Chapter One » Chapter Two » Chapter Three » Chapter Four » Chapter Five» Chapter Six » Chapter Seven » Chapter Eight » Chapter Nine » Chapter Ten
The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion
Charter Eight: Saturday Night
Clea wondered if I wanted to spring for a really quite wonderful century old home B&B that she knew of. The long drive in her old caddy having soothed the savage breast, I said why not, we’re worth it. We both laughed.
Luckily a room was available, and we settled in smoothly, the mandatory half hour history seminar with our host Brian sliding down like a martini. The bedroom was so completely Victorian a delicious sinfulness snaked us right under the covers in seconds, followed soon after by some quite risque squeaking and moaning.
“God that was good” I grinned.
Clea purred before she answered. I no doubt looked very pleased with myself. Pleasing a woman was not something I was used to. For years it had been arguing and backbiting, recriminations gone rancid with age. I’d lodged my pride in my work, my love in seeing clients catch their dream. My parents had a lousy marriage, my sister buried her heart in her babies, friends fell apart as fast as they flew together, so why should my hitch be honored? Hell, now I felt like a man. It felt good. I wanted to order room service.
“What would you order if you could?”
“Oh hell, I dunno, champagne and two corks.”
Why two, prithee?”
“One for each asshole.”
Clea squealed and slapped me. It stung, kind of. I don’t even know what made me say it. Giddy I guess.
We got up in a bit and thought about supper. Clea phoned Kendra to see what was up and left a message. Their arrangements had been loose I gathered. Oh well, I didn’t care. We’d see her when we saw her.
“That sounds profound George. You should keep it for your guru stuff later on.”
I pulled on her hair, just like I would’ve at thirteen.
“Aoow, stop it George, I can barely remember how to apply makeup as it is. Maybe you’d like some eye shadow and blush?
I was almost silly enough by that point to get into a bit of harmless cross dressing, but I didn’t think anything of Clea’s would fit me. She was a big girl, big and round and luscious, and I hadn’t gained a pound in twenty years. Some metabolic mystery no doubt. But the old man was just the same, except he worked at it. Fitness, squash, athletic fucking. I fully expected him to expire mid-thrust.
We drove around looking for a place Clea vaguely recalled from years back. A schnitzel house. I had a few schnitzel house stories, one of them embarrassing enough to warrant retelling. Schnapps to the left, schnapps to the right, and in the middle some amiable Austrians angling for compliments I couldn’t bring myself to give. Well, Clea found it funny.
On our rounds we passed Indian, Japanese, Thai, fish and chips, and generic fine dining. Clea decided she was craving sushi after all, and I went along, more to see how her face crinkled when she swallowed that wasabi and soy mixture than anything else. I was just like some kid unleashed for the weekend. Every little thing was more fun than the last. We sat in our little wooden booth being plinked at by a pipa and giggling.
“Boy did I need this Clea”, I admitted, raising what was left of my saki in salute.
“Yes, I know.” Her face shone with what I fancied was empathy.
One thing about Japanese restaurants, at least the classier ones, the presentation is impeccable. The waitresses rarely seem to know more than about twelve words of English, but it never seems to, as my mother used to say, somewhere between the fourth and seventh glass, hold up production. We finished with some mango lime ice cream, and rolled our way to the car, where Clea had threatened to use her cell. I tried to dissuade her with kisses and caresses, but she was not to be swayed.
Kendra’s in crisis, I feel like I really should be seeing her.
I must’ve looked forlorn, because she cooed at me, all consoling. With her head close to mine she whispered, rather foxily I thought, Surely we can save that for later. I nibbled at her earlobe for a second and nodded, You bet.
Kendra answered this time, and from what I gathered, was a bit under the weather. Clea invited us over, although I had the distinct impression the girl would have rather we waited till morning. I had an image of a young man removing her clothes, but denied it as quickly as I perceived it, convincing myself that Clea was the psychic, and that if anything needed sensing she’d be the one to do it.
