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Other Dimensions.
Experiences and lessons. By a daughter of the Merciful One Antigravity A dream of impending danger seems incongruent with the secure and supportive homelife of a young girl. Periodically, however, the dream recurred. Scenarios changed, but the ending remained the same. Just when peril was imminent, I would levitate. In the city where I had just been opened, I found a job in a finance office. My desk was contiguous with desks of the assistant manager on one side and the manager on the other, who liked to pleasure himself with cigars. I found my duties unpleasant, made more so by oxygen deprivation from smoke clouds. One stressful day, "imminent peril" mode was triggered. Only a small amount of energy was needed to propel me to the ceiling and safety. Down below I could see myself doing something, but what? Mercifully, employment was terminated; severance pay eased the disappointment of failure and provided temporary support. Henceforth, unprovoked levitation came as a surprise walk on air. It could be disconcerting, but no one else seemed to notice anything unusual had just taken place. Then, the energy gradually subsided. It's diminished version remained to signal an upcoming journey or important change, a more useful asset. Eventually, it disappeared altogether, replaced by other modes of receiving as they developed. - - - - - High Voltage The amount of energy for launching me into space far exceeded that required for levitation. The intensity would build rather quickly, ending with a sharp snap lasting only a nanosecond. Truthfully, I'm not sure exactly where I went, but astral travel provided unique and intriguing adventures. On a very memorable trip I entered blue and white ice caves where I observed myself standing on sheets of brilliant ice, clothed in a garment of flowing blue fabric. I say memorable because upon returning from the ice caves I couldn't enter my body. Spinning rapidly around the room on my head like a top was most unpleasant and unsettling. Travel would be safer if I were to take a detour so, whenever energy began to surge, I prayed "Only if it's God's will." The energy might stop, but sometimes it didn't. Living in a New Age Community town, I'm aware of the many persons who come seeking the door to astral projection and other practices, but danger lies in the desire to remain in certain cycles of experience. Bapak's reference to getting "stuck" may well apply here. All that is really needed to continue our spiritual journey is a willingness to surrender. The journey will carry us onward according to our needs. - - - - - How Are You? Mother had passed away while I was in college in the mid-1960s. She had been an extraordinary parent in quiet ways, unnoticed and unappreciated by me at the time. Eager to get out into the world, I flew away as soon as possible and distanced myself from her concern. Actually, I had never rallied to her needs in times of distress. The guilt from this haunted me. At her funeral I stood by the open coffin, touching her face while I spoke. "I was no help to you in this life, perhaps I (my latihan) can help you in the next." To continue with the story, intervening years had passed and I now belonged to a group whose members liked to observe Ramadan. On this particular night, we listened to a tape in which Bapak spoke about the effect of latihan on our ancestors and the possibility of knowing their present state. Mother crossed my mind and I wondered how she was. As I slept that dawn, energy stirred me awake. I saw Mother standing near my bed looking beautifully alive---wearing the same blue and white dress I frequently wore to latihan! During the moments when our realities blended, she reached out and we joined hands. I experienced it as one normally would in the physical world. Having this experience remains a precious gift for many reasons and I can only say thank You, Merciful One. Thank you, Bapak, for being the Messenger. Ancestral purification seems harsh at times but I'm ever grateful for the clarity, alignment and lifting it brings. Through the clearing of debris, mysteries of the self are revealed and the rightful path forward is illumined. - - - - - The Aztec Connection This is by way of being a cautionary tale, or maybe a campfire ghost story. A new restaurant was under construction, designed to suggest an Aztec or Mayan temple. Expanses of exterior wall beckoned me to create a work of art that would yield financial reward. What could be the subject of a mural? An Aztec codex from the library provided stylistic designs of Aztec gods. I was attracted to one and decided it should be rendered as a large mosaic of brilliantly colored tiles. As colored tiles were painted on a paper pattern, a powerful and engaging image emerged. During one painting session, overwhelming nausea and faintness sent me to bed. It was then he came into view, a white-robed priest with shaven