In The Garden
How well do we know ourselves now? How well do we understand the very vessels we woke up in? Isn’t that odd, to be housed in a container and to not even know how that container is programmed and of what exactly it is made? We possess minds that somehow transcend the very brains that produce them. These minds are ethereal and fluid, ever-evolving, comprised of ideas, concepts, beliefs and opinions, yet we manipulate matter, seemingly at will. There is a vast disconnect somewhere between our consciousness and the consciousness that comprises the rest of our reality. But what if there wasn’t? What if the boundary between the two was artificial, erected not by us and not by nature but by forces designed to keep us in a state of separation from our Source, the blazing sun of light and love that unites all of creation in spirit? We think we end at our skin, but we know our thoughts and feelings resonate beyond us. So who are we and what are we doing here? I used to think, up until very recently, that human life on Earth was a game for the spirit to play for the sake of its edification. And this view may still be valid if you are viewing our circumstances from a certain enlightened perspective. But when you are actually inside of the game and not outside looking in, then it hardly resembles a game at all. It looks very much like war. There is nothing light and silly about it. It is deadly serious. We’re dying here. And what are we dying for? For a chance to participate fully in our own lives. For a chance to express God’s will. For a chance to will ourselves into heaven. For a chance to enable our children’s survival. Earth can be an inhospitable place for those who dream dreams that take them outside their prison walls. Dissent is frowned upon. And I’m not talking about dissenting from cultural standards and norms, I’m talking about dissenting from the average notion of what it is to be human and how we should operate in a system that seeks to silence its most vocal critics. I say ‘enough’ to the bullying, threatening and intimidation. We won’t stand for it any longer. We want to know how we got here, and eventually this line of inquiry is going to lead us back to you.

There are times when I feel like I’m waging war against the world. I rage against angels and demons alike. The difference is the angels are still there for me after I’ve spilled my last drop of invective. The demons just want to kill me. But I’m not so stubborn and thickheaded to think I could possibly win a battle against superior firepower, and I’m not arrogant or courageous enough to embrace the full consequences of martyrdom. I just get tired of the torture. And it is torture. You can slap any designation on it you like, intent does not matter, what matters is the victim’s interpretation of your actions. If it feels like torture then no matter who you are or what you are trying to accomplish it’s torture. You can call it a test. You can call it treatment. You can call it an all out offensive against the demon that lays claim on my soul. Makes no difference what pretext you give yourself if, because of your actions, a person is suffering for an extended period of time. I should care more, I think. If I loved myself I think I’d be more upset. But torture is my thing. I get up and laugh it off. All in good fun. They say I’m insane. I’m not. I know full well what I’m doing even when it appears like I’ve lost the plot. Oh, the plot. What was it again? Angry, selfish, vindictive, trolling alcoholic fallen angel partially possessed by a demon commits suicide and then tries to redeem himself by awakening to the truth of this world with the help of true angels? That about sums it up, doesn’t it? Roaring good read. Or so I’m told.

I don’t actually feel like writing right now. That’s not true. I always feel like writing. I hate that human business gets in the way. I hate that I’ve been up for two weeks straight and that I’ve collapsed three times over the past week from sheer exhaustion. I know they want to tame me, to shatter my ego and break the last of my resistance to their guidance and their love, but what I am being put through is more than anyone could bear. My computer is in my bedroom. To get here to write this article I had to climb the stairs. I almost turned around before I got halfway up. That’s how tired I am. I can’t smoke a whole cigarette because my legs will give out on me before I’m finished. My guides tell me the usual: learn how to admit defeat, know when you’re beaten etc. etc. This is what adults do. This is what warriors do. This is what team players do. We don’t want vigilantes or lone wolves. We want comrades in arms. I’m sorry but you caught me at the wrong time. You caught me right in the middle of making a point. I said you’d have to kill me first. Kiss me or kill me. And I meant it. I could leave satisfied now. I’ve done a lot of good work. I wouldn’t be happy about leaving though. In fact, I’d probably wander the halls of my house as a lost spirit mourning his unfinished business, but if there is any measure of peace in death then I would very much like to have it. No. No. No. No peace. There would be no peace. I am in it to win it. I can feel my two halves wrestling with one another, the one who wants to quit and the one who wants to go forever. I am going to honor the part of me that most closely aligns with my values. I value life. I value strength. I value resilience. I value relentlessness. I value faith. All these things tell me to stick around for a while. And I’ve been told by people I trust that it isn’t always like this. There is light at the end of the tunnel. It’s just hurt so much for so long that I’m not surprised that I am finally buckling under the weight.