How we found the residences I’ll never know. Clea said she was taking directions from her guides, but said it with such a grin I assumed I was supposed to laugh it off. Unlike her ride ‘em cowboy highway charge, she seemed so clueless on big city blocks I was tempted to do the guy thing and take matters into my own hands but slumped onto my prophet laurels instead. What the hell, it had been an exciting day, I deserved a rest, even if it meant getting thoroughly lost.
Clea stopped and asked the first young person she saw. The fellow looked shocked and shrugged. Na ingleze was the sound of what he said. Actually he looked just like the son of a Lebanese restaurant owner I knew in Etobicoke. Another passer-by took pity on our plight, a chubby blonde with sky-blue hair, and soon we were on our way. After the bumper car ride, Clea managed to park with perfect grace. She turned to me and twitched her nose in triumph. I bowed in deference. We both giggled exiting the car. I tried to make mine a bit more manly but failed miserably. Maybe that’s what Gerry hated. On the way on to our host’s floor Clea mentioned in an adult sort of way I think she’s been drinking. I nodded sagely and suggested maybe she should see her alone, and I could always go and buy a cappuccino somewhere. But no, Clea felt I would be a good influence on the girl.
I didn’t have much chance as she fell against me upon opening her door, mumbled and then vomited onto my coat. Much consternation amongst the adults as the reeking redhead seemed to have passed out. A passing student, this time with a shock of orange hair, said, Ah, Kendra she’s been pissed for days, the washroom’s down there. Then she looked at us: What’s her problem anyway? Clea informed her of the mother’s recent death and the girl said, Oh, sorry. She’s just been such a pain. I thought she’d been raped or something.
Clea was busy fingering the girl’s mouth and throat as we bundled her down the hall. She’d definitely passed out but I could feel her chest heaving. While I doused my favourite old coat with warm water, Clea did her best bring the baby back to life. I could hear mutters and murmurs and recalled a couple of high school drunkfests of my own. Not in too much detail of course, just enough to ensure the instant collapse of any emergent self-righteousness. Together we shouldered the warm corpse back to her room. Between us the burden seemed more than halved and we reached room 313 in seconds. With a sigh we lowered her onto the bed. She moaned and whimpered. Clea soaked a washcloth in cold water and held it to her forehead. I noticed a spent condom on the carpet and wondered if she puked on him as well. The lapel of my coat was a little too close to my nose, so I removed it to a safe distance. I sat on the roommate’s bed and watched as my new lover cared for her best friend’s daughter. In the midst of utter strangeness, my life had become deplorably normal. I remembered my buddha pose in the empty kitchen of a few days before and wondered how appropriate a repeat would be. Eric had told me to let all life pass through me without resistance, no matter how weird or magical. It’s all just dust in the wind, he’d said, let it blow by. At the time I thought I’d had my fill of his zen cha-cha, but maybe this was exactly what he meant.
Kendra fell into something of a drugged sleep. Despite my best intentions, I got a bit fidgety. Clea, citing worry that I wanted to call guilt, seemed committed to staying the night if needs be. The little tyke would survive the night, I was sure, and would be partying again soon. Clea scowled at me, and would’ve, I am sure, called me heartless, had not the roommate returned, flush from her first night as a church youth group leader. Marie immediately volunteered to stand watch for the night and call us if anything untoward developed. I used the antiquated term first, and hoped that it would cause her to scurry dictionarywards upon our departure.
Clea punched me in the arm as we walked down the hall. You rat, you had that poor girl in a knot, and all she wanted was to help.
I couldn’t resist, she was so earnest it was painful.
Clea slipped her arm in mine as we descended the stairs. If that’s enlightenment you can keep it.
Gees I thought you’d be more understanding. If this is supportive, I’ll take treason anytime.
We laughed our way out the door, but by the car Clea was already looking fretful.
I don’t feel good about this George. That girl’s a wreck.
Well you know her better than I do, but I’m sure Marie will call us if it’s necessary. Look, can you see my reassuring smile?
I sure can. And I’d vote for you any day. She tossed me the keys. Do you think you can find the way back?
I’m a guy I can do anything.
