Saturday, 25 June, 1994
Michael: Good morning, Bivalia. How are you?
Bivalia:[a] I'm quite good, thank you. How are you?
Michael: Well, passable, I suppose. I never really know what to say to a
question like "How are you?"
Bivalia: You can say what you like to it.
Michael: I mean, it's not always easy to tell how sincere such a question
as "How are you?" is, whether it's a genuine enquiry into my state of being,
or simply a polite convention.
Bivalia: I don't say anything to you that is not sincere; but of course you
are at liberty to take the question in either of those two ways, whichever you
Michael: Well, I sometimes feel a bit impatient with polite conventions
like that, although I have to engage in them to an extent because I don't want
to offend people. And it's not that saying "How are you?" and the like, or
answering them to someone else, is insincere on my part, because of course I
hope someone is well, and I appreciate it if they are interested enough in me
to want to know how I am; but it's simply that I tend to take such things for
granted, that I tend to assume the other person is well if it's not obvious
that they're not, and that I assume they will take it that I am well if I
don't tell them otherwise; so that I tend to think that such things hardly
need to be commented upon.
And if I'm not well (either physically or emotionally), I usually don't
tell others that anyway, because ten to one they don't really want to
know that I'm not all right.
Bivalia: Well, you don't have to be as devious as that with me in relation
to things like asking, "How are you?" You can be perfectly honest. Things would
come to a pretty pass indeed if you didn't feel free to be honest with your own
Michael: Yes, I know what you mean. And, on the whole, I do feel free to
be honest with you, warts and all. But the whole thing seems a waste of time,
somehow, going through formalities of asking "How are you?", and answering
other people's "How are you?"'s.
Bivalia: Why are you talking about it now at such length then?
Michael: Search me. I suppose because I vaguely felt like talking with
you, but didn't know what better to say to begin with.
Bivalia: Well, that's okay; I don't mind in the least if you wish to talk
at length about your feelings about social formalities of that sort.
Michael: Well, I don't wish to, actually; but it just came out. I'm
already sick of the topic though.
Bivalia: What do you wish to talk about, then?
Michael: I don't know. It's complicated by the fact that I feel a little
bit of time pressure, because it's already more than an hour after midnight,
and I don't want to be too late getting to bed; and yet I feel best in doing
things like this when I've got an open-ended amount of time to spare for it.
Bivalia: I suppose it's nice to be able to have an open-ended session with
your Higher Self; but it won't do you any harm trying to contact me at times when
there are time limits. In fact, it might be quite good to sometimes try to
channel me when you don't have unlimited time, just to prove to yourself that it
can be done. I sense that you often feel you can't begin something important
unless you have unlimited time immediately available. That need for open-ended
time could be a limitation you are placing upon yourself. There are many people
who are very productive for whom open-ended time for anything is a rare luxury.
Michael: Yeah, maybe you're right. It basically means that, if my time
is limited for the time being because of some definite commitment at a set
time, I can't use that time efficiently at all, and end up wasting a great
deal of time. I suppose what happens is that I'm worrying about whether the
time I have to spare (however long that might be) will be enough to do what I
want to do, and even if I go ahead and start whatever it is I want to do, that
worrying about whether there'll be enough time is just enough to distract me
from really using that time efficiently.
Bivalia: I suppose that's something like how the situation is.
Michael: And yet I wasn't always like that. For instance, I just can't
believe that when I was at school, from about 1967 to 1969, at the recess
break, in mid-morning, I actually used to get some of my books, go to the
library, and compose music or write stories for 20 minutes, then go on to my
next lesson. I mean, I could sit down and work for 20 minutes, no more,
knowing full well that time couldn't be extended. And yet I did it. I
wouldn't even attempt to do anything worthwhile now if I had only 20 minutes
before I had to attend to other matters.
Bivalia: Would you like to try doing that once more, when such a situation
comes up again?
