Translation

http://about.me/Pharista

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Differentiating between reality and illusion

In this article or post I will be attempting too illuminate my and others experience of the soul, the mind, the subconscious mind and the heart or intuition. You may not be convinced by my reasoning but that is all part of our personal journey which we must and will come to some final resolution before the departure from this mortal coil. According too the tradition I was brought up with in the Ancient Raja Yoga of Bharat, the soul is composed of 3 aspects, the mind, intellect and sub conscious mind, and a fourth which I have introduced, the Heart or intuition.
Now this is the theoretical mechanics of the soul, created through trance but nonetheless not proven.In our journeys I believe meditation is a necessary part of discovering the self. But our DNA, brain wiring , diet, environment, all conspire or inspire us in our enlightenment. Actually before we came down too planet earth or human consciousness we were perfect anyway, but have been moulded by our journey.  Here's an excerpt from a website on people seeing UFO's or more accurately this entry on the effects of stress and light on memory.
Sightings
As anecdotal evidence seems so emotionally compelling, may I contribute an anecdote to underscore some points made by Mark B. Fineman in his excellent “Sightings: UFO’s and Visual Perception?” There is no UFO in my story–or not exactly.
During high school I lived in Times Beach, Missouri (yes, that Times Beach) and the adjacent town of Eureka. Off rural Highway 109 was a lonely place my friends called “Zombie Road.”
Really named Lawler-Ford, it was a narrow lane winding through miles of woods, once a route for trucks hauling stone from a remote quarry. Even by day it seemed enveloped in a dreamlike silence and half-light. You could never see past the trees and brush at the next curve. If you met another car, one of you would have to back up to one of the few wide places, or to the beginning of the road, in order to pass.
We agreed that the spookiest thing about Zombie Road was that it never looked the same shape or seemed the same length twice, even on the return trip from the turnaround at the chained entrance to the stone company’s property. At times we had the claustrophobic feeling that it would never end and that we would drive on forever into deeper darkness and silence.
We especially enjoyed scaring ourselves by driving it at night and repeating the usual urban-legend horror stories about teenagers on isolated roads. Of course the villain of the tales was always “the Zombie” who waylaid young lovers on Zombie Road.
One night we parked at the turnaround and ventured from the car to explore a “haunted shack” supposedly nearby. We were picking our way cautiously through starlit weeds when a light appeared about twenty feet before us. It seemed as bright as a single headlamp, but advanced at chest-height through high weeds. My first thought was that we had been caught trespassing and would be ordered to leave. But no warning came. In fact, the silence was unnerving. The light glided toward us through the weedtops as smoothly and as soundlessly as if it were on an invisible track. Most of us stepped back, staring.
But two of our party had whispered, “Let’s get out of here!” and were already stumbling back toward the car. Their oddly efficient panic rather forced us to accompany them, and soon we were running from the slow, silent light, which reached the road behind us just as we slammed our doors and drove away.
The return trip on Zombie Road was short that night, though we had a sober moment passing an apparently unoccupied old car that was pulled off the road. (It had not been there before.)
Later we learned (what most people reading this will have guessed) that the entire adventure had been staged. The two people who fled in panic had organized the dramatic scene. The surprise was that, in their eyes, it had utterly failed. They had planned terrors for us. Two sturdy young men had parked up the road (it was their car we saw) and sneaked round through the woods to surprise us. They had costumed themselves as the Zombie and his henchman, both brandishing weapons. They had growled and grunted and crashed as noisily as possible while pursuing us at top speed through the dry brush. To make sure they were seen, one of them had waved a flashlight.
Yet we had registered none of it–not the violent speed, not the noise, not the weapons, not the scary disguises. In fact, we had all been impressed by the unnatural silence of the free-floating light. Though we witnesses (even the conspirators) all agreed about what we had seen and heard, and even though we considered ourselves to have been in a state of heightened alertness at the time (uninfluenced, I should add, by alcohol or other drugs), we had in effect been unable to hear or see, let alone judge speed, scale or distance in any meaningful way.
It is not from disrespect that I doubt other people’s accounts of anomalous experiences. It is in part because I have learned firsthand how unreliable my own perceptions can be.
Gary Brockman
Madison, CT


No comments:

Post a Comment