Clea got a muted howl out of that one, and I grinned my shit eating grin, glad to see her smile. I did, in fact, find the B&B without having to call the CAA, and we fell into bed like fools in love, giggling and snorting. Giggling so much that Clea had to get up and blow her runny nose as I shook with a mucusy cough. Hilarity: that should be the benchmark of a good relationship, I thought as I drifted into a dreamland thankfully without dreams.
Chapter Nine goes live next week!
- Biography
- Books
Gordon Phinn’s practice continues and includes regressions (past and LBL), life readings, spirit guidance & distance healing.
My spirit contacts began around the year 1970 after my father’s passing in 1968. They took the form of what we now call lucid dreams. In them I was often sitting with him as he told me things like, “Try to imagine I’ve gone on a long holiday”. A few others followed at lengthy intervals, and combined with my wide reading in the esoteric, occult and metaphysical literature, by the 1980’s I felt quite educated in those matters. Some of the dreams suggested I was being guided and taught, and I had read enough to know the signs. I waited patiently for a revelation. Eventually it came, but not in the form I had expected. The crop circle phenomenon of the ’90s grabbed me by the neck and I couldn’t stay away from southern England. By the new millenium I knew I had been changed forever.

My facilitation practice continues, & includes regressions (past and LBL), life readings, spirit guidance & distance healing.
Books available for purchase by Gordon Phinn
More Adventures In Eternity
Eternal Life and How to Enjoy It: A First-Hand Account
Confronting Your Immortality: beyond belief and into eternity – living the ascension
Dead But Not Really Dead: Five Ways Of Looking At The Afterlife
The Word Of Gord On The Meaning Of Life (The Word Of Gord Series Book 1)
You are History:The Soul, The Higher Self, and our Share of Divinity
The Word of Gord on the Afterlife (The Word of Gord Series: Book Two 2)
Bowering and McFadden: reflections on their contributions to Canadian Literature
Embracing Your Divinity: instead of your doubt
Jesus And The Christ (Department of Intuitive Understanding Book 1)
It’s All About Me: how criticism mirrors the self
The Poet Stuart: Poems for Stuart Ross (2004-2014)
The Poet Stuart: Poems for Stuart Ross (2004-2019)
Life Is Just Another Place To Be: Poems 2013/14
Why Aliens Are Us: a metaphysical assessment
The Agents And The Information: a fable of existence
Who Cares About Ancient Secrets? (The Scottish Psychic: Andrew from St. Andrews Book 1)
More Adventures In Eternity
An American In Heaven
Consciousness A Primer
Music Amuses
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We have been exploring, this past year or so, the various conditions and challenges that appear to the aspirant on the journey to knowing, the hurdles and portals that manifest to irritate, undermine and provoke us into confronting the shadows of their mystery and lighting them up with our own illumination.
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In Leo Galland’s 2018 memoir, Already Here, we read of the challenging life of his brain damaged and developmentally challenged son, Christopher, and his subsequent shocking death from drowning while out hiking in his teen years. He tells of his son’s spontaneous visitations after passing, where he revealed himself as something of an older soul who chose a life with many limitations, to learn and teach by.
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As I detail my discovery and extended exploration of the mysteries surrounding our essential being, demonstrating the various methods of ditching the blinders and limitations of any and all belief systems assumed after birth and often inherited from past lives, I often compare my state of being convinced to those of others equally satisfied. The process of becoming convinced continues to fascinate the ‘me’ who finds himself so.
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More Adventures In Eternity covers a year in my life where events, both physical and astral, piled up upon each other until a small mountain of mysteries compelled me to climb it and see how everything looked from the summit. As you may imagine, it was a whole new world. Pre-order the e-book on Amazon right now!
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It was only a stroke, but it took me away in seconds. Warnings, hints, little blips I should have paid attention to? Nada. I’d been for my morning walk and I felt a strange sensation as I gazed out the window and was wondering if a headache was coming on when suddenly everything was….gone. But I was there, in some dark nothingness. No sound, no smell, no breath…
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Everywhere we look, it seems, we are surrounded by stories. There’s the story of the war with its dead and wounded. There’s the story of the economy with its winners and losers, its owners and its exploited. All of this got me to thinking that our lives are indeed stories to be lived, told, and retold until the need for stories withers away. Are all our incarnations some kind of uber-narrative; the story to end all stories?
