090327btcbanner.jpg (10006 bytes)

Bardo training Center News

July 15,1998

More about "The Truman Show"

My friend and I watched it again this weekend. He wondered why the people watching cheered at the end. Interesting question. I said that it intrigued me that they would cheer and then forget almost immediately, wondering what else was on.

I see it as intriguing from the self-delusional aspect of any impression we receive from real Work sources. What I mean is, everyone who sees this show (the movie show) at some level identifies with Truman and wants him to succeed. The movie audience also cheers Truman, just like the TV audience did. Evangelists cheer and laud Jesus’ triumph over Satan. Zen aspirants just love the little stories of enlightenment given by the teachers. In a sense, there is a voyeuristic aspect to it, like when we see a good sports event and see the soccer star score a goal. There is also the   element of catharsis when we see the underdog conquer the bully, or the teenager sees the movie of the nerd who got laid at the end.

But in this case, as in every bardo story with a happy ending, we are affected by the double blinding effect of SEP ("Somebody Else’s Problem" – see Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams). So, for instance, we see the Truman Show, and the first wool that covers people’s vision is the conviction that what they are seeing is fiction: they don’t need to wake up. They are o.k. and thank goodness their lives are not like Truman’s.

The second blinder kicks in when the first one fails. This one tells us that we are indeed like Truman insofar as we find ourselves in his shoes (more or less). But then we also are made to believe that can share in his triumph. So that when he breaks free, in a sense so have we. Some might come to believe that they have already come to be free. "I know what they are trying to say and I already did that, so I understand Truman and what he represents". This hubris might even lead some people to believe that the story is somehow equivalent to getting out of a bad marriage, surviving a semi-tough childhood, getting a college degree, etc.

The point is, that by the end, you feel a chill down your spine, you feel that something extraordinary just happened, and you are given a dose of "feel good" that makes you feel you had a spiritual experience. And this, of course, becomes a substitute for the real work. In fact, we have received a dose of the real thing, and the more real the dose, the more dangerous it is. These encounters become like vaccines. We are briefly exposed to Work ideas, but only briefly and in controlled environments. Moreover, these ideas have been inoculated and weakened by the appearance of entertainment. Then, a front attack of work realities and possibilities would not affect us, because we have been inoculated.

Just think of some of the people we have worked with. The more they think they know, or the more they feel they have understood or seen, the farther they get from doing work. So, for people like you and me, situations in which Work has to take place are necessary. Situations in which we can see that wonderment and theorizing would only entangle us more deeply into our miserly and chaotic drama. Situations in which the only satisfaction is real Work.

July 14,1998

A point

1:30 a.m. You are at a fashionable night-club full of people dressed for the occasion. Smoke, alcohol, laughter, words, noise. In between the poor light and so many people in there you are not able to see more than one meter in front of you. The dumb-box is blaring-out at a thousand watts. It’s a great whirlwind of voices, looks, laughter, expressions, spasms, nobody can really hear anyone else or even hear themselves. But everything seems to be normal, it’s even funny.

Somebody comes up to me.  The sounds and the images around me disappear. These words are whispered in my ear:

"Whatever it is that’s on the other side of the window, a window is always a window... except in one space".

Then they leave, disappearing in between the people, leaving me speechless.

July 13,1998

Multiple Mood Magnet

I’m not thinking of those creations of the 70’s, those ultimate revealers of your innermost states, the ones you wore on your fingers. It’s not a mood ring kinda thing, dig? It’s more like an invisible magnet that I wear around my neck. It goes with whatever clothes I happen to be wearing and color coordinates effortlessly. Most of the time I am unaware of its presence and see no need to ever take it off.

Then unexpectedly I begin to notice out of the corner of my attention how the magnet is directing my moods. These moods are like little bits of metal, shavings from a much larger machine, and they stick to everything I see. The magnet inhales the dust like a neurotic vacuum cleaner hungry for its next meal. The dust bag is overflowing and yet it fills and fills, there seems to be no end to this. I watch this greedy consumption without distaste, trying to remember what I am seeing.