head. He was somehow connected with the mosaic. To avoid future delays, work continued with finished parts covered by cloth. Then one night, I awoke to find myself being instructed about the "sacred art" of human sacrifice...."Stop!" I shouted. Some endeavors seem to pass through periods of difficulty and self-sacrifice, but this was a sacrifice I couldn't abide. What had actually prompted an appearance by the priest? Most likely it was a connection inadvertently made, elicited by the process of bringing the image to life. I subsequently doomed the project to oblivion; mosaic was banished to the inner sanctum of a trash bin. A cleansing latihan should have followed. but instead the story persisted. Fast-forward a few years to another town and state. I am resting on the bed, then suddenly jolted fully awake. There he is again, the white-robed priest with shaven head leaning over me very closely. A white umbilical-like cord extends from the side of his head and is connected to mine. Gasping like I've seen a ghost, the edge of my hand instantly slices through the cord, severing it with a knife's precision. Ever so fast, the priest vanishes, never to be seen again. The best takeaway from this story is, no matter what strange mischief or creepy trouble we provoke, the Subud Connection can handle it. - - - - -- Music Lessons It was near the end of my first year at a college for natural healing arts. Days at school, evenings at work, studies until 2 a.m. or more; repeat. Long bus rides provided opportunities for sleep. One morning on the way to classes, I was napping when my body suddenly came to attention, my head abruptly turned to look out the window. We were passing an antique store and my eyes fixed on a harp in its window. As soon as time allowed, I stopped at the store. It was huge, no proprietor or customers. Approaching the harp, I cautiously reached out and touched a string with my finger. The harp had a beating heart! It's rhythm was identical to mine. The floor began to throb in sync. Then, the entire building started shaking and shuddering. Terrified, I ran outside, truly believing the structure was collapsing into rubble and I would be liable for its demise. I finished the school year and began music studies at a university. Eventually I started saving for a harp by keeping a small amount of "seed money" from each paycheck and soon the right harp came to me in another chain of unlikely events. The priciest instrument of the orchestra was in my hands. The most amazing gift was that, while at the harp playing, heretofore separate inner and outer lives reached a harmonious agreement, becoming a kind of duet. In time, the perception of oneness extended into other areas of life. During studies in music education, I learned that the arts in public schools used to be called "aesthetic education." Aesthetic, as opposed to anaesthetic. One feels awake. Any endeavor, when done well, qualifies as an art. By grace, it possesses content capable of touching all within reach and we are further gifted with unexpected and refreshing inspirations. - - - - - From Everywhere to No Where After churning bed covers for several hours during a night in the mid-1960s I gave up the fantasy of sleep and shuffled through the dark to the living room. I sat down and looked up to see a man standing across the room facing me. His presence seemed normal in every way. He stepped aside and a movie began showing on the wall. An immense and endless flood of people kept passing by, people with no homes, no country, not knowing where they would find safe rest or the necessities of life. A girl of mixed race, about twelve years old, stopped and stared at me for a long time as the ocean of humanity continued moving toward an unknown shore. A world map replaced the movie. The visitor moved his finger around the boundaries of various countries, locating sites of future alterations initiated by mass migrations. Today, one in ninety-seven people world-wide is displaced; one third of them are children. More than ever before, they are now arriving on our shores. Each morning and evening I offer a prayer of gratitude for the latihan, the many blessings and gifts, for all that I have and am able to do. It is a prayer deeply felt but also inspired by remembering the desperate multitudes subsisting on meager provisions or none at all. - - - - - Robots We Are Not This experience began with a complete concentration of energy in the eyes. At first, visibility was obscured by a mass of tiny pixel-like dots rapidly moving in the lenses. When they settled to form a picture, I entered directly into the vision and found myself hiding in a culvert. A small, round robotic machine approached. It was a drone, but at that time the public knew nothing about their existence. The machine had two forward-facing lenses with facial recognition capability, a more recent product of modern technology. It carried one machine gun to scale. We stared at each other but I was not the target and it moved away with UFO agility. On a grassy slope, playing children lined up behind a larger person who protected them from seeing or being seen. The vision ended at that point, but the story is "to be continued," written and directed by Future Actions of Mankind. All around us, lower forces are seething out of control in frightening displays of chaos. Within ourselves, however, they have no dominion, a gift of grace. We peacefully tend our work in the world while continuing to practice the spiritual training. Many of us have experienced latihan energy reaching far into the world. It remains available simply for the asking, for all of mankind. - - - - - |