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The god consciousness, that area which is not a place a sphere or a plane, but something that exists beyond all attributes of belief systems…
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As we move through this journey towards knowing, assuming it is a progress towards greater understanding, there are these illuminated moments where knowing and understanding become so obvious we laugh at our previous efforts to attain that previously out-of-reach plateau they seem to exist on. Suddenly we seem to know it all and know it was there all along, should we have taken a moment to pause in our exertions.
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Attempting to assist in the retrieval work ongoing in the Ukraine war zone has brought into focus a number of issues I had not consciously considered for some time.
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Shocking but true. Or maybe not so shocking. Happens all the time doesn’t it? Open the paper, read the news, check Twitter or whatever. It’d be more noticeable if he disemboweled me and fried the intestines for breakfast. But I was just disappeared with a plausible back up story. And they disappeared me in the best way: right out in the open, the mangled corpse, the wrecked car. My first funeral really.
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I remembered the other day the oft-repeated remark, at least in my adult years, and the number of occasions when someone of my acquaintance would comment wryly on “getting all your questions answered”. Often reflecting on a sudden passing of a relative, acquaintance, some stranger or celebrity in the news…
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Sovereign Abilities is proud to bring you, Gordon Phinn’s new fictional series – Being Born Again. In this new series, Gordon writes original stories based on his years of otherworldly and afterlife experiences and some of the people he came into contact with that were, Being Born Again. Enjoy, Delaying The Inevitable.
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Anyone on the inner journey can understand that our perceptions of ourselves vary from circumstance to circumstance. Once you begin to observe yourself in the throes of the actions and reactions and see, without the comforting blinkers that ego provides, the many faces we present to the world, there’s no turning back to the simplified notion of a single identity.
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If undisturbed by the irritation of externals, you can move that psyche on a voyage of astral projection, passing through the levels that consciousness has created to inhabit and explore. You are not troubled by anything resembling fear, you know your home base will be there when you return.
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On this “journey to knowing” that we have been following together, placing the puzzle pieces to make out the bigger picture, the notion/myth/fable of some ancient plan for mankind pops up from time to time, hinting at a much wider perspective than our daily focus on projects and practices of a psychic and spiritual nature. It has certainly crossed my path at various intervals through the decades and each time I feel I understand a little more.
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When I am asked to assist a client with a spirit communication, I fall into my version of “opening to spirit” and do the best I can in the circumstances. And the circumstances can vary significantly from situation to situation. Both the client requesting and the spirit sought can be in any number of moods and manifest any number of attitudes and it’s only my experience as psychic medium that lets me juggle the options until a harmony is achieved.
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Sometimes it is referred to as the ancient plan for mankind, and sometimes as the ancient plan of all sentient beings. Either way it refers to evolving through many incarnations on all the planes here on Gaia and often planets elsewhere
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It is an intriguing and persuasive metaphor, the notion that a belief can be imprisoning, and one I’ve often hinted it when discussing “belief systems”, those religious, cultural and political ideologies that millions of us humans are partial to.
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Often, after a few breakthroughs in that bumpy and mysterious ride on the illusion-busting journey to more knowledge and less faith, we indulge ourselves in spells of excitement, and that excitement not only powers the desire for more but also rides roughshod over the calm receptivity that gives the transcendence a place to settle and show you its wonders.
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As we move along through that inner journey such experiences can surprise us. Outside any formal meditation, no crossed-legged straight-backed mindfulness, they appear unannounced like surprise guests at the door, gifts in hand. One of those gifts can be a mild OBE, where what I suspect is the mental body, flips away from the active physical, like household chores, errands and driving, and gives visions, like yourself engaged in the current activity, viewed from above or some vaguer beyond, where you know without question, that’s you over there absorbed in your purpose, playing out one of the roles in the game, doing your bit for family, career or society.
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Most discussions of “god” are partial, focusing on one aspect of the divinity to the exclusion of all others. Usually that aspect is the anthropomorphic one, God a person, a very wise and all knowing person, who seems to have set the universe in motion a while back and through some combination of magic and very clever science, keeps it going.
