Two Planes, the physical, and the physical-etheric. NW 2023
The etheric, anyone?
Though we can only see what we see at any given moment, I’m thinking if I do enough of these drawings I might train my inner eye to automatically see a lighter world through the density of this one. It will still be familiar. I can continue my strolls down Prospect Park West in my physical body the same as always, recognizing the lamppost and the stone wall. I’ll still see the man taking his dog for a walk. Meanwhile, in my mind’s eye, I’ll be inhabiting this lighter, brighter etheric world we’re told “will emerge on the physical-etheric plane of Earth . . . where, “Unfettered by the density of physical matter, the life of the Higher Self will flourish.”
(From http://atreeoflight.org/Glossary “…a shift in vibrational frequencies is now underway, from the density of physical plane matter to the higher frequency and lighted substance of the etheric plane.”)
It’s about seeing. It’s always been about seeing. The eyes just take a picture and send it to the brain. So I’m training my mind. It’s magical what the mind can see. Like dreaming awake. In the softer, lighter world of the Higher Self.
Many years ago when I was keeping it together while my life was falling apart in London, my younger sister and brother were having breakdowns in New York. And suddenly I thought maybe they were the brave ones letting it all go, and my paving over the cracks wasn’t so courageous after all. So I let it all go too. And I was filled with light and laughter. Then I spoke to my sister on the phone and when she said, “How do you do it?” I didn’t have an answer and I felt so bad not being able to put it into words. Her heart was heavy and mine was as light as Gene Kelly singing in the rain.
I’m singin’ in the rain /Just singin’ in the rain /What a glorious feeling /I’m happy again. /I’m laughing at clouds. /So dark up above, /The sun’s in my heart /And I’m ready for love.
In the end I had to let her be, and that was love too. She is in the light of another world now, and I will let this little bird sing the words.
“Let peace, joy and love flow freely in our hearts and in the hearts of all.”
They graced my desk for weeks it was, though I didn’t keep track of the time. And though I noticed when they began to droop, I paid it no mind. And so they settled into a whole new state. Silently and without complaint they lowered their heads and became skirts with fiery tips.
“Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom.” ~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez ~ Love in the Time of Cholera
Though what I see is not of this world, I can imagine it with a combination of watercolor, colored pencils and pastels plus the filter in my camera. It still doesn’t come close to what I see in my mind. I keep thinking I need to be a digital artist in order to do it justice, but maybe not even that would work. For the light-show in my mind can go beyond the physical world and the physical tools of expression. I will keep trying to visualize it though. This lighter, less dense world of the One Divine Life.
“One Life: All beings within the planetary system of Earth are manifestations of One Divine Life. The kingdoms and dimensions within a planetary system are distinguished by different levels of consciousness and vibrational frequencies.”
“At the denser levels, matter is the medium for life expression; at subtler levels, the substance of light is the medium. Behind all forms, dense or subtle, is the one vitalizing, synthesizing Life whose evolutionary purpose is the reuniting of all forms within the One Divine Life.” ~ http://atreeoflight.org/Glossary
I love walking by these cute little houses in my neighborhood of Brooklyn from a completely different time. For one reason or another they were spared until 1973 when Park Slope was designated an historical district and their future was assured, so those of us who delight in such things can walk through different time zones on a single street.
I could have just taken pictures. I did in fact take pictures, but it was so I could draw them at home. And I wanted to draw them, not only because I can, but because I wanted to show the feeling of the houses. I knew it would come through because my eye had already taken a picture and sent it to my brain to decipher. Then at home I could work on transferring both images to paper, the mechanical one that was true to life and full of detail, and the one in my head that was in touch with the feeling. Wanting to convey both truth and feeling, not sacrificing one for the other, wasn’t even something I had to think about. I already knew that what my eye saw was going to travel to my brain, then my brain was going to send a signal down through my nervous system into my arm, then into my hand with the brush. A hand that was pulsing with the blood from my heart. A feeling heart with an intelligence of its own.
And so the transfer was made and my sensory relationship to the world around me increased. Sometimes I think I only like to draw because I want to know what my heart sees. Feeling the Spirit in Matter not only as a theory but as a reality.
On Easter Sunday when a man in Louisville was planning a mass murder, I was taking a walk in Brooklyn and saw two things in nature that were as symbolic as the day itself. One was the timeless Cross, the other was something we knew in the 1960s as Flower Power. That delicate pink petals could light up a lamp was as astonishing as a cross branching out into a tree. Yet they did. And see how the yellow-green buds are lunging towards it. On Easter Sunday.
“It has been foretold that a new world will emerge on the physical-etheric plane of Earth. The primary substance of the etheric plane is light. The light of the soul, suffused with the light of the spiritual realm, will be a dynamic factor in the life of the New Earth.” (See ‘New Earth’ also New Era/New World) http://atreeoflight.org/Glossary
I think that was the light I saw as a child when I walked under the trees. It’s hard to say which came first, seeing or feeling it, but I can tell you what I felt when I saw it.
It was helpful that my eyes suddenly went bad that summer I was 10, in my 11th year since 11 is a gateway. It also helped that it wouldn’t be noticed until I went back to school in the fall and couldn’t read the blackboard because then I had to get glasses. Ideally it should happen before you’re aware you’re not seeing properly and can marvel at what you Are seeing.
Like the light moving through the leaves when you walk under the trees on a bright sunny day and look up and see the leaves have turned black. They’re a bit blurry of course, being that your eyesight has changed, but you don’t know that yet. You’re just thinking how lovely it all is with the leaves wafting in the breeze, creating a light-show above, a fluttering light show of light-dark, light-dark in different patterns (with indistinct borders so that all you notice is a fluttering movement of light-dark, light-dark) as you keep walking under the trees, taking it all in with delight. Then you go back to school and have to wear glasses but not all of the time. There is still this other world where you saw a pattern of light above. Where objects and people not only far away but in the near distance blur together and lose those lines that normally separate them.
