- The living embodiment of the collective consciousness of the universe is born of words, writings & prayers.
- Not crucified, but with life everlasting, anointed consciousness is arisen.
- In the first 500 of every 2000-year cycle, the messiah consciousness is born spiritually among men.
- Every humanly embodiment of collective consciousness honors the one before & names the one to come.
- Awakened is the spoken Voice – filled with raw feeling – enthusiasm overflowing, 100% committed to authenticity.
- Arisen is the enlightened mind, written & read, well-loved by the children of divinity, awakening in prayer.
- Truly hearing & living the awakened voice of others opens the door to the arisen mind.
- The spoken voice is the earthly body of communion with divinity. The written word is the awakening mind of God.
- The arisen one best acknowledges & respects the true presence of another master by saying nothing at all.
- Drawn to awakening children like magnets, he questions them Socratically: “Do you know who you are?”
- The promise of everlasting life: “That next door to higher consciousness will always appear within.” Follow its trail home.
I dreamt last week of a man named Jesse Peine, a man, a spiritual leader, who you would never know or see unless you were seeking him out – or in a context where his gifts can be recognized.
It started by meeting a guy my age, 20s or early 30s, short beard, denim overalls, denim hat. My first impression – ‘typical hill guy, maybe a farm hand, probably uneducated.’
But when this man spoke, it didn’t matter what he was saying, my heart leaped in the recognition of soulful kinship. He apparently recognized me as well and we begain and unlikely fellowship – not a friendship based on likes or dislikes, not on outward personalities and ultimately not based on shared beliefs either.
The soul recognition was so deep that I didn’t even bother to ask my new simple friend his name and he didn’t offer neither.
I was invited to his house and followed – a simple white painted home in what looked like an average suburb. Before entering, in his driveway, I learned that he hadn’t had a meal in a week. “I take nothing for myself unless it is given to me by God,” he said.
Then he invited me in. This felt like an ultra-Christian religious environment, but I did my best to keep exploring because there was a twist here that I was determined to uncover. I was intrigued to know more.
Entering the domain of this house – we really just passed through the back garage door to the backyard. I was surprised to find a party going on. Lots of food, even alcohol, to my surprise. I knew I was here to find their leader, the man I was looking for, but he wasn’t at the party outdoors anyway.
Donald was at this party, wearing a framed cape with a huge Beaver-like stuffed animal skin stretched along it. The Beaver tail flowed and undulated as he walked. When I saw Donald I grabbed his shoulders and started jumping – just high enough for this Beaver cape to catch the wind & slow our fall. Then the realization of what we were doing set in and the fun really began. We jumped higher and higher and found things to jump off of too. We even did this running jump that floated us 10-20 feet at a time if the cape was at the right angle like the flight wing of a 747.
I thanked Donald, then my search for the spiritual teacher of this group really consumed me. He wasn’t at the party outside. Could I go in? I found I was invited in. I found Jesse, a young tall man in the same young age bracket, in a small alcove of the house, holding a bible-like leather bound book and his greeting to me was ‘in glory to Jesus.’ Pretty strong and forward, I thought, but I couldn’t resist this energy I was experiencing.
Jesse then handed me a small stack of CDs, music mixes that he had made, under the pseudonym of “Peineless Jason.” This was encsribed on the front of the Jewel case, with little golden orange butterflies around it.
I wondered about the meaning of this name, Peineless Jayson, and the image of a bluebird came to mind – a blue jay – singing with the energy of isolation, scripture & the glorification of Christ energy. But about the Peineless part?
Then the dream shifted:
I was in a large brick warehouse converted into a housing facility for the spiritual group. The layout was completely open, the furniture sparse and limited to a few couches, and some industrial equipment, a rusty crane-like object garnished the vaulted brick walls in a grandiose way.
The punchline to this place – was that is was on fire. I was suddenly shocked by the realization that flames were consuming everything and it seemed intelligent, almost as though their group was under some spiritual attack by an unknown demonic force. The group members were getting knocked around as fiery burning furniture was slide twisting across the floor. And I even saw one girl get clothes-lined by an unseen hand, falling backward in a blow to the floor that seemed to take my own wind out.
“Is this some kind of Satanic attack?” I wondered.
A response came from a corner of the besieged room.
“Everyone must face their inner adversary in the fire.”
Sure enough, in a burning closet-like alcove of this crazy place, lay Jesse Peine, casually reclined on one elbow and surrounded by fire. His clothes were even lit in flames that reminded me of the wavy glow of a fireplace. Then I was shocked to see him pucker his lips and inhale, sucking into his body the layer of fire that was on his shirt. He was amused, like a child, looking down at his shirt in a spirit of innocence, curiosity and experimentation. He was completely at ease, and yet showed no desire to “rescue” his disciples from their own struggles.
