I've never given channeling a lot of thought. It seemed like something other people did out of a desire for attention or something. To open yourself up for channeling, and I was not worrying about whether it was a true possibility or a convenient way to make daydreams seem self important, seems risky. In essence, as I understand it, you are allowing some other entity to use your physical connection with this reality to convey a message. In it's most benign form, that is. You have to wonder about the motives of someone wanting to do that. The someone being channeled, that is. On the behalf of the channeler, it seems like anyone actively looking for that kind of relationship ought to be looking in other places, for other things. The odds of reaching out to some wise being and essentially saying, "Hey you, how's about letting me channel you," and getting a worth-while answer just seem too remote.
So the last thing I'd go looking for is to channel someone.
And probably that's the way most people see it.
So what happens when you get a message, something that someone is communicating to you in no uncertain terms, something you weren't at all looking for? That happened to me, and now I am both more and less sure of everything.
I've never doubted that we can receive advice from others. And whether it's a higher entity or your subconscious self doesn't really matter. But I will say that's it's damn weird when it happens.
In retrospect, the groundwork has been being laid for some time. In a series of lucid dreams, environments have been being built. Beautiful places for retreats, learning and self improvement. The grounds are gorgeous and exotic. Formal gardens combined with cathedral-like cloisters, wilderness areas where the raw beauty of nature is breath taking. And yet the living quarters, while adequate are dumpy and fraught with problems. Lost keys, odd bedding situations, impractical schedules and deadlines that keep getting missed, and stuff, lots and lots of it, scattered and disorganized. There's a theme of repetition here, coming, staying, leaving, coming back. And with each return the stay gets a bit more miserable. But the scenery and architecture are awesome. The mistress of the place is ever more surly and less accommodating. For the most part, she is never seen or heard. Her will is transacted by agents, often invisible to the visitors of this place. You know that something has been done because things are different, however, you rarely witness the change.
What stunned me though, was that there was but one simple message, expressed in actions and environment, not in words, but demonstrated on so many levels. It was the theme of the whole story being played out in a global fashion as well as being told in every scene, by every player. The message was simple:
You can't go back... only forward.
And as far as I was concerned, it isn't something I thought I needed to learn. I've always believed in a sort of spiral course, where you might revisit things, but not as returning to the past, but in a slightly different course, with a new point of view that takes into consideration all those things you've learned between this visit and the last one. I've envisioned this as a spiral that coils upward as it progresses, rather like climbing a mountain by treading on a path that circles upward rather than climbing straight up from the base. A much longer way to get to the top, but one where the incline is much easier to traverse. But then I get this message, not as a gentle reminder, but more like being slapped upside the head. And I am forced to look at things differently. Clearly, at some level, I am being told pick up the pace and move on. I'm fighting forward momentum--by missing departure dates, having too much to pack and neither the time or containers to manage it all, by revisiting past places, relationships and activities and hoping for different outcomes. I'm still processing all of this. I'm not sure where I'm going, but I can tell that I'm in for a hell of a ride.