From moment to moment, from magnetic meal to magnetic meal the electric flow moves on and on. Simulating forward movement but really circling back on itself again and again. The snake eating its own tail, the eternal cycle of death and rebirth, the setting and rising of the sun. And this current comes in a very limited number of flavors, each one tasting a bit like the last. Yet there is never satisfaction, never an end to this hunger.

The moods dissolve into nothingness and are reborn into nothingness. There is attraction and repulsion, action and reaction, and it’s all being moved by this invisible magnet that hangs around my neck. Occasionally the magnet is redirected. The electricity used in a meaningful way. A situation, an event, no sleep, lots of stress, it’s very unpredictable what will vaporize the magnetic mood magnet. All I can say now is that its power of invisibility is wearing a bit thin.

July 12,1998

The Way

A young boy was training at a Zen monastery in Japan. Every day, the students had to come out to the archery range, paint targets all over the place, and then shoot. The teachers would observe this practice day after day.

This young boy, being a smart rascal, devised a method for fooling the teachers. He would wake up half an hour earlier. He would go out into the range, and he would shoot his arrows before anyone else arrived. He would let the arrows fall where they might, without directing them or aiming. After shooting, he would go around and paint targets around the arrows. This way, this little cheater would always get the commendation of his teachers and the envy and admiration of his fellow students when they’d come out and see his perfect aiming.

One day, the head archery master came out and saw the other teachers commending the little boy. He said to the boy: "Let me see you do this again." Without hesitation, the liar took the arrows from the targets. He went back to his initial position, and fired. Each arrow struck the target perfectly in their center. "You’ll join me in my advanced class," said the master.

When his best friend, who knew of the boy shenanigans, asked him how he had pulled it off, the boy answered: "Once on the spot, I realized that the arrows already knew the way."

July 11,1998


Away from me, dark and inert shadows! Your objective is to drown me and to make me believe in whatever interests you. You want me to not get out of here, you want to dominate me, you want to have the security that I won’t be able to escape.

Away from me, dark, inert shadows! You don’t let me see the void nor listen to the silence. You play the same movies before me time and time again and you like to listen to my cries of pain! Yes, you feed on that. If I don’t stop this, I participate in feeding you, and this will not change until I am conscious that with this attitude, I am a puppet, a slave to my own death in life.

Away from me, dark, inert shadows!

July 10,1998

Mall Crawl

While walking through the local shopping mall, it occurred to me that sometimes people walk through these palaces of consumption with the same attitude of reverence with which people once looked upon medieval cathedrals, as though shopping was a central aim in life. Surely, there must be more. But I remember how often I’ve been here, completely involved in the act of shopping and totally unaware of what I was doing, in waking sleep, with no thought of any higher aim or purpose.

After purchasing the item I came here for, I decide to crawl around the mall, observing the movements of my machine and of others. The mall, its shops, and the people in them assume a surreal quality after only a few minutes of deliberate attention. I begin to wonder if I’m having a dream of being in a suburban shopping mall and watching these strange manifestations of human primate behavior. (Imagine what it would be like as an alien anthropologist in an earthsuit, observing the importance of shopping rituals to human primates). The people here certainly look like they’re walking around sleeping with their eyes open. I get the feeling that by looking a bit more closely, perhaps I could perceive some of their dreams.

Or, what if the people shopping here are already dead? (There’s a good horror movie, "Dawn of the Dead," about a few live humans fighting voracious cannibalistic dead zombies in a shopping mall). Perhaps they are dead and don’t know it yet. And what if I’m dead too, this is the Bardo, and I’m only beginning to wake up to that fact? Could one of the stores in the mall lead to a rebirthing station? I wonder if I have to, or want to, take on another human biological machine.

