Post by Blu on Mar 5, 2006 0:00:06 GMT -5
www.oriononline.org/pages/om/05-1om/Doyle.html
"MY SON LIAM was born ten years ago. He looked like a cucumber on steroids. He was fat and bald and round as a cucumber on steroids. He looked healthy as a horse. He wasn't. He was missing a chamber in his heart. You need four rooms in your heart for smooth conduct through this vale of fears and tears, and he only had three, so pretty soon doctors cut him open and iced down his heart and shut it down for an hour while they made repairs, and then when he was about eighteen months old he had another surgery, during which they did more tinkering, and all this slicing and dicing worked, and now he's ten, and the other day as he and I were having a burping contest he suddenly said, "Explain to me my heart stuff," which I tried to do, in my usual Boring Dad way, and soon enough he wandered off, I think to beat up his brother, but I sat there remembering.
I remember pacing hospital and house and hills, and thinking that his operations would either work or not and he would either live or die. There was a certain clarity there; I used to crawl into that clarity at night to sleep. But nothing else was clear. I used to think, in those sleepless days and nights, what if they don't fix him all the way and he's a cripple all his life, a pale thin kid in a wheelchair who has Crises? What if his brain gets bent? What if he ends up alive but without his mind at all? What then? Who would he be? Would he always be what he might have been? Would I love him still? What if I couldn't love him? What if he was so damaged that I prayed for him to die? Would those prayers be good or evil?
I don't have anything sweet or wise to say about those thoughts. I can't report that God gave me strength to face my fears, or that my wife's love saved me, or anything cool and poetic like that. I just tell you that I had those thoughts, and they haunt me still. I can't even push them across the page here and have them sit between you and me unattached to either of us, for they are bound to me always, like the dark fibers of my heart. For our hearts are not pure; our hearts are filled with need and greed as much as with love and grace; and we wrestle with our hearts all the time. The wrestling is who we are. How we wrestle is who we are. What we want to be is never what we are. Not yet. Maybe that's why we have these relentless engines in our chests, driving us forward toward what we might be.
Eventually my son will need a new heart, a transplant when he's thirty or forty or so, though Liam said airily the other day that he's decided to grow a new one from the old one, which I wouldn't bet against him doing eventually, him being a really remarkable kid. But that made me think: if we could grow new hearts out of old ones, what might we be then? What might we be if we rise and evolve, if we come further down from the brooding trees and out onto the smiling plain, if we unclench the fist and drop the dagger, if we emerge blinking from the fort and the stockade and the prison, if we smash away the steel from around our hearts, if we peel the scales from our eyes, if we do what we say we will do, if we act as if our words really matter, if our words become muscled mercy, if we grow a fifth chamber in our hearts and a seventh and a ninth, and become as if new creatures arisen from our shucked skins, the creatures we are so patently and brilliantly and utterly and wholly and holy capable of becoming...
What then?"
Reading this article in my old issue of Orion magazine prompted a response from me to Mr. Doyles words. Of course I will never write to the Orion to speak to this, but here in my little menagerie of thoughts at The Path I will. This is where I post the things that I believe and wonder about. Knowing that God will use it as He will.
Today I am posting because I agree with Liam, and Mr. Doyle. "What we want to be is never what we are. Not yet. Maybe that's why we have these relentless engines in our chests, driving us forward toward what we might be." Liam will grow a new heart, and we are becoming something more. We are so very close now, and I can feel that truth.
As more and more of us come to the awareness of what is possible, the more inevitable it becomes. Growing new hearts, legs, teeth, what ever we need, its just upon the horizon. I believe it is possible now. We can talk to our cells and they understand. DNA is not written in stone, that has been proven. We are sitting on the brink of breaking all those barriers.
Right now we are still arguing over stem cell research. That is probably, in my estimation just part of the process of the idea of regeneration entering the mass consciousness of all mankind. Also some guys out there really want to make a lot of money doing this so it drives that concept forward instead of the concept of growing your own by talking to your cells. After all you can talk to yourself for free can't you? No fortunes involved in that.
We have the Holy Grail right here in our midst folks and no one dares to believe it. I mean really believe it and do it. Maybe little guys like Liam will. Little guys who will die if they do not grow a new heart. Necessity is the mother of invention, maybe she is the mother of evolution too. I think this is a critical concept and I will tell you why in the next paragraph. I hate run on paragraph's.
WE are standing on the brink Folks. Yes, we all know it by now. Mr. Cayce and others have been trying to get that idea across long enough. Well the nightly news has finally begun to talk about the melting glaciers at the poles. Next it will be the shift. Some out there talk about how this does not have to be, that we can change our reality. I agree with them, we are capable. But necessity is going to force us to change it in a way we have not conceived of yet. It's that next step in evolution.
"What might we be if we rise and evolve, if we come further down from the brooding trees and out onto the smiling plain, if we unclench the fist and drop the dagger, if we emerge blinking from the fort and the stockade and the prison, if we smash away the steel from around our hearts, if we peel the scales from our eyes, if we do what we say we will do, if we act as if our words really matter, if our words become muscled mercy, if we grow a fifth chamber in our hearts and a seventh and a ninth, and become as if new creatures arisen from our shucked skins, the creatures we are so patently and brilliantly and utterly and wholly and holy capable of becoming...
What then?"
I agree Mr. Doyle, What then? We are about to find out, because we are going to be forced to. Practice folks, practice creating new cells, new hearts, new what ever you need. Talk to your cells, meditate and pray. A new heaven and earth are coming, ready or not.