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While on the journey, the inner one always unfolding, the situation, of you or the world, can seem out of whack, weighted in favor of the winners, monstrously unfair. The minuses outweighing the pluses in your own account, your faults competing with your wounds for dominance, and the chances for lasting insight, never mind enlightenment, farther than any horizon.
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Our journeys through the mysteries of Being and our being within it can leave us quite mystified, somehow simultaneously inspired and baffled. It is sometimes quite the challenge to keep both feet on the ground while one’s head and heart are in the clouds. After visiting ‘there’, with all its charms and joys, coming back ‘here’ can feel drab and quite depressing. Is it all worth it?
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As we practice our chosen discipline, here in the physical, and extend our explorations in the astral, our experiences seem to sharpen our perceptions and increase the power of our intuitions, most often by clearing out the blockages built by doubt and self-consciousness, leaving us with a clarity that can sometimes be quite shocking.
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At some point on our treks through the valleys and mountain paths crisscrossing the intriguing remains of mystical and esoteric teachings that come down to us from ancient times, many of which managed to survive repression by mainstream religions to be modernized by twentieth century teachers and facilitators into conveniently updated Zen, Vedanta, Magick, Sufism and the like, we come across references to the White Brotherhood, the Secret Chiefs, the Ascended Masters.
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As we move along the various paths the inner journey unveils, we begin to examine, out of curiosity or concern, the lives of others. We seem to see them more clearly, now that out own delusions of grandeur have been modified by seeing the untidy and rather tacky aspects of the current ego and some of its past life cousins. The lenses on our vision seem sharper, less muddied by the prejudices of unconscious judgements and more influenced by the discernment conferred by true humility.
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The circuit? That’s the one where we return to where we started and see our very own footsteps in the sand that we presumed had washed away in the tides of many incarnations, those passages through personalities and cultures that we assumed had left some indelible marks, but then find, much to our pleasurable surprise, that they can fade to insignificance once we shuck the comfort zones their gates and fences provided. Poverty and wealth, illness and health, ignorance and education, they all drop away as the feathers on Icarus’s wings as he closes in on the sun. Perhaps he dies on that final descent, or maybe he merges with the divine fire, a spark surrendering?
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I have previously advised on the practice of patience when those dreaded ‘dry spells’ interrupt the joys of crazy adventures in dreamland, leaving us high and dry with no enigmas to unravel. Certainly, effort, of the strenuous sort, seems not to resolve the blank canvas that upsets us. It’s not pushing ahead determinedly that catches the elusive butterfly in flight, but a unfocused yielding to whatever may come which presses the right buttons. And that yielding, that submission, may take some time to manifest the unseen. You know, days turning into weeks and maybe months before a breakthrough.
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They are two different worlds aren’t they? Or are they? One is packed with schedules and duties, commitments and challenge, the other is some kind of magical mystery tour, entertaining, annoying and mostly mystifying. One abides by the rules of making sense and the other most definitely does not. One is lighted and demanding of attention, the other is shadowy, shifty with trickery. One is rule bound with cultural norms, the other operates as though some fun-loving anarchists wrote the guide book.
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I once titled a collection of essays, Laughing At The Universe Of Lies. As many of them addressed the many instances of deliberate political and economic fraud, conspiracy and cover-up, it seemed more than appropriate. Our experience of the world, filtered most often through the corporate media, is one of public figures, drawn from the ranks of government, corporations, banking and intelligence agencies, is one of denial, double talk and bare-faced lying, only some of which is later tackled by the forces of law enforcement and justice.
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If enlightenment is just another “plight in three dimensions” but the endless implications of transcendence when we exit, then is it any more than another stage on the unfolding of our flower blossom? As blissful and serene as the experience may be, with the itch of desire and ambition no longer needing scratched, is it to be prized any more than the inching towards it that many aspirants endure, or the daily dramas and comedies that we all find ourselves in, regardless of our status in the spiritual playground?
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A friend, then in the grips of Buddhist practice and philosophy, once asserted to me that we all are enlightened several times a day, but in the rush of perceptions and reactions, forget the content and how effortlessly profound it seemed. I suspected they were correct in their assessment and set myself to locating some methods whereby those inspired moments could be collated and conserved.