Maybe it doesn’t matter whether I’m in a shopping mall observing my and others’ waking sleep, or in horizontal sleep dreaming of being in a mall, or already dead. Perhaps all of these are true on some level, and there are multiple realities of which I am only vaguely aware. Leaving the cave of the mall and entering the not so clear light of day, I remember the most important of these realities:

We are always already in the Bardo.

July 9,1998

Hey Lady

"Hey lady are you okay?"
I could hear someone asking as if from afar.
Where am I?
"Lady,  you will have to leave your coat at the check stand."
The young man at the door with the supermarket apron begins to walk towards me. The man with one sleepy eye at the check stand looks at me with concern and then looks back at the man walking towards me. The companion I’m sure I walked in with is lost into the maze of gray isles in the store.
"Sorry lady but you will have to empty everything out of your pockets."
I look at him confused by his request, but not being able to respond through the fog that clouds my thoughts,  I begin to do as he requests.
How did I get in this store? Where was I before I got here? What am I doing here?
"I will have to confiscate all these items, Miss."
I am finally able to spit out a response.
"You will have to leave these items here miss."
"These are my things I brought them with me I’ve just walked in I haven’t taken anything from this store."
The young man signals to two guards dragged by two vicious looking dogs on leashes. I look around helplessly for my companion. When the guards reach me they grab me by the arms with a grip that threatens to break my bones. The dogs bark viciously showing their sharp fangs. At the first sign of struggle the dogs launch at me fangs sinking into my flesh they begin to rip me apart. The pain is blinding I yell helplessly for my companion but he is to far away. The dogs are ripping my stomach open.
Blinding flashes of red and black splash into my eyes. I scream.
The world goes black.
"Lady are you okay?"
"Hey lady are you okay?"
I open my eyes.
A man is looking at me through the car window. I am sitting in a parked car waiting for my companion who has gone into a store. I can feel the sharp pain still in my stomach. The man still looking at me through the window with concern looks familiar.
Is this another dream?
How did I get here?
What am I doing here?

July 8,1998

A Day in the Life…

I remember something. Well, no, actually, no I don’t. I kind of remember something. That is, something is happening, I think. This is weird. I must look at this carefully…must not let this go by so easy. Let’s see here…where am I?

I’m in a small, square room, in the right-hand side corner opposite the only wall with a door and a window. The walls are painted with some sort of creamy, yellowish, mustard-y paint (actually, the whole atmosphere/mood in the room/chamber seems/feels yellowish/mustard-y). On the ceiling, an old police-questioning-room-type of lamp hangs, and it holds a semi-dim yellow lighted light bulb. It hangs right above a small table that holds bread, rice, fish and other food, four dinner plates and four glasses with water, some napkins and utensils. Four big, sweaty, hairy men – one of them my father – seat at the small table on wooden stools, and the table looks ridiculously small for them – with their knees rising over the table top and their backs hunched-over their plates and food as they patiently eat their meal. There’s also a woman dressed in a white gown – that’s mom! She stands on the opposite side of the table from me, in front of the window, looking over the men who eat.

The only other piece of furniture in that room is a big, heavy, two-door, brown cabinet that stands right in front of me, next to the door, against the wall opposite mine. And in the corner closest to mom, the most curious thing in the room: a black sheet of some sort covering a bunch of weird and curious metal sticks – and I have a feeling I’ve seen those things before, although I don’t know where or when.

The room is warm and stuffy – my five-year old body perspires. The door and window closed. I stand butt-naked, sucking on my thumb. The men eat strangely and slowly, as if they were paying special attention to the act of bringing the food up to their mouths and then ever more intense attention to how they chew and swallow. They never eat like this – they just bite and swallow. And they’re never so quiet – always laughing and screaming.

But their minds are not in their meal at all – I can tell. Their eyes tell me that they’re in another world, dreaming. Their minds traveling into unknown lands way before their time, trying desperately to look for a clue, for a way out of whatever it is that they’re about to face. The men are scared but they’re no cowards – they’re committed to holding and defending their ground.

