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Natural Telepaths

Chapter 5, Struggle of Will

Struggle of will was written in the late 1970's. What is interesting is that, while highly abstract, it explains the tale of Helen and Darth in exact details, this ten years before the two met one another (in the spirit) and began their spiritual journey. Perhaps the reader can glimpse Darth's struggle in trying to "seduce" (in a sense) the woman who would become his wife in the spirit. A a Jew, as one with the Holy Ways, to Helen the tale of Jesus as Catholics (and Darth is a Catholic) accept this is childish, and it takes Darth a super human amount of effort to turn this around (let's face it, when two people are young, a young man might move mountains to win the woman he loves, so it is understandable why Darth went to all his effort).  P
 

From Natural Telepaths own version of the Gospels: There are many levels to a human being Some depths may seem shallow, others deeper But in truth shallow and deep can still learn about me Teach at the level a particular person best understands. --- the Holy Spirit (the nature of the soul of God)

YOU have passed through a number of bridges, aware of platforms forming in your wake. (I watched and marveled, can this be a man?). In the East a pale glow and from its depths a shadow glides - silent, menacing, irresistible - and you set your will to seek it, what chance hath a shadow against the power of your mind? You struggle to understand, in vain it seems (and your arrogance dims), tossed and turned by a turbulence of mind, like an eagle who had set his sights suddenly swept by a violent gust of wind - swept without mercy - in vain stretching forth wings, beating the air, searching and grasping for a way to regain flight. You struggle and resist - struggle on and on and on - you refuse to accept I for what I am, why, I wonder? - the eagle on its downward plunge only moments away from the depths of the sea - and then - as you bow and admit defeat (I sense you will, how is this possible, are you a person?) - you are in a circular room sitting on a chair."

At your eye level a large picture. The picture changes as you watch, slowly, perhaps the face of Christ, of St. Paul, of Hitler, or Rockefeller, of Fraud and Jung. You wonder who they were (which one will you choose?), you wonder if you could play their part in another time and place. (Why hesitate? Do you sense I am near?), as you gaze and reflect the wall fills with pictures, of different faces and different times, all at eye level and you note one of the pictures is simply a mirror.

With a sudden jerk the floor begins to spin - faster and faster and faster - very fast - an intense force grips and sustains you while you fuse into the will of the face and time and place in the picture - but the picture and scenery changes so often and ever so fast - so very often.  Dizzy and confused, trembling and uncertain, afraid and alone, you sense a pain deep in your heart: your desire is awakening but escaping, fading silently into night - (I give you leave, but your will eludes me? Are you a person? Why hold on? - Is it your Father's seed that makes you so strong? - What do you seek? A mind so fine surely knows what it will find, and her terror is not a joy to behold, and from it none can break) - but your eyes are fixed and fused onto the mirror. As vague as the neigh of a horse in the distant shadows of which you are only dimly aware - you do not know who or what or where - spinning ever faster and faster - the intense force tears you apart limb by limb and your terror reflects in the mirror. Knees tremble and your body decays, the stench of death is the air you breathe and expel, and the spinning stops for a moment and you are tossed in the realm of darkness. Out of the shadows a mighty white stallion neighs and emerges, its rider shoots burning arrows without mercy, each more painful then the last and their piercing no shield dare mask. (Where is your fear? Are you a man?), blood and water pour forth as you touch eternity. Your will fades into empty space and with its last a fleeting glimpse of a crystal bright tear deep in your heart - and a spasm of will brings you back! (Your will, not mine??? How wonderful your ways!)"

The dreaded spin resumes, its sheer velocity curves time and space and rearranges every atom in your mind - you feel the change and in your mind's eye you see atoms form and chain and rearrange - and throws you like a stone by a field of blood.

You crawl away and rise. You are, physically and in your own body - this is no dream - in bare feet, in Ancient Rome. Soldiers walk idly past; a conceited Roman presents an elegant oration to a group of boys sitting still at his feet; a lady of grace whose face is veiled walks past and tosses a beggar a denarii; a General walks past, in his eyes a hint of a mission, his stride determined and sure, his tattered uniform sparks a remark, his lower arms ablaze in invisible light. He bows to the lady and she unveils a smile - (her features so fine and intense she ought to wear a veil!) - and the atmosphere becomes alive like an everlasting trumpet or the melody of a song and its fragrant vibration lifting you to a mountain of light - unfathomable sight - over rivers of blood smearing the pure at heart, and seas of morning dew shimmering and bright - to mountains upon mountains upon mountains - to a forest of green.

(What do you see? What does she?) In its midst a log hut and you enter and meet a companion so charming and sweet, her wooden table laden with fruit from the trees.  She offers you a taste and you wonder in wonder and marvel with marvels at her ways, and you bow - your will not mine. Her reply a smile full of caution, (what does she dread?), and in a playful way she tosses the fruits of the table at you; you duck, laugh, and gently encircle her mind, softening her will, being ever so careful to return fruit of only the same kind. She smiles in delight, ever so slowly she draws near - (she seems uncertain, how can this be?) - long light blue gown sweeping the floor, how elegant her walk and oh how fine her pose! - and stops just short, hands clasped behind, head slightly to the side and a gentle toss of long blond flowing hair, and her eyes half heatedly look away.

"Are you a man?", she conveys the question by the subtle movement of her eyes and you hesitate for a time, and marvel beyond grasp, knowing full well why she had asked, but you can bear it no more and lean and touch her lips - and you are back, wide awake, grateful for a dream.

(You are a man! Now wait - patience - how will she respond? Your will eludes me but her it can not.  Even now, you, daughter, I now speak to, and I grant you leave - consider all this no more than a dream. Her depths you can not grasp; never has a man found a way to her heart; and unless in your heart, you, man, I now speak to, unless you have the spirit of truth in full bloom, there is no way you can make her fall in love with you, and her will only truth can bend, and the fear of her you only dimly glimpse). And the journey goes on and you are as one with her mind and her will and she holds your hand and she lifts you higher and higher still through the luminous tunnels of her will and presents you before a curtain of diamond shaped ports and behind it the glory of a golden Sun! - corona alive and aglow, flares spring forth and entwine, flow and form winged messengers who penetrate deep into your heart and you feel and sense a form of a spirit deep within forming and drawing you to itself - and only her hand in yours saves you from the flame."