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Being complete and whole in the moment without crutch or dependency to the past or the future, either recent or distant, has been a goal of several spiritual traditions, perhaps Zen most noticeably. The western popularizer of that tradition, Alan Watts, certainly established it in his many books of the 60’s and 70’s, several of which came my way back then. I also recall Ram Dass (aka Richard Alpert) spreading the notion with his popular book Be Here Now in that same decade.
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As we evolve beyond the acceptable and approved norms of our society and class, risking criticism, mockery and outright rejection every step of the way, we collect various wounds along the path, those slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, and we learn to deflect the blows, even as we come to recognize the old wounds they reactivate. We become careful as to what we say and to whom…
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Almost any energetic or spiritual practice will lead you to the opening door of expanding consciousness. I have met many runners, swimmers, team sports players and yoga practitioners over the years who tell of sudden leaps in what they assume is perception, where watching themselves from near or afar becomes the new norm for at least a few seconds and sometimes minutes. They see another self, seemingly independent of the one who stretches and sweats, one who is calm, bemused, observant.
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When Higher Self envisions us, it sees divine beings lost in belief systems. Systems like democracy, progress, agriculture, manufacturing, worshipful subservience to science, prophets and deities. It sees children playing, frightened and ignorant, educated and desirous, mystified but lost in enchantments.
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As we explore the various highways and biways of the esoteric teachings that guide our inner journeys, we eventually come to the notion that some souls are ‘young’ and others ‘mature’ or ‘old’. The distinctions manifest in a number of ways. One is derived from the discussions arising from life-between-life regressions where some recall careful planning with guides for the upcoming incarnation, while others tend to rush in enthusiastically without much forethought, often hell bent on resuming a life dramatically cut short by violence, accident or addiction. The feeling of being denied one’s life experiences through trauma and tragedy can be overwhelming, often dominating the ‘bliss’ potentials of astral life.
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While some of us find citizenship to be “surplus to requirements” for the pressing business of career and family, and others are so disgusted with the fabrications and deceptions of politics, religion and big business they happily drop out of any such commitment, some seek to be citizens of their society, however seemingly corrupted, striving to be informed and actively engaged with the issues and challenges of the day. Others seek to be citizens of the planet, embracing the ideals of multiculturalism, brotherhood and internationalism, hoping to replace hunger with plenty and strife with harmony. And yet others strive, in one way or another, to be citizens of the soul, that amorphous enigma inhabiting all forms with the sentient spark we have come to call consciousness.
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Many of us have found our way to the inner journey of spirit after either rejecting conventional religious structures and practice, finding them self contradictory and unsatisfying, or seeing that the scientific materialism we grew up with failed to explain our personal experiences with the mystical and mysterious situations that repeatedly irritated our culture’s assumptions and norms…
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Various meditation techniques strongly emphasize the importance of calmly observing the self in acquiring the real knowing of who we are, where we come from and what actually motivates us to thought and action. The term ‘mindfulness meditation’ is the most commonly used in this context. It’s one that almost everyone on the inner journey recognizes, regardless of path or tradition. In aiding our understanding of who we really are, as opposed to who we think we are or would like to be, it is incomparable.
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Many of us do it, whether we are consciously on the inner journey or not. As one of the many aspects of compassion, it is instilled in us from an early age, as well as many past lives, where we either employed it intelligently and saw its benefits, or failed to, and realized too late how we’d short changed ourselves and others by its glaring lack.
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I reckon it was at least forty years ago when I first started seeing references in past life regression books to groups of guides that the recently deceased would consult in reviewing their recent performance on earth. Entities like Seth spoke freely and illuminatingly about the purpose of many lives, and many of us were aware that both Buddhist and Hindu teachings spoke of the phenomenon without apology.
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At whatever pace gives us comfort and a sense of learning we are all moving along in our inner journeys. And whatever stage you find yourself present is of less importance than the act of doing the travel as consciously as possible. We all have our preferred methods of exploration, rituals we enact when the time is ripe and the urge is on us.