And mom, she’s scared too. She looks at me as if too say: "You poor thing. I’m so sorry you have to go through this…but you’ll make it, baby. I know it, you will." She looks at me and she holds me in her loving embrace as she does. As the tears run down her cheeks she says: "After the terror, you’ll remember that it is all a dream, my baby."

Then, just as she says that, the ground shakes; no, the whole room shakes. Table dancing and bouncing on the wooden floor; food, plates and glasses diving straight for the floor; and wooden stools flying across the room in all directions (one missing me by an inch!) as the four men jump up onto their feet.

Two of ‘em pick the cabinet up and drop it in front of the door in a flash. The other two turn the table over on its side and place it against the window – which is so close to the ground that even I could climb over it with out a problem – as the glass shatters all over their faces – again, in a flash and all at once.

Mother screams…so I scream. One of the men dashes to the corner behind mom, uncovers the metal sticks, and begins tossing them to the other three. As he reaches down to grab a metal stick of his own, and as mom turns to run towards me, the table explodes and bursts into flames. Mom is violently thrown against the wall, as if she were a rag doll. The roar of the explosion leaves me deaf and the smoke leaves me blind.

From within the midst of the black smoke I can see the flashes of light and hear the blasts of the metal sticks that the three other men have. They curse and scream. More explosions, so loud I cannot hear my self. The heat intensifies. Thousands of miniature meteorites come flying my way, and as I duck, I feel them passing right through the walls behind me. Then, a body slams itself against mine, and I fall to the ground, with half of my dad’s body (top half) on top of me.

The blinding, choking smoke now clearing, I’ve managed to push dad’s top-half off of me. The heat is intense, the smell strong and unpleasant. Everything seems red now – the blood drenched bodies, the clearing smoke, the walls, and my hands.

Everyone’s dead. Pieces of bodies laying all over. I see hands, arms, legs, guts, heads, and pieces of gooey brains covering the floor. My own body covered in blood like the floors and the walls. I lift my self up, unto my feet, looking at my bloody palms, butt-naked like always.

The noise is gone but not the buzzing in my ears. The smoke has cleared but not my teary eyes. There is no fear but there is a knot in my throat and I seem to be paralyzed – I will not move.

I look at the blood on my palms (something is happening). The watery substance is trying to tell me something (there’s something to remember, try!). Light reflecting off of it tries to remind me of something (but what? What is it?). I look intensely at it; the redness takes me deeper into the essence of my situation, and then I remember!

I look up, and there, with one foot in the room and the other on the other side of the now broken window, holding a huge metal stick, a burlesque smirk and a mischievously evil look, is Bruto, looking straight at me!

You! It is you! It is you who I’ve been talking to all this time, you whom I’ve been trying to remember – isn’t it? Yet you never talk to me. You always come for me, always when I’m so young, always just smiling, with your gun. Why are you always here, at this point in my life? Why do you always come for me?

You look into my eyes, straight into my very soul (I look back at you). You smile (I just look). You approach (I step back). You lift you gun and aim at me (I lift my arms and cover my head). Your finger moves; the trigger clicks…and I see the light...

Something is happening today, I don’t know what – just like a funny feeling in my gut, a once forgotten memory trying to come back. What is it? What?

July 7,1998

The Dead King with the Crown on his Chest, next to his crying son

Bright eyes
Watching a child cry at dusk.

Innocent smile
Through the passionate cry.

A hearing that can listen
The Song of the Stones

What more do you want, Woman?
Say now
That my hands are willing
To sweat and to lock your heart in a case
Carved in silver and olive stones
Open yourself.

Sing your Wanting?
I hammer in a thousand nails
In my body and some with thorns
To not forget it,

What more do you want, Woman?
I’ll now be a bird singing on a tree for you,
Or if you like, only water in between
You hands,
Reflecting for an instance
The last sun rays coming together
With the first star of the night

What more do you want, Woman?