Michael: Frankly, no. I really couldn't be bothered. I'm a lot older
now, and I have this theory that the psychological perception of time speeds
up as you get older. In a psychological sense, I think 20 minutes is a lot
less time to me now than it was when I was in my teens. It's difficult to
Bivalia: Try. It might be good to clarify it in your own mind.
Michael: Well, first of all, it's easy to say what I don't think
it is. I've heard a number of people who are interested in the Ascension
process suggest that time really is running faster because of the
energy the Masters are pouring into the Earth.
Well, I'm sorry to be a real spoke in the wheel, but I put no credence in
this. I won't quite go so far as to say it's impossible; but I remain to be
convinced. I simply have encountered no evidence of any sort to support this
explanation. And never once have I heard anyone so much as suggest a good
reason why spiritual energy pouring in should even have that effect on time
anyway. We're just expected to believe it for no particular reason.
I acknowledge that time does seem to go faster now than it did when I was
younger, but there's a simpler explanation for it that makes fewer demands on
my credulity; and that is this. The speeding up of time in my perceptions
(and I stress that, that I regard it as my subjective perception) is
simply the consequence of the fact that, when I was 16, 20 minutes was about a
400,000th of my total life-span up to that point, but now at age 40, 20
minutes is only a millionth of my total life-span up to now; so, seen as a
proportion of the total amount of life I've had so far, 20 minutes is simply a
smaller proportion now than it was then. In fact, as a proportion, a
millionth is less than half of a 400,000th.
I think that is the simple answer to why time seems to go faster as you
get older. I don't need to invoke mysterious forces or energies pouring into
the Earth (things I can neither prove nor disprove), in order to account for
changes in the perceived speed of time. I'd be willing to bet the perception
of time speeding up as one gets older is something that has existed all
through history, and is not specially characteristic of the present time when
all this energy is supposed to be changing our perceptions.
Bivalia: You're in a sceptical and critical mood now, aren't you?
Michael: I guess so. But I really do believe what I just said.
Bivalia: I'm not disagreeing with you. If what you just said is true, it
neither proves nor disproves the existence of special energies.
Michael: True; I wasn't claiming that it either proves or disproves it.
I don't consider the two issues to be related; at least, no-one has
demonstrated a connection to me so far. The question of special energies is
one I have no particular opinion about, since I simply don't have enough
information to either support the idea or to disprove it. But I think the
onus of proof is on those who claim there are special energies, not on me to
That's a consequence of a well-respected principle of reasoning called
Occam's Razor, or the principle of minimum assumption. Briefly (and I don't
want to go into this at length now), it means that if you can't prove a point,
and you want to speculate on possible hypotheses, you give preference to
hypotheses that make the fewest possible assumptions not supported by
available evidence. The whole scientific method is based on that, and modern
technology is proof that the scientific method is extremely reliable in
learning about how the universe works.
If scientists didn't work that way, I feel quite certain we'd still be in
the Dark Ages as far as technology was concerned. If the burden of proof was
on scientists to disprove any theories someone suggested, instead of on the
claimant to prove his theory, scientists would be so busy trying to
disprove every theory put forward by assorted mystics, cranks, eccentrics, and
maverick scientists pursuing pet theories of their own, that they would never
get round to learning anything useful about the way the universe actually
Bivalia: For someone who doesn't want to go into it at length, you've done
quite a good job of explaining it.
Michael: Well, I really do have faith in the scientific method, in its
proper province. But the reason I didn't want to go into it at length here is
because I've given up the idea that spiritual truth can be learned through the
scientific method. I don't think that this is the proper province of
scientific reasoning, at least not at this time in history.
If I were to encounter hard scientific evidence of occult powers, I would
probably still think up a rational and physical explanation for it; so that's
not the way to really prove spiritual truths to myself. And listening to the
wisdom of others, or reading scriptures, doesn't seem to be the answer either,
because such teachings or writings are only the opinion of others, and could
be subject to error. Moreover, if such teachings or certain interpretations
of holy scriptures carry any official authority, their integrity is likely to
be distorted by the politics of religious organizations, so that's another
reason to be suspicious of official teachings or dogma.