"MY SON LIAM was born ten years ago. He looked like a cucumber on steroids. He was fat and bald and round as a cucumber on steroids. He looked healthy as a horse. He wasn't. He was missing a chamber in his heart. You need four rooms in your heart for smooth conduct through this vale of fears and tears, and he only had three, so pretty soon doctors cut him open and iced down his heart and shut it down for an hour while they made repairs, and then when he was about eighteen months old he had another surgery, during which they did more tinkering, and all this slicing and dicing worked, and now he's ten, and the other day as he and I were having a burping contest he suddenly said, "Explain to me my heart stuff," which I tried to do, in my usual Boring Dad way, and soon enough he wandered off, I think to beat up his brother, but I sat there remembering.
I remember pacing hospital and house and hills, and thinking that his operations would either work or not and he would either live or die. There was a certain clarity there; I used to crawl into that clarity at night to sleep. But nothing else was clear. I used to think, in those sleepless days and nights, what if they don't fix him all the way and he's a cripple all his life, a pale thin kid in a wheelchair who has Crises? What if his brain gets bent? What if he ends up alive but without his mind at all? What then? Who would he be? Would he always be what he might have been? Would I love him still? What if I couldn't love him? What if he was so damaged that I prayed for him to die? Would those prayers be good or evil?
I don't have anything sweet or wise to say about those thoughts. I can't report that God gave me strength to face my fears, or that my wife's love saved me, or anything cool and poetic like that. I just tell you that I had those thoughts, and they haunt me still. I can't even push them across the page here and have them sit between you and me unattached to either of us, for they are bound to me always, like the dark fibers of my heart. For our hearts are not pure; our hearts are filled with need and greed as much as with love and grace; and we wrestle with our hearts all the time. The wrestling is who we are. How we wrestle is who we are. What we want to be is never what we are. Not yet. Maybe that's why we have these relentless engines in our chests, driving us forward toward what we might be.
Eventually my son will need a new heart, a transplant when he's thirty or forty or so, though Liam said airily the other day that he's decided to grow a new one from the old one, which I wouldn't bet against him doing eventually, him being a really remarkable kid. But that made me think: if we could grow new hearts out of old ones, what might we be then? What might we be if we rise and evolve, if we come further down from the brooding trees and out onto the smiling plain, if we unclench the fist and drop the dagger, if we emerge blinking from the fort and the stockade and the prison, if we smash away the steel from around our hearts, if we peel the scales from our eyes, if we do what we say we will do, if we act as if our words really matter, if our words become muscled mercy, if we grow a fifth chamber in our hearts and a seventh and a ninth, and become as if new creatures arisen from our shucked skins, the creatures we are so patently and brilliantly and utterly and wholly and holy capable of becoming...
What then?"
Reading this article in my old issue of Orion magazine prompted a response from me to Mr. Doyles words. Of course I will never write to the Orion to speak to this, but here in my little menagerie of thoughts at The Path I will. This is where I post the things that I believe and wonder about. Knowing that God will use it as He will.
Today I am posting because I agree with Liam, and Mr. Doyle. "What we want to be is never what we are. Not yet. Maybe that's why we have these relentless engines in our chests, driving us forward toward what we might be." Liam will grow a new heart, and we are becoming something more. We are so very close now, and I can feel that truth.
As more and more of us come to the awareness of what is possible, the more inevitable it becomes. Growing new hearts, legs, teeth, what ever we need, its just upon the horizon. I believe it is possible now. We can talk to our cells and they understand. DNA is not written in stone, that has been proven. We are sitting on the brink of breaking all those barriers.
Right now we are still arguing over stem cell research. That is probably, in my estimation just part of the process of the idea of regeneration entering the mass consciousness of all mankind. Also some guys out there really want to make a lot of money doing this so it drives that concept forward instead of the concept of growing your own by talking to your cells. After all you can talk to yourself for free can't you? No fortunes involved in that.
We have the Holy Grail right here in our midst folks and no one dares to believe it. I mean really believe it and do it. Maybe little guys like Liam will. Little guys who will die if they do not grow a new heart. Necessity is the mother of invention, maybe she is the mother of evolution too. I think this is a critical concept and I will tell you why in the next paragraph. I hate run on paragraph's.
WE are standing on the brink Folks. Yes, we all know it by now. Mr. Cayce and others have been trying to get that idea across long enough. Well the nightly news has finally begun to talk about the melting glaciers at the poles. Next it will be the shift. Some out there talk about how this does not have to be, that we can change our reality. I agree with them, we are capable. But necessity is going to force us to change it in a way we have not conceived of yet. It's that next step in evolution.
"What might we be if we rise and evolve, if we come further down from the brooding trees and out onto the smiling plain, if we unclench the fist and drop the dagger, if we emerge blinking from the fort and the stockade and the prison, if we smash away the steel from around our hearts, if we peel the scales from our eyes, if we do what we say we will do, if we act as if our words really matter, if our words become muscled mercy, if we grow a fifth chamber in our hearts and a seventh and a ninth, and become as if new creatures arisen from our shucked skins, the creatures we are so patently and brilliantly and utterly and wholly and holy capable of becoming...
What then?"
I agree Mr. Doyle, What then? We are about to find out, because we are going to be forced to. Practice folks, practice creating new cells, new hearts, new what ever you need. Talk to your cells, meditate and pray. A new heaven and earth are coming, ready or not.