Then some years later (my 22nd year: 11:11) when I had the unbelievable luck to hear the music of light-dark, light-dark while watching a movie called “The Music Lovers” about a composer, the lines between seeing-feeling and hearing-feeling blurred together too. The music was dizzyingly beautiful and when the camera looked up to show the light coming through the leaves, it spun around so you could feel the spin as the movement turned the light into a dance to the music rising and falling, going faster and faster until it reached a crescendo of unimaginable beauty. And all the while the light was coming through the trees, the horses were galloping, breathing heavily as they pounded the earth. And the people were ecstatic with the movement of the light and the sound it made as the light that moved through the music moved through Them. And as it moved through Them it moved through You as you sat in the dark watching and listening and feeling it all.
When you get home you can put on the record you bought of the soundtrack on your way out of the movie theater to preserve the memory. You can light a candle and play the music and dance to what you’ve seen on the screen so that you’ll remember it in your body as well as your mind. The movement of light with the sound of it too, and how it all came together in a delirium of joy you felt in your bones. You can’t hold onto it. You can’t hold it in. But you can dance. It’s a dance.
We know what we know, and I knew it was up in the heavens somewhere. When I was young I’d look up at the moon or the star-filled sky with a silent plea to be taken back. I drew a picture with a needle on black scratchboard, scratching away at the dark for the light to come through and reveal a girl like myself sitting in the window, bathed in moonlight, staring up at the moon, dreaming of the heavens. Then a picture in black pencil on white paper of a girl being taken to a home that was here. It was up a path, an inviting little white house set back among the trees. I didn’t know the way so I had to be taken. Who’s house and who carried her, and how it all come about were questions that didn’t need answering. Dead or unconscious or merely asleep didn’t matter either, for she was being taken up the path towards the dream of home.
One was a dreamer who scratched the darkness away to reveal the light, the other blocked out the white to reveal a story, and both were right, for I needed to dream as much as I needed to believe there was a way home, if only I had someone to take me.
But by the time I was twenty-six and no one showed up I lost hope. I wanted to escape into the darkness of oblivion but it wasn’t in the cards. The void was an illusion. Yet there was a way all the same. It was a grid of squares I had to walk myself. I saw it on the alternating black and white squares of checkered linoleum, each one equal, side by side, the dark and the light. But it was harsh with no leeway, and I kept drifting into gray areas where the light was softer, and if I couldn’t see very well, the damp and the mist were comforting, like walking through the clouds. Then on a day of bright sunshine when it was hot and dry, someone new crossed my path and I told him how I liked the gray areas. ‘There is no gray,’ he said, ‘there is only black and white.’ And before he went away he taught me how to bear it, so that what once seemed far away and out of bounds was actually here, in the light within.
‘How did you get here?’ I was asked.
I walked the grid of time and space and was carried along by a dream. I stopped looking at orbs in the sky and studied the squares of black and white that were here. If science can say that white contains all the colors and black is their absence, and art can say the opposite, I can point to the path that leads to the light of the spirit within.
“The dawning awareness that a reality exists beyond the physical plane. The realization of the existence of a higher self, the soul. As the light of the soul breaks through the barriers of the concrete mind, higher dimensions of life and consciousness are recognized. On the plane of the soul, the interconnectedness of all life is sensed, giving rise to a desire to serve the greater good.”
Nancy Wait, Looking at the Self in oil and watercolor
Old-world selfies, new-world interpretation: coming out from the shadows to see myself in the light. A tumultuous eight-year period I can still feel in the pit of my stomach. The one in the hat with a deadness in her eyes was to please my then-husband and I was tired of trying to please someone else again. Number two wears a beret to show she’s an artist, but she’s still afraid to show herself.
Six years later and single again I’ve blossomed into color but paint has become war-paint. Then, having seen the strength of the Self, I can let it go. I can open to the Soul and be in a place where the sun has risen and hair doesn’t matter. It’s in the eyes of the photo I took of my reflection in the mirror when I saw something different and didn’t want to forget that’s who I was.
Under ‘New Era/New World’ in the Glossary it says we have entered “The next stage of planetary evolution in which the consciousness of the human and spiritual realms will blend and fuse through vibratory resonance.” Where “Humanity will enter a new world of light and consciousness in which the good, the true, and the beautiful will flourish under the governance of spiritual laws.” Let it Be. http://atreeoflight.org/Glossary
Being that she was a morning person, anywhere from 3am to 5am being the optimum time for mental acuity when the city that never sleeps is quiet at least, she wondered if she could hold onto Time and remain in those pre-dawn hours after the sun came up.
‘What if I stayed in my robe and slippers all day and pretended it was still dark?’ she thought. Would she continue to come up with those insights she had when she first woke up?’
It was worth a try, and she set her internal clock to Night and took a selfie in the mirror to remind herself that she had just woken up no matter what the clock said or what the light told her.
It helped that it was winter and it didn’t get light till around 7am, but it didn’t work. Night was night and day was day and it could only be forgotten by rising in the dark, for the light made everything different.
Still, by getting up early she had plenty of time to make use of those hours fresh from fairyland or dreamland or the Hall of Learning, and not be greedy for more.
The daylight brought messages too. And if they weren’t always as clear amidst daytime distractions, the night would come again. The night when dreams reigned and time disappeared.
Nancy Wait 