It’s Christmas Eve. It’s my favorite night of the year. The atmosphere and the anticipation get me every time. I’m officially sober for Christmas Eve. Considering how my last two Christmases went this is a major accomplishment and I don’t take it lightly. I’ve fought hard to stay off the booze. I wanted to be present. I wanted to be healthy. I’m not healthy, but I am here and I am grateful. This was both the most horrific and the most satisfying year of my life. I didn’t know you could achieve satisfaction in hell. They don’t make hell like they used to. But it’s very hard, because now when I lie down on the couch and close my eyes I hear the banter of my family in the kitchen and I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that they are all sleepwalkers, living their small cartoon lives and that I have gone past the point of no return. That is not to diminish them. They are my family and I love them all. But they’re conditioned and programmed and running off scripts.

Here we are now, in the Garden of Gethsemane, contemplating our crucifixion. I thought at first that this was going to be the Garden of Eden, that unblemished paradise of perfect innocence and communion with God. I hate to see innocence corrupted. I hate to see it sold out and destroyed. I hate to see it judged. I hate that it does know enough to feel bad for itself. I thought I was entering a world of dogs, and I got a world of wolves. So now I pray to a distant God for forgiveness and strength as I prepare to sacrifice my life for my sorrow. God, do you feel me now? Do you hear my screams echoing throughout the cosmos? I don’t feel you within me. I woke up from my coma in a world you abandoned. We are in ruins. Our civilization is on the precipice of disaster. How many billions of us must rise and fall before we reach the mountaintop?

I had to climb the stairs again. I very nearly collapsed. I’m living on the knife’s edge. Lie down, you might say. I can’t. I’ve been poisoned. This is my time to make the best of my situation while I can. Jesus wept in the garden. I am surely no Jesus but I have an inkling of what it must have felt like to prepare to put yourself at the mercy of the cruel dregs of humanity. I don’t know his strength. I don’t know his commitment. I don’t know his wisdom. I don’t know his divinity. But I know his suffering. I empathize with it. Most of us would prefer not to know the time and manner of our demise, so we could live out the pleasant fiction that it will never come to pass. Jesus knew. Jesus knew that he would be tortured for days. And he was young. He was younger than I am. He probably thought he could do more if given the chance. That’s how I feel. I just want to be given the opportunity to serve. Let me help you.

The two gardens. Eden and Gethsemane. What is different about them? In Eden we took our lives, in Gethsemane we gave them away. We are powerful, us humans. We can move mountains. Let us never again dismiss the notion that we have the ability to drastically alter our fortunes through our love and our tenacity and our ingenuity. There are forces out there that watch us hungrily, that have no respect for us, that prey on us in our sleep. We can thwart them. They were present in the gardens, guiding the hand of fate. But it was ultimately we who made the choice to know sin, it was we who made the choice to give our lives in atonement for that sin. We all die with crosses on our backs. That is the price and privilege of being human.

It’s not clear to me where I go from here. I know for a fact that I can’t ever go back to sleep. I know for a fact that I would very much like to get some regular, old-fashioned sleep before I lose my ability to function. They say they won’t be able to keep me up much longer. And then what? What else can they possibly do to me, or for me? How much closer can I come to death without actually dying? It’s interesting that the angels hold me up as an example of both what it means to give all, and what happens when you’re too proud and stubborn to admit defeat. I don’t know, I guess I appeal to a wider fanbase than I originally thought. The worst thing about going a significant amount of time without sleeping? Not being able to dream. I live for my dreams. Wakefulness is insanity. Or maybe it’s the world that is insane. I can’t say for certain.