The last
Of the warrior
Because already everything is mine,
My Beloved Father already gave it to me.

The first bewitched verse,
Of the last manuscript
Rescued from the old papers
Of a Strange Object Importer

July 6,1998

Dow Jones Got Some Pillow Tonite

The messages are everywhere. The one in the title was seen on a pillar at the Bus Station. Your guess is as good as mine as to what it might mean. When we start looking out of our tiny tunnel of reality we begin to see these messages everywhere. Messages that point backwards and forwards in time and yet reference the same place over and over.

In a movie you could take it as "planned" when the hero sees a billboard and realizes the 20 foot high message is for him. It’s in the "script". If we were to take the same perspective on our lives, as actors on a three-dimensional, tactile, sensory stimulated stage, then maybe the "script" would begin to reveal itself to us. Maybe the messages that sit right in front of us would slowly become visible. The words taking shape and vibrating with the life of our newly discovered attention and perspective.

As inhabitants and ultimate creators of the dream we find ourselves in, we are bound to leave a few million messages and not so subtle hints to remind us of our present situation. Before fully entering this dream of life there may have been moments when we scattered messages like stardust throughout the time track of our lives. The only requirement for noticing these messages is attention and a desire to look beyond the dream.

Look ahead in your own "script", go ahead, take a peek, you’ll see there’s a message waiting for you out there today. It’s up to you whether or not you’ll see it. Nobody else can see it for you. Nobody but you.

July 5,1998


When I first arrived at the holy planet purgatory , my automatic system of mechanic defense reactions was on alert, it felt threatened. Because in this place there was no space for negative manifestation, or at least everybody who lived there  worked on this constantly. I understand that this was necessary to create a strong and sincere work mood.

The disposition towards work is very strong in this planet, towards daily chores as much as to the people that, because of a lack of a strong development, are roaming lost around the planet Earth. Here people don’t sleep, they are available most of their time. This attention they have developed through voluntary efforts allows them in some way or another to have a wider outlook on ordinary people. They produce a large amount of a certain substance: a necessary aliveness for maintaining the universe harmonious with the laws imposed by our COMMON FATHER OF OURS, THE CREATOR OF ALL AND EVERYTHING. They consequently develop their own potential and thus become useful.

Because, being useful, sincere commitment of one’s self to "something", opens doors,  it’s necessary that we carry out our mission according to the plans of our COMMON FATHER THE CREATOR.

In the end I understand that this HOLY PLANET PURGATORY   is only for those who want to be what they are. And even if in some way or another this is natural, it costs great effort, too much. Most don’t want it and can’t do it.


July 4,1998

The End of Independence

There are mice in the dim lit kitchen,
Mice in the kitchen!!
They want the cheese
They’re cool, they’re small and furry
With small and sharp white teeth
Running quickly around and then hiding
How cute!!

But there is no choice
They’re mice in the kitchen
And they want the cheese.

I have a cat

I have a four legged cat,
With sharpened claws and long whiskers
He guards the cheese in the kitchen
I found him next to a river
We are friends
Now he lives in my house.


There are mice in the dim lit kitchen
They want the cheese.
A cat’s eye looking a mouse’s eye
Now he lives in my house.

July 3,1998


I have waited until the sun sets to call you. I will be here until morning. Ready for the encounter. I have seen the winter shadows, they’re already there. We have little time left, but I will wait until the morning. Afterwards everything will have ended. Nobody will know about our encounter, for in that hour everyone sleeps. Everyone except you, who are always there. Everyone except you who always remains.

Up until now I always found the crossroads closed…

Two words haunt my head at this moment: ANNIHILATION and BEING. How strange, where do those voices come from? Of course, now I understand, annihilation in the being! That’s it! Annihilation in the being, by the being and for the being!