I think the only true path to spiritual understanding is through personal
experience, I suppose what, somewhat cornily, might be termed a revelation or
a mystical experience. I mean things like astral travelling, or out-of-body
experiences, or remembering past lives, or feeling the presence of a spiritual
being - things like that which ordinary reasoning and the scientific method
couldn't even begin to account for. That would really convince me that
spiritual things are real, in a way I think nothing else would. If it
actually happened to me, it would be very difficult to explain it away or
rationalize it. But, although I try to remain open-minded about such things,
unfortunately I haven't been privy to such experiences, so, until I do, I have
to take an agnostic view about spiritual matters.
Bivalia: I think you're taking a very reasonable view of things.
Michael: Thanks; so do I, even if I do say so myself. It occurs to me,
perhaps I am talking too much this time, and not letting you say enough.
Bivalia: It does not matter. I'm not here merely to lecture you; I'm here
to help and encourage you to grow spiritually. At times, simply letting you
express your thoughts is the best way of rendering such help.
Michael: Well, I don't think I'm very receptive at the moment. Like you
said, I'm a bit sceptical at the moment. I'm not really in a frame of mind to
be easily taken in by New-Age mumbo-jumbo.
Bivalia: We don't have to talk about New-Age mumbo-jumbo. I don't know
about you, but I don't have any official agenda we must speak about in sessions
like this. But would you like to say why you're feeling this way at present?
Michael: Well, I've just been to Ralčah's tonight - Friday night, that
is, a few hours ago - and heard her channelling Wotanna and Sananda.
Bivalia: Well, I'm sure they are enjoyable company, and I'm sure Ralčah is
Michael: Sure. They all are. I like every Master I've heard channelling
so far. If only I can believe in them, I would long to meet them in person.
And I'm very fond of Ralčah too, and I certainly believe in her existence.
But none of that's my gripe.
Bivalia: What's the problem then?
Michael: Well, it's difficult to put in a few words. Every time Sananda
channels, he says such nice things about us all, including me when I put a
personal question to him. He thinks I'm a beautiful radiant being, nearly a
Master, in fact. I'm one of the Light Workers or Starseeds, one of those
former ascended beings who undertook a mission to help planet Earth, and so
on. In other words, according to Sananda, I'm a pretty special being, with a
high degree of spirituality.
Bivalia: Well, that's nice.
Michael: It may be nice, but I'm not convinced. Frankly, it'd ring a bit
more true if, just occasionally, Sananda said to me, "You need to pull up your
socks, my boy; you've been slipping a bit the last week or two", or things
like that. But he never does. Some weeks ago, one of the Masters told me
that even Serapis Bey thinks I'm doing well.
Bivalia: Well, that's very nice. I'm sure Serapis Bey wouldn't say that if
he didn't mean it. What's your problem?
Michael: I think you know what it is.
Bivalia: Yes, but I want you to say it.
Michael: The problem is that this radiant, almost saintly picture of me
that Sananda and Ashtar and the others give of me doesn't match up with what I
know about myself. Now I'm not deliberately dishonest while I talk with the
Masters at Ralčah's channelling sessions, but it's not always appropriate to
say certain things about myself there in front of everyone. But these Masters
are supposed to be able to read my aura anyway, so even if I don't tell them
everything, they should be able to see how things really are all the same.
But I feel if they did see things truthfully, they probably wouldn't make me
out to be so saintly when I know damn well how unsaintly I am, how full of
discreditable feelings I sometimes am. I think it would give Sananda a shock
if one day I told him how familiar a feeling hatred is to me. I can be eaten
up with it at times, but I'm a bit scared to tell Sananda all the details of
that, especially publicly, in front of the others present.
But tonight, I did try hinting at this thought, that I really was not a
saint. But do you know what he said? Something to the effect that he doesn't
see those things as nearly as bad as I did.
Bivalia: Well, I'm not going to take sides on who is right in this. But
you might like at least to give a bit of thought to whether he could be right and
you may have a mistaken view of how serious these matters are.