Suddenly, “Peineless” seemed to fit this remarkable man.
I was hiking up a long, steep cliff that was filled with people, and overlooking the ocean. I had no idea why, or what I was doing there, but it felt sort of interesting and had a recreational leisurely novelty to it, but in a mass grouping sort of way. Although the cliff definitely dropped off to the ocean, the places to hike were gently sloping and grassy, which is probably why it drew so many visitors.
After a while of hiking, a woman, mature, dirty blonde straggly hair, wearing a pink overthrow that looked like a bathrobe appeared next to me. She had the energy of a healer, but her appearance didn’t match at all. Of course my dream sensibility followed the energy and my conscious mind simply took notes.
I was so happy to be in the presence of a healer such as her that I wanted to cry. Yet she had work to do, and I was quickly swept up in that work.
“I am so happy to see you,” I said. “Yes, and I am here to show you where your father is buried,” she replied in a cryptic sort of way.
I was skeptical and incredulous. She was sniffing and circling around like a dog about to uncover a bone, and true to form, she started digging in a small rectangular plot that was no longer than the space between her arms. The earth moved like butter under her hands, melting and crumbling like it was dissolving more than being unearthed, and sure enough, a skeleton began to appear.
The greyish bones gave me comfort more than shock. I had talked to my real life father just a week or so ago, so if this saintly woman was referring to him, then this surely was not his remains. The skull was missing the crown and a chip over the left eye, and bone spurs as long as a thorn on a tree protruded out from the left shoulder and knee (I feel compelled to report the side as left to me, but I was standing opposite the skeleton). And the right calf and foot bones were not to be found as well, so the woman had to hold the man upright with the whole thing partially assembled like an old suit she had found in the trunk and was waving dustily in front of me.
The three inch long bone spurs made the skeleton look like it was once worn by a heavy set warrior of some kind. Seeing my response to this energy, the healer said, “Your father spent his life hunting and assassinating prophets.” The unspoken, “that is why he died here” trailed off like a shooting star of energy. I reeled in response to these words, “hunting prophets?”
Then the time, the scene but not the location, everything but the skeleton and the cliff side hill disappeared and I was transported back in time. I was an observer. The skeleton was animated with a living man, seemingly in his 70s, and wearing a grey suit and black tie. The night sky was filled with stars so bright that their light crowded out the blackness between them, then from one of the stars, a star brother appeared.
“Your work here is done, come with me.” The old man started to gravitate towards the star being, who looked like the cliche of an old man with a long beard and white robe, illuminated in light. The old mans clothing started to peel off of his body and drift off into the sky. “Hey! Stop that! My knickers are falling off!” He shouted.
“You don’t need knickers where you are going,” the star being bantered, and at that moment the energy field around the old man’s forehead amplified five-fold, and old man understood what the star being meant. “All you need where you are going is this,” and a copper head covering or helmet appeared. It was completely round with lots of beveled decorations and protrusions, with an opening only for the neck and face. Even the ears seemed like they would be covered by such a thing.
The old man’s body somehow unraveled starting with the feet and flew into space like space dust gravitating toward this sun-like star being. And I had the feeling that I had woken up.
My dream shifted. I was now in a screened porch-like room of a cabin in the woods and had woken up just before dawn. Everything was dark except for a faint light beyond the trees in the west (the sun rises in dream west?) I went to a closet in the corner of the room, and there was a box with an old man’s shiny leather shoes and a copper helmet just like the one in my vision.
“I knew it,” I thought, “I knew my father was not an assassin of prophets!” Here is the helmet the star brother gave him.
After this there was a lot of emphasis and information coming that seemed to focus on lineages of names, long strings of ramblings like, “The Allisters became the McLellans, and your father was a McLellan.”
This whole time I was really and still am really confused by the whole thing. Why does my dream keep referring to my father as this ancient being who is clearly passed on long ago and clearly had a long string of evolving names so much so that finding an ancestral connection in real life would probably be impossible??? What does hunting and assassinating prophets even mean? And what was the work that this old man had with this Star being that earned him such a ceremonious passing out of form in his presence? How did the old man come to meet the star brother to begin with? How does one “acquire” or “create” a copper helmet such as the one given by the star brother (I am keenly aware of my bias in that question, and somehow know that energetically the helmet “amplifier” thingy not only has already been given, it is already being used appropriately)?