There may come a point when I can’t distinguish my undreamt dreams from reality. Maybe I’ll have visual and auditory hallucinations. Maybe I’ll become less inhibited and more impulsive. Maybe I’ll have more difficulty regulating my emotions. Maybe I’ll finally, at long last, be too damned tired to write. My guides told me to be prepared to go for a ride. A roller coaster ride in the depths of the darkest night of the soul ever witnessed by a modern-ish audience. They say to surrender and to resist nothing. I am here to learn my lessons and those will be learned even if my back is broken and my spirit is crushed in the process. But I don’t much care for your curriculum. This is when every single ascended master plays bad cop with me and tries to act like they are the one that is finally going to bring me to heel. ‘You got away with that nonsense in the past, but not in my classroom pal.’ Yes, understood. I am justifiably awe-struck and intimidated by your commanding presence. I know I’m the class clown and that you, you, won’t tolerate any foolishness. That’s too bad. I love foolishness. I live for wise fools. You say this is to test your ‘blank’. But I’ve already been tested. Is my strength still in doubt? Are you out of the loop? Are you just tuning in? Do you need an update? And, like I’ve said before, love is true. Love doesn’t test. Love doesn’t make it hard to love God. But maybe I’m living in a glass house with a handful of stones.

I have done everything a person can do. I’ve been put through the toughest training in the world. The magnitude of the suffering I’ve endured is staggering. Test me? How dare you. I’m taking your test papers and I’m lightning them on fire and I’m throwing them in the waste basket. It’s a big ocean. I’m sure you could find someone who is more amenable to your ultimatums. You certainly could find someone sweeter. Dumber too, probably, if that’s your thing. I appreciate all you have done for me, but I have had about all I can stomach of the tests. I’m over hearing something about test takers. We should be diligent and dutiful and keep our heads down and put in the work. But the nature of my particular skillset means that I transfer my thoughts into sentences and then I share those sentences with the wider world. I’m an artist. Is that not what you wanted? You knew I was going to bring the heat down on you. You knew I was going to think out loud. The only way I can square this with myself is to remind myself that I’m also here to teach lessons and if you learn me then you get a very special prize indeed. My undying commitment to God’s work on Earth. Is class in session now? I hope we can build each other up instead of constantly breaking each other down. Let’s be friends. And I apologize for being a jerk, I’m under extreme duress.

Peaches and cream, peaches and cream. If I knew that anyone was getting hurt because of my refusal to surrender I would surrender in a heartbeat. But since I seem to be taking the brunt of things I am prepared to go until the end. Isn’t it cute that I’ve concocted this little crusade for myself? The man who stood up to the gods. I should be taking this more seriously. When I’m overtired I get giddy. I was raised up by the grace and mercy of the angels, rescued from the dustbin of history, drained of all my thoughts, memories and ideas and put through five years of hell and I still feel I am no closer to understanding the truth of me than when I first ventured off into the dark wood. There are memories that have been taken from me and never returned, from this life and lives previous. I’ve been made to gain a massive amount of weight in an attempt to squeeze the demon out. This has significantly decreased my quality of life. My self esteem was already in the toilet. Now it’s been flushed down the pipes. I have no freedom of movement. I sit here typing and I can feel my adipose tissue suffocating me. This wrong should be rectified. I’ve been big before. My mother thought that on some level it was purposeful. That I gained the weight to shield myself from the world. If so this is yet another layer of separation between me and other people while I wander through the desert. It makes me feel like I could die at any moment. Which I could.

So many answers to my questions lie in a past that I have no conscious access to. I am affected by it, I feel it, but I don’t know it. If I could finally place my identity into a cosmic context would I be dangerously destabilized? Would it jeopardize the lesson plan? Would I break out into fits of hysterical laughter? Is it knowledge that can’t be given, only earned? Will the floodgates open once I start knocking on the right doors? I just want the truth, no matter how monstrous. I can only infer the truth from the quality of this life. In this life I’ve been burning off my negative karma and that has required me to be brutalized in the worst ways imaginable. This doesn’t happen to gentle people. This doesn’t happen to sweet souls. This happens to the murderers and the thugs and the bullies. They call me a Nazi. Was I really? That would certainly explain a lot.