My Mother
By Anonymous After attending Sunday morning Latihan today, I drove to my ex-wife's place for lunch. When I arrived, she told me that she'd been very aware that while cooking for me, my mother --who died in 2014 --was with her and Mum had gently guided the cooking so that the intended ingredients were put together in a different way to what she had intended. Ramadhan has just ended and for some of us thoughts turn to the ancestors. She said that this morning she'd prayed for seven generations of her own ancestors to be freed, lifted and blessed, (those were the words she'd used) but she hadn't thought about my ancestors until she started cooking for me. Then apparently she could not stop thinking about my mother and offered up a prayer for her. My wife asked me what the meaning of my mother's strong presence might be, so I went to the sitting room to receive about this. Suddenly, it came very strongly to me: My mother was being reborn NOW! I burst into tears and sobbed very shaken by the experience. Never was a mother more neglected by a son, yet never was a mother more loved. I wasn't allowed to ask where she was being born, but later on it just came to me that she was a black baby, born to parents in the capital of Zimbabwe. As the eldest son, I'd made all the arrangements for her burial in England, had said the Jewish prayers at her grave and it had all felt settled. She'd lived for 94 years, I knew where she was buried, but now her spirit has popped up again! I just never expected to have such an unsettling experience. I pray that she is blessed and is given much love in her new life. - - - - - Altered State By Anonymous During the last week of Ramadan, for the first time in ages, I read a whole Bapak talk, and the effect was mind-blowing - not because of the words themselves but because of the essence. The effect was huge, obliterating the personal self and ransporting me into an immense realm. For an hour or two afterwards, I could only sit in a totally spaced-out place. I still felt echoes of it the following morning. More mundanely, for some time now I have been subject to constant sickness, to which I respond by praying, "God, God, God." In the talk in question (86 CDK 6) Bapak says, "It's like someone who is sick. Sickness is said to be a blessing, a reward. That's strange, you may say, how can sickness be a reward? Well, if a human being were not given illness, hewouldn't remember God. But when a man is sick, he remembers God. Only, don't wait until you are sick before you remember God!" When I shared this with a friend, she told me that a rumour went around years ago that a man complained to Bapak about being covered with boils, to which Bapak replied, "If you knew the reason you had boils, you would pray for more boils." - - - - - Ancient Healing Tradition By Anonymous During Latihan, my deceased grandfather came to my husband and told him the following: That I carry within me an ancient healing tradition. That inwardly I'm carrying a wise Sufi tradition forward; reviving the inner contet of it, through the Latihan. That in the past it was killed off by rigid, theological fundamentalism. That this ancient tradition is from before Islam and goes right back to Eden, where it originated. - - - - - Parallel Universes By Abdurrachman Mitchell I have now read Other Dimensions by “a daughter of the Merciful One” three times. She mentions the coming together of Inner unaccountable experiences which are later understood by unfolding life experience. I relate to that, although many times it seems that I am living in several parallel Universes where I frequently go to places in my dreams which I do not recognise in my "Outer "life. I no longer seem to fly in my dreams as I used to. In those times I would see bruises on my thighs in the morning as I had confirmed the "reality" of the dream by pinching myself. The more intense the sense of bliss in me the higher I went into the sky. Much of which she writes is an illustration of "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'' and is all part of the Human Story. We do like however to be heard, listened to and our truth acknowledged by another human being if not several. In my mind there is no doubt that my journey is a long one with constant corrections