not. These forgotten dreams -most of the time completely distorted in our memories- are the main source of information about life beyond this life and the worlds beyond ours. Some think that we can fool a seer. We can not. If you believe that, keep in mind that the seer saw it, it gives him a head start on you, and he will keep it all the time. Is it the same with the spirit that directs us? Yes, absolutely. You’re not the one who decide for yourself, someone else does who knows better than you who you are. All the shots that are made with the head are likely to mess, all the comedies acting to fool a seer will turn against their author. This is how. The gift of seeing and healing protects those who have received them. To attack them is presumption. Punishment falls on the offender faster than lightning on the steeple. Only absolute love, total self-giving can protect against backfires.

We do not make a market with the immortal soul that enlightens us. The mind plays only that, to go through markets, to make deals, to manage compromises. The soul does not enter into these meannesses. Its eternity places it above the mortal body where the ego thinks itself master. However, as soon as the soul is incarnated, the little ego disengages without asking for his rest. It’s as if he never existed. As long as the soul is embodied in the body, the being is awake, it becomes luminescent, it radiates and radiates all the witnesses in its presence. There is no trace of ego at these precious moments. But when the soul leaves the body to avoid defilement, the ego pops out like a devil out of its spring box. Those who speak of enlightenment often forget to say that enlightenment is not a stable state. When the soul incarnates, the awakening is there. As soon as it leaves, the being goes down again quickly: he goes back to sleep. Nothing lasts, neither hell nor paradise.

The affront of frail

We are tossed by these waves more or less long, more or less strong, like a plug in the storm. The raging sea is your mind. Nothing forces you to be shaken like a plum tree. Know that inside, in the depths of your being, there is this lake of eternity, always calm, without a wrinkle, whose depth is crystalline. Duck, you sucker. Your place is there. Escape the crowd furiously, refuse refusals, refute the futile, defeat the frivolous fetuses and frills. Being is diamondlike. Pure, bright, cutting. Soul is a dazzling star. Its brilliance is unbearable. We can not look at Soul’s face. We only see the shadows that Soul make on the world.

Among these shadows, the inexplicable might arise. The unthinkable might arrive. Suddenly occurs an incredible meaningless raw fact. Your mind runs away, your being is submerged, nothing can describe what is happening, nor tell what happened. Words are powerless. Images are out of date. Possibly, you have seen your God in the eyes. He told you the buried secrets, he showed you the worlds, the stars and the reigns. Possibly, you have been flying with the angels. Or not. The memories you keep when you wake up are not true memories, but kind of dressing that your brain makes in a hurry to hide the unthinkable. The brain abuses its erasure program: as soon as any danger is in sight, this coward brain pushes the facts back to the bottom of the unconscious.

If you want to understand who you really are, leave immediately in the only quest that counts beyond life itself: the conquest of your unconscious. Collecting data hidden by your brain. The plot is not only outside, it is in you first. You first fool yourself, you merble yourself, you roll in the flour. All the harm you do to others, it’s up to you that you do it. All the good, the same. So stop working. Join the scalar group. Give love, radiate light. Doors open in you that will not close. You too will ride Buraq, cross the Seven Skies, visit the Living and the Dead, and your life will be increased. It’s here. It starts now.

Consider this: you are alive only in front of the inexplicable. There you see the backside of the scenery. You see the weave of the painted canvas. Only the inexplicable is authentic, the rest of your life differs very little from that of a robot. The robot follows a program,so do you. By accident, the program bugs. Chooofff! you take a puff of inexplicable straight in your face. On the spot it wakes up. But very smart who remembers. Even stronger who can say what. And describe. And put the words. How many times has Jean-Claude Flornoy told me this: Put the words, Xavier. I could not strictly, paralyzed tongue, blank page. Yet my job was communication. But the nagual was crushing me, that’s all. Today I enjoy and the words come out alone. It took me 25 years to get to that point. At the time, I was writing for the ad. It leads to everything. If you leave it.

Tonight on the air

 

Of all those who have nothing to say, the most pleasant are those who keep silent.
Coluche