The door opens. A guy a bit strange but familiar at the same time welcomes me. Something is happening, but I can’t describe nor define what. When I looked into his eyes I felt a sudden cold shiver in all of my body. He was in front of me, and apparently he was coming towards me. But there was something disturbing about his stare. It was cold and distant. Simply, he would not focus his eyes on me nor in anything around him. It was as if his stare was directed towards the void or as if it was lost in it.

As if he had been reading my thoughts, he answered me and said to me that actually, it was there were we were going, to the void. But he told me also that before passing and continuing, I should pick three characters which later on would serve to represent something that I yet do not understand. It did not matter what sort of character I chose. These characters would be useful whenever I was back in the world of the phenomenal. He also told me that one of the functions of these characters was to serve me as a suit or dress, because if I didn’t do so, when back in this world, I would feel completely naked, cold and helpless – destined to wonder without direction in nobody’s earth.

"And even though, essentially, once you are there, you’ll see that there isn’t, and that there never was, anywhere to go, and that nothing is there to do."

You will use these characters to represent the Experience of Transition – which will, ideally, be renovated, with the help of their actions. These characters are not real (in the sense that they come from the nothing and that they try to represent the nothing). In and of themselves they are nothing; they are only tools such as actors or characters that you’ll use to represent the annihilation of the Being, and at the same time it is they who will somehow use you to represent said drama. Never will you fixate your sight nor you attention in the results, for you’ll be lost if you do so. Let them take care of the work. Let it be so. All that is asked of you is to be conscious of each part of said process. Specially in the moments of attraction and repulsion, which is definitely where you will encounter the most difficulty in remembering that your function is to be an spectator of a game of phenomena and illusions created by your own mind. Within these three characters, you should be able to anchor and fixate the habits that should take you to the ONE – far beyond any desire, any attraction or rejection.

July 2,1998


The great council of chatterbox is gathering. One of them gets up and, taking out of his left sleeve a papyrus, starts to say something that goes like this:

Welcome foreigners. We know you have had a long trip, we also know why you have come here. We knew all this before you were born. So, my children, listen carefully to these words we're going to give you, so that you can take a non-conditioned decision on what is your role here.

You arrived from the southwest and landed in a small town, "HUMAN STUPIDITY PREVAILS EVERYWHERE", and there you were in contact with our representatives, beloved children of ours! After a brief investigation, we were informed about you: Worthy gentlemen able to take our standard. So then we wanted to know you personally. After a few hours in contact, our witch and priestess, PATH, came up to you and said: "You have to go back to this place to help our representatives in the H.S.E., and I think it's your duty to bring all your strength together and form a greater group, stronger, ever stronger, and with a capacity to bring to life necessary elements for human development.

But careful, it's not all about just getting together and doing this or the other job. There is a specific work to be done, we'll send this depending on your efforts: the necessary work, as your real impulse to development integrates in yourself. It's necessary now to unify, each and everyone has find their role. Not only the ones who have just arrived, I mean everyone. May be there is a need to re-structure some things. Each one should ask themselves "WHAT DO I WANT TO DO HERE?";answering this question don't be scared to touch your most painful spot, don't pity yourself.


Possibly not everybody will form this new group. Some let this opportunity pass and will want to return to the temporary lethargy state, or others will take part, and others that, even when their efforts are sincere, still some incompatibility will make them continue searching for their position in our triangle (our teaching), or it's possible that you will make another group in the same place, and all of them must work together, but every group will have their specific work. They will be able to work wherever they are.....

So, my children, once I have said this, surrender with all your being, go deeper in all this. But, don't forget that it's all written down. We already know what is going to happen. For the time being, in our state-all of you- that'll never change. But for some, it's still not all lost.

He takes a seat and all the chatterbox heads disappear. All that is left is the group, all of a sudden a cloud of thick mist invades the space, nobody can see anything.

A voice says: this is a bardo. All of you are in this situation, in the lowest levels. Come on ladies and gentlemen, there is no time to loose.