Michael: I get the feeling (and I know I'm really rubbing in the
scepticism now - sorry, Sananda, it's nothing personal, I'm really quite fond
of you) - but I get the feeling Sananda just praises everyone. It's nice, and
makes you feel good, and makes you feel as if you're really important
spiritually; but the real question is, is it factual? Is it convincing? If I
was told how far short I'm falling, I probably wouldn't like hearing that; but
I bet I would find it more convincing.
I would be very interested to see what would happen if someone like a
rapist or an axe murderer attended a channelling, and asked a question of some
sort (without revealing the dark side of his nature). I really do wonder
whether even then Sananda would assure him of how beautiful he was, how much
good work he's doing for the Light, how well his work as a Starseed was going,
and so on. If I ever heard such things of a person I knew to be of this sort,
I think it would put me off channelling for good.
Bivalia: Well, I suppose, until such a person turns up, it would be
difficult to check on that.
Michael: If I wanted to be very sceptical indeed, I could ask a few trap
questions myself. But I can't bring myself to. For one thing, although I
don't feel that inner certainty about the reality of the Masters, I'm really
trying to be open to them if they're real, and that causes me to have a
certain respect for them, which seems to preclude trying to lay traps that
would really show how real they are. And also, I'm fond of Ralčah, and
wouldn't want to risk embarrassing her, as the channel, by deliberately laying
traps. So if I can't bring myself to do that, I suppose I just can't check
the veracity of what I hear.
Bivalia: Yes, I know. It's difficult. But I might say that I honour you
for your motives in resisting the temptation to ask trap questions, when the
temptation to do so exists, and when you could think up effective traps without
much difficulty if you really put your mind to it. I can assure you that your
honesty and decency and regard for the feelings of others you are showing in
refraining from doing that will bring benefits to you one day that you will be
very glad of.
Michael: I hope you're right; but it's cold comfort now when I'm in the
depths of doubts about everything spiritual, when I desperately want
confirmation that spiritual things are real, or not real, as the case may be,
when I would be tempted to think that an ounce of confirmation here and now
would be worth a stone of future benefits resulting from being decent now.
And I'm sure, if I were to be totally calculating and ruthless, that I could
without much trouble think up questions to ask Sananda that would settle once
and for all (for me, anyway) whether I believe he's really who he claims to be
But I'm too kind-hearted to follow such a cynical approach. I really
couldn't bear to take the risk of hurting either Ralčah, or Sananda, or any of
the other Masters. You know, they're like friends now, Ralčah, and Sananda,
and Ashtar, and so on, and you don't hurt your friends just to prove a point;
at least you don't if you have any decency in you; and I do try to be decent,
however often I may fail in this.
Bivalia: I wonder, if you did follow such a calculating approach, whether
you would in the end be as convinced by the results that ensued as you now
imagine, whatever those results turned out to be. I have a feeling that cynicism
would simply breed more cynicism, whatever came out at the end, and the more you
checked out in the cynical way you described, the more full of unanswered
questions you would become, each needing further confirmation.
Michael: I don't know. Perhaps.
Bivalia: I'm simply suggesting that cynicism may not be the best way to
truth, that the two things, cynicism and truth, may be too inherently
incompatible for either to be able to yield the other as a result, however
cleverly you laid your plans. I think your present approach of intelligent but
open-minded and kind-hearted questioning would be much better an approach to
finding out truth in the end, even if it might take longer.
Michael: Well, maybe. But, for the reasons I outlined, I don't think I'm
likely to follow the cynical method of laying traps, trick questions, and the
like. I didn't mention it now because I was seriously considering
doing it. It just somehow came up in our discussion; and, following
the honest and open approach I try to have in these discussions with you, my
Higher Self, I just decided to let the thoughts come out, seeing as they had
entered my mind.
Bivalia: Bless you, my friend. I can see why Hilarion likes you so much,
why he has worked with you so much over the millennia.
Michael: Is it me he has worked with over the millennia, or
you he has worked with?
Bivalia: A very profound question, that. What you are asking is, what is
the difference between you and me, or, more generally, what is the difference
between a human being in his ordinary aspect, and his or her Higher Self?