of the same weakness and mistakes in my character. Wherever we are in our journey, it feels right to feel equal to others, neither above or below, although others may be wiser, more generous, happier than one's Self or just the opposite. - - - - - A Helping Hand By Robert Saunders A recent edition of ‘Reminders of Reality’ featured an experience of the ammara nafsu as a personified form with a felt presence. It was shown to be fierce and frightening; something that when unacknowledged or misused has negative impacts on oneself and others. Once I had an experience relating to the positive side of such a presence within us. I think that every kind of will (including patience and willingness to let go) must be a quality innate to one of the sukmas or subtle bodies that Bapak and Ibu Rahayu mention in some talks. Specifically, the ammara nafsu must belong to one’s black-coloured subtle body. In Javanese mysticism there are said to be five subtle bodies within each of us that are described as being black, red, yellow, white and brown respectively. The black one relates to ‘earth’ (one of the four or five ‘elements’ discerned by many cultures around the world). I see these classical elements as being one way of articulating awareness of different life forces in worldly contexts. As such, the earth or black body must be formed of a substance or aspect of the spirit of life that Bapak refers to as the satanic or material life force. The previous writer’s experience supports Bapak’s claims about the visual appearance of the will that comes from that level of life within us. I think my small experience likewise supports Bapak’s claims that there are indeed subtle bodies within us. My experience was of the black ‘sibling’ that is one part of my worldly being. It happened during a latihan. I saw my arm reaching out and shaking hands with a man who was doing the same towards me. His skin, unlike any human skin, was pure black, and it lacked any of the warm or cool tones that human skin naturally has. I could not see all of him or all of myself. I could only see his forearm and hand and my own forearm and hand. I noted with surprise that his arm and hand were, apart from the colour, identical in every respect to my own pale pink arm and hand. That was the extent of my short experience! As a greeting, shaking hands is a ritual show of mutual trust and respect. It can also be used to seal a business deal for the same reason. I regard this vision as an introduction to this part of myself being a valuable co-worker in negotiating the world in a right and orderly fashion. I relate it to needing, at that point in my life, to develop tenacity and a grounded power to work hard. - - - - - Mardijah Replies to Robert Mertens By Mardijah Simpson Thanks for the latest Reminders – see left hand column of page 88 of the website - wonderful to read Robert's story. I well remember our stay with him and his family on our tour of the Subud World prior to the 1998 World Congress. Robert's account of how the money to get to Australia materialised made me recall how Ramdhan and I got to the UK Congress at Anugraha in 1983. I remember we really wanted to go - I had not been back to England since we migrated (on Bapak's advice, in 1970). However we had modestly paying jobs as community workers and five children. Backtrack to some years earlier when Ramdhan had been Australian Committee Councillor and travelled with Leonard Parker, the Kedjiwaan Councillor, all around Australia. This included visiting an isolated member, an older guy, who had a gold prospecting licence in a small Queensland town. The mine seemed to be just a big hole where he could be winched down in a bucket to reach the ore body. Bapak had been inspiring many of us to support or start enterprises and Leonard took up promoting this little gold project. Ramdhan asked if he could have $100 worth of investment and if he could pay it off in instalments (our money was so tight). Leonard agreed - it transpired he put aside $200 for the Simpsons. It took a while to pay off but we did. Years passed. The value of the shares seemed to be about 5c per dollar. I used to tidy our papers and wondered if we should chuck the gold shares. Ramdhan said we should keep them. More years passed then suddenly the world gold market started to boom. It would have been around 1982. We were checking out the price of air tickets to England. Leonard had kept the business side of the gold going and let us know he had received a good offer to buy out the company. We booked our tickets. The gold market continued to boom. Leonard then advised us an even better offer had been made. The remaining few investors all said "Yes - accept". So we did and got paid out in excess of $7,000. We were able to finalise our Congress arrangements, hire a Subud friend to come and stay with the children, plus pay our Congress booking fees and the airline tickets easily, and have a short visit in England. - - - - - |