July 1,1998

That my words never stop

That my words never stop
That they flow with the wind,
Always in the distance, to the far side,

That they never cease,
That my word echoes in the outer limits of this world
Of all the worlds, in the most inaccessible places,
That my words reach there and beyond

Go, fly with the wind,
Always in the distance,
Go and name what you see

Go, go always farther
Always looking for the horizon,
Watching, looking forever

You, my words, this world
That they never deplete

All is eternal, in the wind always flowing
The words today departed someday shall be back,
And with their timeless voices in my ears
The marvels of creation they shall sing

The creation are Your words
Your voices at play turning infinite into matter
Songs of life, whispers in the wind

Your words are life
That they spring endlessly from my mouth
That through it be Your life flowing
Rivers and rivers, from my mouth,
Your life, Your words

June 30,1998



A "repeat-offence" prisoner of the organic world and of the human dimension has secretly and unexpectedly leaked some very hard to find top secret information out in cyberspace. Indeed and without any doubts, the information you are about to receive is part of a fiercely guarded treasure amongst some cunningly disguised and hidden extra-terrestrials, whose very life could be put in serious danger if the wrong move is made…

"Everybody sleeps once in a while, but it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about how often you fall asleep or for how long. Count only the times when you are awake…"


Work where you are, because "where you are is who you are". Work on self is the beginning work. Start where you are. The "Goals and Aims" workshop is a good starting point. If you’ve never done it before or if you’ve done it many times before, pretend that you never have (cause you haven’t) and do the workshop. It will serve as a "map and traffic-check", a "destination-reminder" and a "mind-clearing" all at once.

Do the popcorn exercise (place you attention on your moving center for as long as you are able and as many times as you can during the rest of your life) and a little "Zen Basics" ("touch a rock") to strengthen your will of attention.

How about your diet? Begin there and work with that too, if you want. Work on how to replenish your body, your mind, and your spirit with precious life-energy by learning how to be present and attentive during the cultivation, picking, preparation, and consumption of food and during the after-eating clean-up process (very important).

What else do you think I should work on?

Work on turning some hobby or skill of yours, something you like and enjoy, in to a Work-aim. What I mean is that you should pick something you like to do and turn it into a sacred space, into an activity that benefits another. Any activity that you enjoy will do – like acting, dancing, singing, painting, designing Web sites, building miniature train models, playing the maracas, playing baseball or, even better, playing Dungeons & Dragons.

How you do that?

Well, that’s a good question. Unfortunately, all I can say is that (1) you must be willing to go farther than you ordinarily would – for which you will have to somehow attain, perhaps through extraordinary and esoteric methods and with the help of a school (as in "school of fish") of Workers, the necessary discipline. And (2) you must be willing to sacrifice it (because you’ll have to) for the sake of the Work (which can only happen if you are really willing and ready to give your very life to and work for the benefit of another).

Now remember: this top secret and fiercely guarded knowledge leaked by the "escaped sleeping machine" is available here, in the San Francisco Bardo Training Center News And Views. If you have any questions or comments regarding this "escaped sleeping-machine" (who cares?) or that "Starting Over" business (often needed and always useful), contact the Bardo Training Center of the Bay Area and see what happens (they won’t bite…softly)!

June 29,1998


The train is coming. A thousand pounds of black steel coming down the tracks. Unstoppable. You hear the whistle screaming in the distance. You figure it's around the next bend in the hills, but who can be sure. The space is all bent here, metal sculptures twisted into the faces of people you once knew.

You stand between the twin parallel tracks. You believe you can step off the tracks if you want too. You don't. The waiting is what kills you. Every once in a while you drift into the warm past and fade away, but you return again with your feet on the tracks. The rumbling is coming closer.

Years pass by silently and still it has not arrived. "Maybe it came when I wasn't here and it missed me", but you know that isn't true. Others have joined you now and they want to help. Let's take the first step. You have to learn how to move again. So much weight on your shoulders, time to dance again, leave the memories in your photo album.