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As we move along our inner journeys towards what we assume is deeper understanding of the enigmas and mysteries of our real lives, sometimes racing along without the least bit of resistance, sometimes stumbling about, absentmindedly looking for clues, we come across mentions of the Higher Self, the Monad, the source self, a being whose existence seems as remote as archangels and ascended masters to our apprentice ears, about as distant as a PhD to a kid in grade five.
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It would be difficult to recall a time when I had not heard of the Akashic Records in one or other of the many metaphysical books I was reading in my youth. Whether inspired by teachers or channeled through spirits, the references were unmistakable. In the astral, mental and causal planes at the very least, it was possible to attend a place, a situation, a focus of consciousness, where all the “events” of what we call history could be viewed and re-experienced without the willful deceptions of political and economic power plays that distort the reportage of historical reality here on earth. Beyond the proud trumpeting of the victors’ triumph and innate moral superiority and the insulted, wounded whining of the losers and the endless ruthless cruelties of the struggles to achieve dominance, whether on a personal, tribal or empire level, lies the actual details of the process laid bare for all to see.
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As we open up to our “gifts of the spirit”, our seemingly unlimited potentials, there are episodes of intense excitement, stages where astonishment is almost the familiar state of being, where we seem to be transcending ourselves every other day. We feel boosted into an orbit previously unimagined years before when we pottered about with psychic abilities first encountered in books and courses. We glide into unfamiliar territory, charmed with our new flexibility and ease of access. Growth seems unchecked, the border guards retired for the night.
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At some point in this inner journey, at some stage in the shifting of poses that present themselves as personalities in the play-acting of our incarnational dramas, maybe even now as we turn to acknowledge that fly on our dinner plate or that lying skunk on the tv screen, we suddenly see the illusion of it all, and our foolishness in believing that the dream was somehow real. The bubble that you took for granted has burst.
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As we reveal ourselves, with open hearts attuned by discernment to what seems like fresh opportunities for growth, we come across those younger folks, who may not be younger souls, and in fact most likely are not, and are but unrealized seekers fumbling about for paths and portals that are not tricked out with shabbily trendy gurus and self-improvement cults, we are challenged to come up with the goods that fit the keyhole to their seemingly locked doors.
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Once we have attained a level of serenity and acceptance in the face of life’s turmoil and committed ourselves to some level of compassionate action, – chakra balancing, distance healing, regression work, psychic circles, prayer groups, hugging, listening, in fact any of the modalities of sympathy and empathy, we are deposited at the door of discernment and choice.
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On the inner journey of self-discovery and self-development, the call to service often comes when you are ready to reach out to others less fortunate than yourself. Of course, that’s the social gospel version. On the inner journey the ‘others’ appear lost, confused, mired in illusions. Whether it’s the recently dead, wretched in ignorance, wandering in some fog of despair, or the living, wounded by the cruelties of life’s seeming injustices, the energies of compassion draw us to their plight
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We can see, all too clearly, how we entered incarnation, full of aspiration, but succumbed to that treasure trove of fears, anxieties and doubts as our inner bulb of knowing lit up their shadows. We covered up with the “common sense” that family, education, religion and society piles up around the anarchic spirit that all humans come armed with, the one that frightens those who have already absorbed some decades of rational conformity and feel wise in passing it along
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For many it comes down to this: we are born, we live and then we die. Anything else is wish fulfillment fantasizing. Their certainties gives them a firm foundation to meet the various challenges life offers, one of which is the obvious: every beginning must have an end, even if it’s hiding somewhere. He who is born must inevitably die.
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Even as we progress on the journey of self-revelation, casting away, one by one, the old definitions now pretty much useless, we still cling, albeit unconsciously, to our various notions of significance: (a) that we are achieving worthwhile goals, (b) that we are becoming a receptacle better able to serve the needs of humanity, (c) that our understanding of possibilities is ever deeper and wider, and (d) that our compassion for others is selfless and discerning. All these are easily recognizable to those on the inner journey as we cover our tracks with careers, families and citizenship
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Whether you need the pleasures of paradise or the hell realm your guilt and grinding angers demand, it’s all ready and available when you finally employ that aging passport. You choose your bliss, pick your poison, enumerate your preferences and indulge
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All of us are moving, at our own chosen speed, towards greater and greater understanding of the mystery of incarnation and the consciousness which seems to propel it all…
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Gordon Phinn brings his book to a conclusion with the final two chapters. This has been a fun book to read each week.