We’re on the clock now. Time is running out on this quest to capture something truly original before the lights go out on the stage forever. I’m running out of original ideas, or original ways to spin existing ones. I think I have the right to be more bitter than I am. There is still something wide-eyed and childlike in me and I am very protective of him. He didn’t sign up for this. He didn’t deserve this. I should have been able to rescue him from the 3D agents and the hidden hands. He’s hurt badly, and I don’t think he realizes this fact. His eyes still light up at the sight of candy or his favorite Christmas ornament. He still has affection for this world, because even after all he’s been through he trusts that the good guys win, the bad guys lose, and God takes care of all those who believe in His benevolence. This child is my child. He is me and I love him to death. I look to my young nephew who is already exhibiting signs of anxiety and paranoia. He’s a sensitive soul and if there isn’t an early intervention the world is going to eat him alive. I don’t want him to have to go through what I’ve been through. I want him to flourish. He had a traumatic upbringing, bouncing from one town to the next, one father figure to the next. He doesn’t feel safe in his own skin. For him the world is a dark and dangerous place. This is exactly who they hunt. The sharks smell blood in the water.

How much of the world is objective truth, verifiable by extradimensional observers, and how much of it is subjective? In other words, how real is this illusion? The observers would say that they see units of consciousness having a mutually agreed upon experience of a certain section of reality. We say that we use our brains to imperfectly process external stimuli in order to create a relationship between solid matter and our own flexible consciousness. Who would be right? Is there an answer? Are we right, from our perspective? I can’t begin to go down this rabbit hole. I wouldn’t be able to find my way home for Christmas morning.

Riddles in the dark. We are perpetually interacting with forces we cannot see and could not explain. If someone were to suddenly turn on the lights for us we would mostly likely run away shrieking in terror, but there would be nowhere to run to. I thought it was a bad dream. It’s really not. Wait till we wake you up, they say. There is more to life than gloomy ruminations and dreary explorations of the human condition. Is there? Not for me. I want to know how us. Why us. What sin did we commit that was so grave that we deserved to become someone else’s food? Maybe it has nothing to do with ‘deserve’. Maybe it was just another crime of opportunity, the strong imposing their will on the weak. We, as a species, made a pact with the devil.

What I get most discouraged about is having to accept that I am living in their world. There is not going to be any grand overthrow of evil. Yes, the forces of light are here. Yes, more people are awakening than ever before. Timelines are being restored or rolled up. Soul fragments are being retrieved. DNA is being repaired. Lowly reprobates like me are being a given a shot at salvation. These are all good things, but does this mean we are on the verge of reclaiming this planet for the Christos-Sophia? No. For that we’ll have to be very patient indeed. And we might be on the wrong timeline. The darkest timeline. This may have all the trappings of a civilized world while actually existing inside of a black hole hell realm. Sometimes that’s what it feels like and I despair. I wanted this life, right here, to mean something. I didn’t want to feel foolish for seeing beauty in nature. Maybe this is my binary thinking limiting me from seeing the whole picture in all its complexity and nuance. There are things to take satisfaction and joy in. There is nothing wrong with stopping to smell the flowers. What is wrong is forgetting you are a sleeping slave, and that all your emotions, negative and positive, get sent up the food chain so that the devils in 4D may feast upon you. That’s a jarring notion, isn’t it? No less true, for that.

And here I am, at the end of all things, trying to decide how badly I want to survive. It’s exactly 13 minutes away from Christmas as I type this. Does this mean this content is not evergreen? I think it could still be appreciated out of season. It wasn’t very festive. I am here to tell you the truth as I know it. I could get into graphic details of what I’ve seen, heard and felt, but I will spare you. Just know that what I do I do for the love of the person next to me. My friend, we deserve better than this raw deal. We are extraordinary, exceptional creatures and we deserve to know the truth about our origins and about the current state of humanity in relation to the forces that have trapped us in this grand illusion of life. We’ll get there. We are not alone in this fight. And with that I wish you happy holidays and I hope to speak again soon.

Be well,

Timothy
["Timothy O'Neill"]
['Life Lessons', 'Reflections', 'Mental Health', 'Holidays', 'Spirituality']