Michael: I guess so. It's a fair enough question. I'm sometimes
conscious of the fact that when I talk about myself, and about you, my Higher
Self, I'm actually begging several important questions that may look
superficially simple but which may in fact be quite subtle and complicated,
which perhaps I'm wrongly taking for granted.
Bivalia: Quite. But I feel that now is not the time to go into them,
unless you feel like sitting typing on and on, until the cold grey light of dawn
finally breaks drearily through your window, so that eventually you stumble off
to bed, tired, hungry, and cold, because you just can't go on any longer.
Michael: It's the last thing I feel like now.
Bivalia: Let's just beg those important questions for a bit longer, then.
Let's just pretend we know what a human being is, and what his or her Higher Self
is, and what the difference is, even if we don't really have the foggiest idea of
what we are talking about. If we haven't the foggiest, I don't think we've done
badly so far in the 15 pages of your channelling me, your Higher Self. In fact,
I think we're putting on a jolly good pretence of understanding who we are, if I
might say so, if indeed we don't really know the difference between you and me.
Michael: Perhaps. I don't really know. I don't know what to say to
that. In fact, I think my whole end of this discussion is fizzling out a bit.
Bivalia: It doesn't matter. I don't consider this time we've had together
tonight to be wasted.
Michael: I might have to finish up soon; I don't want to be too late
going to bed. And I think I want a bite to eat before I do that. And I get
the feeling you never fizzle out, that you have a ready answer for everything
But I think I'm losing the thread of this for tonight. In fact, I'm
surprised I'm typing as well as I am now. A few pages back, as I was typing,
my fingers were feeling a bit like a bunch of bananas dangling over the
computer keyboard, and I thought I wouldn't be able to go on much longer; but
rather to my surprise, my fingers got better. But I think my mind is starting
to flag a bit now.
Bivalia: Go to bed now, my friend, if you feel like it. We've done well
Michael: I think I might. When I just started this bit of dialogue, I
produced a bit of Polish poetry: that is, my fingers were on the wrong keys.
I think I'm starting to lose my touch a bit. But I don't seem to want to
finish yet. I guess I get lonely.
Bivalia: I am with you at all times; not only when you are typing a
dialogue between us. And if I'm not sufficient, any of the Masters are instantly
available just at the mention of their names.
Michael: I know, but it doesn't seem to be enough. There's a deep
loneliness in me that's been there all my life, that sometimes even my closest
friends can't relieve. Even the Masters or you haven't so far relieved it.
The emptiness just goes on and on and on. Being with friends can sometimes
just emphasize it. It shocks me at times to realize how little I have in
common even with those I have the most in common with, if you see what I
mean. And as for those I don't have so much in common with, I sometimes feel
they and I just come from different planets.
Bivalia: I know. Do you want to talk about this some more?
Michael: One day; but not now. I can feel myself getting close to very
deep and important matters which would take hours, days even, to explore fully.
Bivalia: It will wait for another time.
Michael: I don't know that I could face up to it now.
Bivalia: You can always talk about it with Sananda, or indeed any of the
Masters you already know in varying degrees.
Michael: I suppose so; and I have mentioned it to them a number of
times. But it doesn't relieve that emptiness, that feeling that I'm eternally
alone in the universe, that I'm separate from every other being in the
universe, and that unidentified longing for something wonderful I can't name
but will know the instant I get the merest glimpse of it, and that awful
feeling that the life I'm actually living is surely not in the least what life
is really meant to be all about, and that feeling I'm somehow trapped and lost
in a material world totally lacking in meaning for me, full of values utterly
alien to everything I cherish and believe in, and...well, you know; I've sort
of run out of words to say what I mean.
Bivalia: I pick up your meaning. Perhaps you need to talk about it with me
some time. But not now. Have a break. You've done enough for tonight.
Michael: Only now am I starting to feel that I'm getting onto something
important, something that really matters. But I'm not sure I can really find
the words to continue.
