Continuing with the word, Honor

The Future of Consciousness

Honor, when I look at this word, honor, the words arm (as a verb), armor, shield and coat of arms come up. While I do have an idea why these words come up and I want to write this out, I’m also somewhat resistant to write it. It’s almost as though in writing this out, the mystique that I’ve attached to this point and defined myself by for so long could all disappear, leaving me with… Not yet a clean slate, but another step taken in the direction of undefining myself. So I now see how I had misused and abused the word, honor, and as a knowing I get it or at least I think I get it. However, I’m  still going to write this out, just to kind of like get it out of me. Besides, everything else that I started writing this week turned out to be but pages of words winding round as though I were coming to a conclusion, only to find myself in the same old infinity trap - right is wrong, good is bad, you are me and everything is actually ONE AND THE SAME - which I’m pretty sure is actually the case with existence, except for the file number, coordinates or signature of each one’s location-point/awareness/perspective or viewpoint. That’s why there’s never been and never will be any escape from here: you can never escape what you are,  leaving all with no choice but to change who/how we are.

A long long time ago, I guess about 46-47 years ago when I was about 8, 9 or 10, I remember walking on the road near my home in a small town called Chester New Jersey. I was angry (in a spoiled bratty way) that I would be disrespected and mistreated to such an extent as to be placed in such a poor (financially speaking) family, that was also kind of broken. With a mother who had five other children besides me to look after and certainly didn’t feel the need to cater to my every whim, I felt not only very out of place, but also very vulnerable, exposed, trapped and alone. In looking at myself, my mother, my brothers and sisters, it was as though a mistake had been made. For I could see of our stature (for lack of a better word) that we  just did not fit into the lower class theme that we were in. Honestly, even back then, I really just wanted a normal life, to feel safe and secure and (in looking back) I guess I could also say, to not have to fight for everything.

It’s strange because this particular memory of me complaining to the voices in my head also seems to be merged with another prominent memory of me asking how we got here. And I kind of like this story (of  me imagining a big blue blob that decided to separate into a gazillion pieces, go fourth in the search for more and eventually return) because many years later I would connect  that blue blob with additional dots of information to build upon in my search for answers. Actually, I still do quite enjoy gathering information,  discarding  the non-essential bits (perhaps those which don’t fit my story line - lol) and storing it in an effort to piece together bit by bit the story of our existence. However, I’ve also begun to realize that the real challenge or real story is not going to be written based on finding answers out there, but in creating them within and as ourselves, as “all” that is here by changing ourselves to change what is here. As a side note,  Eqafe.com is an awesome place to go for perspectives on questions from The Secret History of the Universe to Demons in the Afterlife for  those who want answers and the tools to find or create them.

So in continuing looking inwords into myself, I really felt that I was far far too high of a being, spirit or soul (whatever it was I called myself back then) to have been placed in such a lowly situation. It was beneath me, dishonoring and downright insulting as far as I was concerned, even as a child. Which, as an adult, begs the question, how and why would I even come up with such notions?

The next point that comes up in relation to this point of honor is of certain recurring dreams that I used to have as a child. Perhaps I also viewed certain dreams back then as though they were memories; I think I  did, for I still do to an extent. The essence of these dreams (as with most of my dreams back then) were violent, very violent. All around me it seemed as though a sea of red clothed bodies were just hacking away at other bodies attempting to avoid being hacked and chopped up by battle axes, blocking the attacks with our shields, thrusting with our swords and just hacking and hacking away. And you couldn’t just hack once, you had to do it again and again and then on to the next. It felt like I had to fight so hard, every once of strength had to be utilized and every move was a struggle just to stay alive. There wasn’t fear, there wasn’t anger, just complete focus on fighting. From these dreams and of course all the other information that I absorbed like a sponge, when I would look at the point of previous lives, I just assumed (and believed that I had always been a soldier and was very good at what I did.

The next point that comes up is the family coat of arms that I grew up with (see below). I found a picture of it on the internet and although the color hues are different than the one that was hanging in the playroom of my childhood home, it’s the same one.  The crane symbolizes vigilancia or vigilance. As the legend or story goes (as per my mom and my memory of the story she once told or wrote about), the cranes on the banks of the Nile river would sound the alarm whenever a Nile crocodile was approaching, hence the symbolism of vigilance I guess. The stone it appears to be holding is also symbolic; however, I don’t seem to have a memory for that one yet.  The reason I say “yet” is because I’m fairly certain I could probably pull one up, make one up or imagine something that sounds reasonable, lol, really.  In the absence of truth as an understanding of the standard by which to measure one’s understanding of everything else, is there really any certainty or understanding of anything at all? 

The castle walls behind the crane refer to the castle of Carini, Sciliy and it’s still there. The thing is (and I’m not sure whether this was before, during or after my mother’s many words on the subject of my father’s family history) I also had quite a few dreams involving a castle or what seemed to be a big house or fortress made of big rocks. Some of those dreams had to do with treachery, betrayal and an unforgiving code of honor, which until several years ago, as part of my personal process, I had not forgiven myself for and even lived in fear of reliving that horror - that I had experienced in my dream, which I believed was possibly a memory. All because of what; the sins of the fathers (as a form of DNA based memories), my mother’s stories of my father’s lineage, the heaven existence fucking with me, or has it all just been of my imagination?  

The red cloak is of course it’s a reference to Roman patronage. As the story goes, as I’ve interpreted it, the family were very good fighters, distinguishing themselves to such an extent that they were given a castle and princedom for their service to Rome. Furthermore, when I look into that red helmet and the emblem surrounding it, it’s as though another line of imagination (also connected to dreams and other information as dots of information) begins to emerge going back beyond the current human timeline to a time when creatures (human-like but not like we are now) also roamed the earth. Btw, in one of my dreams, I remember going down the stone stairs into the basement (or whatever it’s called) of a castle and hiding a ring and some other stuff behind one of the stones in the wall.

As a child, I didn’t just have dreams of fighting in Roman wars, I also had dreams time and time again of nuclear holocaust, devastation the likes that Hollywood wasn’t even able to depict back in those days. I guess I could have read about that kind of stuff in books, but I don’t think that’s where the information came from because if it was, I would have location points (of origin) connecting to those dots or information.

There’s no way (that I’m aware of) to really be certain what of the past ever actually manifested in physical reality, what was of pure energy and was perhaps a mix of substance and energy intertwined or interwoven to give us what we call physicality. I’m not even certain exactly why I’m writing this out now. I guess it’s to better understand or comprehend how and why I came to define honor as the armor or coat of arms that I had to protect in return for the protection I believed it afforded me - something like that.

So an interesting thing just happened, especially given all this talk about dreams. I took a break for about an hour and a half to have my regular afternoon nap. Yea, these days, I usually have a nap in the afternoon for about 40 minutes to 1 ½ hours. And just before waking, I found myself in my childhood home talking with my older brother Jim, my older sister Trish and my younger brother Paul. Then suddenly I said to them: something’s not right here, mom sold this house a long time ago and she’s no longer with us, gone to the other side, crossed over, so this can’t be real. Then I started explaining, this can’t be the physical reality, it must be a dream. And just as I was saying that sentence, I looked for one of my brothers and he was gone. Oh c'mon, I said. For even as I was calling out the dream for being a dream, a part of me still viewed it as reality and wanted it to be so. The others also disappeared and then I woke up.

In writing this out, it's not about the definitions of myself being right or wrong, but about writing them all out of myself in order to decide what to keep, what to discard and what to redefine. I’ll finish up this post here and most likely continue on the subject in another posts.