You try but you cannot even focus your attention long enough to lift a foot. A moment into the movement the magnetic pull of the locomotive draws you toward it. The ground is shifting and you know there is no time to waste. Your companions are speaking in riddles now, "Step lightly", "Follow your nose", "Reach out and ... "

June 28,1998

Sacred Dance

Today, as you walk from one place to the next notice how you negotiate turns, navigate passage ways, cross streets, enter doors, obey signs, avoid obstacles, rest, pause and consider, retrace your steps to then follow a new path. Now, consider the usual way in which you do those things. Consider how you automatically make the assumption that what you are doing is moving your body along a space which is external to you, and that such space is the same you traversed yesterday, and the week before. Think also about the convenient way in which you take every face you see to be human, every animal to be irrational, and every street sign to be only ordinary indications around an ordinary landscape. Finally, consider how you unthinkingly assume that you are moving along a more or less fixed space. You walk down the street (which is the same, etc.). You enter a building (which has been there for a while, but not eternally). You approach a corner, say hello to a child that always plays there with a dog, and then turn around the corner.

Make a subtle shift in your attention. Try it today. Do the same thing. But, instead of you walking down the street, see that it is you making a sacred dance. You know how to move your body in such a way that a door appears in front of you. With the direction of your will, you cross the gate. You are confronted, in the midst of your sacred dance, with signs, guides, and passages in the bardo. With the power of your shamanic dance you mold and shape the space surrounding you, and doing that you evoke sacred beings. Some appear as children, others as sacred birds, elementals, spirit guides, etc. Sometimes the guides let you know that now is the time to face north, then it will be time to go up (but only if you want to manifest the familiar space you manifested yesterday, maybe now you decide to explore a new sacred landscape). Suddenly, you find yourself face to face with an angelic being, which your consciousness presents to you as an old friend but you know she is an evolved being who has come to your circle to offer a gift of mystery. See if you can discover it.

And so you go. Dancing in the middle of your circle. Turning your face, moving your feet, waving your hands, repeating ancient mantras. You go on with what appeared before as the known, but which is now presenting itself as you moving and shaping the universe, shifting and honing your attention, flexing your vision. Try it for a while. Then one day you'll see that you don't really move or shape anything at all. You'll see that nothing changes, that you don't even dance nor move nor speak. You'll see that the only thing you do is play with your attention, because it is the only thing you have, and the only thing there is.

June 27,1998


Subtle influences are stronger than they appear. This is something I had never noticed so strongly.

Back to the need for attention. You’ll always be under influences just everywhere, amongst everything. One tries to choose one’s surroundings as adequately as possible corresponding to one’s likes or dislikes.

But ultimately we can’t control this. Circumstances bring you to places where influences absorb ones energy, where your full attention is required, only for your own sake, or the influence gobbles you up and you don’t even know what’s going on.

You just happened to hear this or the other, with no intention. Even the unmentioned or unnoticed is picked up by some sensor far deep inside oneself. And if one isn’t in a good spot or aware of what is going on then that’s it. It’s there and it has taken up some of that small precious space which you have just wasted.

June 26,1998


It tears in two
This womb of mine…
To give life to you,
Small stroke.
You are the red of the blood,
In my wound,
And the blue of my veins,
And you are there
Still and timid
In the middle of a paper
Empty and cold.
I give you:
A drop of water,
And a fine stroke…
So that you cry,
So that you suffer.
I give you:
A scratch,
A tug,
So that you twitch
In pain,
So that you suffer it.


Click here for the articles ending on June 25, 1998

Click here for the articles ending on May 23, 1998

Click here for the articles ending on April 25, 1998

Click here for the articles ending on April 10, 1998

Click here for the articles ending on March 29, 1998

Click here for the articles ending on March 22, 1998

Get in contact with us by clicking on the link to your right:

BTC_Logo.gif (13167 bytes)


Send comments, questions and reactions to jcmg@earthlink.net

Bardo News 081398 ]