The Shift

At first the technicians probed with their various instruments in an attempt to decipher the strange signals emanating from below the surface. Perhaps they were some sort of transmission from the grateful dead emerging out of the inconceivable depths of basic space. Maybe the ancients were ready to walk the land again, but this time, as full citizens of eternity, with no petty desires or unrequited grudges to obstruct their clarified vision of the New Earth.

In any case, things had remained for awhile in the speculation stage because nobody wanted to make the call. When one is paralyzed for so long, they hesitate to act. Even so, the sounds of a massive beating heart are hard to mistake, especially when they are so all-pervasive as to even drown out the wry and bitter comments we habitually fling at each other electronically.

Now everyone was hearing it, and feeling it too. The ground was pulsating with the steady thump and rumble of some gigantic being coming alive from oblivion’s mystery chambers. We wondered what would happen next. We were too excited to fall back to sleep, but had not yet gotten the hang of getting up on our own two feet and answering to our spirit.

For the first time in ages, we began to realize, paradoxically, that there was nothing special to be done, nothing extraordinary, reserved solely for a class of transcendental heroes. It was all manifesting spontaneously, without the requisite mantras and incantations, the smoky rituals or exotic plant ingestions. All the religions suddenly seemed superfluous, like adding another head to the one we already have on our shoulders.

Nor was there any official political sanction forthcoming from the exalted weasels who command from their luxury estates, since who would dare spout any kind of definitive pronouncement about such a profound and intimate matter? Those who see say little. Those who don’t ramble on and on, garnering donations from the gullible while remaining tax-exempt. But now the cash cows had stopped giving milk, so entranced were they too with the resounding vibrations.

The old leaders gradually lost whatever mandate they once believed they had. The people were at first amazed but swiftly came to understand that they never really needed to be led around by sticks and carrots — each one was a sovereign unto themselves, and such was the revelation.

Eventually, people just went about their joyful ordinary business as if there were no longer an actual condition qualifying as free or bound, saved or damned. Could it be, that all the accepted limitations had been nothing but a mere projection of mind? In this way, a great sense of equalness permeated the neural environments which otherwise would have been seething with false discriminations and conditioned reactivity.

This was somewhat disturbing, of course, to those who profited from sickness, guilt, and despair. What would become of them? We’ll trust that they will try to devise a new con, but for now, they stay huddled in their own homes, considering their dwindling options, nostalgic for the good old days when manipulating the herd had become a fine art.

Because this all seemed so new, we didn’t have time to make up a name for it, so it simply persisted as an ineffable mystery, and so it should have, because the alternative had been tried, and what had it yielded? We may be reluctant to think back, but let’s not forget that we were recently on the verge of imminent catastrophe, brought on by an outrageous eruption of hatred, fear, and greed gushing from the very core of the collective psyche.

Indeed, we dreaded awakening each morning to the newest horrors being perpetrated by the ones who reveled in the dark side, so we drifted into a trance of chronic anxiety, and everyone self-medicated. Even the artists had traded their integrity for the slim coins of fickle approval, or else threw angry lines of paint at the walls and sides of buildings in the dead of night. We had turned away from each other, exchanging the human connection for rapt absorption in little machines that beguiled us with an endless panorama of amnesia ingredients.

When the Shift began, rumors of a savior filled the mouths of the fast talkers and impromptu preachers, but there was no one redeemer that was other than the collective consciousness itself, finally emerging from the dark womb of emptiness like a butterfly from its cocoon.

When the blinders finally drop off, the light is so very brilliant! Everything expounds the natural truth, requiring no study, text, or meditation. Kindness is not some gradual practice to be mastered with resolute efforts, when whatever appears and whoever appears is not separate from your own self.

As we relaxed into the dawning harmony that poured down like pure white honey from the heavens above, we realized that we had become our own liberators, but only from the restless dream of perpetual conflict, since nothing was really changed. The shift was at the heart, and that was truly momentous, and for now it would be enough.




About Bob OHearn

My name is Bob O'Hearn, and I live with my Beloved Mate, Mazie, in the foothills of the Northern California Sierra Nevada Mountains. I have a number of blog sites you may enjoy: Photo Gallery: Essays on the Conscious Process: Compiled Poetry and Prosetry: Verses and ramblings on life as it is: Verses and Variations on the Investigation of Mind Nature: Verses on the Play of Consciousness: Poetic Fiction, Fable, Fantabulation: Poems of the Mountain Hermit: Love Poems from The Book of Yes: Autobiographical Fragments, Memories, Stories, and Tall Tales: Ancient and modern spiritual texts, creatively refreshed: Writings from selected Western Mystics, Classic and Modern: Wisdom of a Spirit Guide: Thank You!
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