When I was aboard The Esartania the other night, Commander Korton advised me that I was, in his words, 'a radical.' I had never thought of myself in that way but I now find myself so grateful for his words that I'm beside myself with gratitude. Something was triggered with his words. A piece of myself rampaged it's way to the surface and has been vocalizing itself ever since. And not in a quiet way, I might add.
I recall a planet where the people who were not 'in charge' were housed. Their quarters were similar to bunk houses and their beds were similar to bunk beds. People stacked like firewood.
A whistle so loud it would pierce the ears of God sounded at first light. The people shuffled off to the long, plank tables. They shoveled the morning porridge into their mouths without tasting it. Well, honestly, it had no taste. In a single-file line they shuffled to the mouths of caves. Counted, they were pushed into the darkness. There they labored for a full day, every day, mining for the riches of the earth, the planet. The riches that would then fill the coffers of the 'masters.'
I remember the end like it was yesterday. In a single fell swoop all life was over. The planet fell silent and the morning whistle no longer blew. I remember looking back to see the riches piled upon the ground. They belonged to no one then. They belong to no one now.
The freedom of death treated everyone equally. The 'masters' stood, unclothed, beside the unclothed and weary workers. Death seems to do that. Bring equality where there was none.
I have a more recent memory. Standing in the dimly lit control room, looking out upon the vast beauty of the Universe. A single planet, so beautiful to observe yet so troubled. The power and control of the few might have looked different than the planet where life had died. But, in truth, it was no different. People made rules. Other people followed them. People made decisions. Other people listened to them. People barked orders. Other people obeyed.
I observed that people were assigned numbers. And they were tracked throughout their lifetime. Every move they made could be known, if someone cared to know. They were asked to prove who they were ... time and time again. No move could be made without first proving themselves. What was the reason, I wondered.
A quiet voice at my shoulder advised me that the people were living in a vacuum of repression. Repressing the truth of who they were outside of the prison they had chosen, the reality they had opted to manifest.
"The repression of one's full Truth," the quiet voice went on, "is the cause of anger, pain, fear, and giving one's power away to the lie that they are powerless. No one person has power over another. And yet that certainly is the way it appears."
"How does this continue?" I asked. "And what can be done to end it?"
"The key here is self-responsibility. If every person took the responsibility of his or her own Truth into himself, the full awareness of who they truly are would surface within them. The realization that every person is an aspect of Divine Infinity and no one person has the permission of Infinity to control another. No one soul would harm another. People are controlled by fear. If people stop harming each other, fear would subside. If fear subsides, the need to control as well as the ability to control would begin to dissipate."
It all made so much sense to me then, as I stood gazing upon the distant beauty of the planet. It all seemed so simple. All it would take, I remember thinking, is for people to remember that they are Divine Aspects. They would stop harming each other. The fear would stop. Giving one's power away to the people who were capitalizing on the fear would stop. The lies that were used to control people would stop. Well, I could go on but I'm sure you see my line of thinking.
Ahhhh, the innocence we stand in when we first gaze upon what, from a distance, seems to be a problem that is easily fixed.
Well, you know what I mean. I'm certain you do.
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