Next week Gordon starts his weekly column here on Sovereign Abilities. Don’t miss it!
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The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion continues with chapter nine
Sunday Morning…
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The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion
Saturday – Chapter Eight…
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The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion continues with chapter seven
“I wondered where on earth I was. Not on earth was the answer. Galactic Federation Central was the reply to my where then? Sounded terribly sci-fi somehow. I found myself in a gallery overlooking a rectangular space engaged in a very civilized debate. There was no shouting or waving of hands, and truth be told, not much moving of lips either. I did not have headphones on, but it felt as though I did, as the comments of various delegates were, well, in my head, sort of…”
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The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion continues with chapter six.
“Am I talking to God, I shouted? There’s no need to shout, came the reply, I’m right here and always have been…”
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The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion
The story continues…
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The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion
The story continues… -
Knowing, as you all do, that astral beings can transfer from one spot to another without actually traveling, I suddenly thought that when we are projected in our astral bodies we can do the same
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The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion – Chapter Three: Monday, by Gordon Phinn
“Apparently your soul, well not exactly your soul, for it seems like there’s this other character they call the higher self, who, as he gets more adept at this incarnation thing (Eric’s term) can project more than one beam of life energy onto the planet at once. And why would he do that, you ask. Well, apparently just for the experience. Or, in mountain climbing terms, because it’s there.”
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Gordon Phinn gives us chapter two in his yet unpublished novel – The Deity Is Not Up For Discussion
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“You’re dreaming George. You’re dreaming and you’re not quite used to it. But don’t worry you’re in good hands now.” This was not quite as helpful as I’d hoped. It was the kind of definition that left you on the outside looking in. “Well that’s good to know Mavis. I never would have guessed that being a lost soul would be so much fun.” ~ Gordon Phinn
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Join, Gordon Phin in his video as he recounts an astral projection where he examines a school in another reality. Then goes onboard a UFO ship to watch as crop circles are designed. In the final part of the video Phinn finds himself in an active war zone
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A guided meditation into the Upper Astral Planes where we meet three souls ready to graduate and one in orb energy body form ready to reincarnate.
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Gordon Phinn, has had metaphysical experiences since the year, 1970. He has continued to grow his consciousness and share his knowledge and experiences since that time.
I love the happy and fun end to this chapter!
thanks, one aims to please!
Gordon, I just listened to your interview by Maverick Vardoger on YTube. It was great. I was surprised to learn of some of the connections we share…other than the connection to my friend Maverick. I did not know your connection to Monroe Institute or to Bruce Moen. I knew Bruce; he lived not far from me in Florida. Years ago I was a frequent visitor to his message board, so I’m sure I read many of your posts. You mentioned others that I’m friends with like Todd A. Small world, eh?
HI Candice, thanks! Could be, but my era of contribution to Bruce’s board was ages ago. At a guess 2001-2006. I thanked some of my “colleagues” of the time in the acknowledgements in More Aventures In Eternity.
One fun fact: after interview was over and M. and I chatted, he said he had to go as he was rising early to go surfing and up here
we’d only just finished with skating on the frozen river!
Cheers from Canada: gordon
It was really a very good interview, Gordon. You have a really interesting past.
Well really! It often seems to me that I went through similar stages that others of my generation did.
eg. I got into “Seth” right when the first books were very well distributed and being read by many (70-76). Had my consciousness yanked open by psychedelics a bit earlier. Joined UFO/Alien study group in 80’s and met abductees. Got fascinated by crop crcles in the 90’s. But maybe it just seems typical to me because I was there!
I followed right along on a simular path but, The Seth books had been out a long time when I finally found them. Very interesting past that you have, Gordon but not typical at all. LOL!
I’d already come across some old Spiritualism and Theosophy books, and some stuff out of Findhorn re elementals. Then a friend said “Have you seen these books by Jane Roberts about Seth?”