This always seems to happen in an exercise like this, that it's only when
I'm on the point of finishing that I start to feel I'm getting somewhere at
last. I also notice that sometimes when I visit friends: that it's only when
it's time to leave that I'm finally starting to talk about something I very
deeply wanted all along to talk about with them, but which for unidentified
reasons I skirted around for hours, passing the time instead with inanities
about the state of politics and the world, and other trivialities, things
which can be entertaining to talk about but which in a deep spiritual sense I
don't really give a damn about.
Bivalia: Yes, I know. The really important things are difficult to
approach. And there is the fear of rejection if the other person doesn't accept
what you are saying, perhaps even thinks you're a bit strange. It's when you
talk about the really important and deep things that you really find out how
alone you are in the world, and how alien even your closest and dearest friends
can sometimes be. And that realization can be a real shock sometimes.
Michael: But that bittersweet longing for I-don't-know-what nags and nags
away at me, even years after I've given up hope of it ever being real at all.
In a sense it is the only thing I've ever lived for. The search for it has
been the main reason all my life for such things as composing music and
writing stories; but I haven't found it, even in the tiniest degree.
It's difficult to talk about with other people. If I tried to describe
it to other people, I think many wouldn't have the faintest notion of what I
was talking about. I know my mother doesn't; I tried alluding to it once with
her, just to see how she reacted. I might have been talking a foreign
There is only one human being I definitely know to have understood the
sort of thing I'm talking about, and that is the author C. S. Lewis. He died
in the early 1960s, and of course I never met him. And he was a fairly
orthodox Christian whose religious ideas I don't agree with anyway. But he
nevertheless talked about that spiritual longing (if that's what it is) in
terms that made it crystal clear that he knew very well the thing I am
fumbling about trying to describe, even though he associated it with ideas and
things that don't stir me in the slightest. It's a funny thing. I'd love to
have known Lewis, and to have talked with him, even though I think in many
ways we would have been quite alien to each other.
Perhaps he and I would have been alien to each other in almost every
ordinary way. But we both know that unidentifiable feeling. He wrote very
eloquently about the sense of magic and wonder it can conjure up, probably
much better than I can.
Anyway, I'm gradually losing that feeling. I've known about it all my
life, right back into early childhood, even though I wouldn't have been able
early in life to isolate it sufficiently to describe in words. But there was
a sense of magic to it which has gradually faded since. I occasionally get
hints of it, fainter and fainter as the years go by, so that all I have now is
the memory of that sense of wonder, rather than the sense of wonder
itself. A subtle but important difference.
Bivalia: I know what you mean. Your feeling that it is essentially a
spiritual feeling that certain physical things simply remind you of in
some way rather than embody it inherently is quite correct. I think you know now
(as C. S. Lewis came to realize) that nothing physical can satisfy that longing;
it can only remind you of it, and stir it up. For the satisfaction of it, you
must turn to the spiritual realm. Even so, spiritual things probably can't
satisfy it completely while you are in the 3-dimensional world, although they can
get closer to real satisfaction than can physical things. But for complete
satisfaction you will probably have to wait until you get into the 5-dimensional
realms and beyond.
Michael: It all seems so distant and impossible.
Bivalia: It will come one day, if only you don't deliberately choose to
reject all that side of things, if only you don't choose to set all your store by
the physical world.
But you already know better than to do that. I think your mixture of
kinship with Phillip Adams' rational atheistic outlook combined with your total
dissatisfaction with it emotionally demonstrates the impossibility of your
totally throwing your lot in with that physical world and all the values that go
with it. Every time you hear a news bulletin, or read about the issues of the
day, you think, "I can't believe this sort of stuff is really what life is meant
to be about; something must have gone horribly wrong for life to revolve about
such things." That is not the attitude of someone totally committed to the
physical world and its values.
For that matter, even if you did commit yourself to all that, and turn your
back on the spiritual realm, it wouldn't cut you out for ever, like C. S. Lewis
believed; it would simply defer it for a time. But if you don't abandon that
spiritual hope, the fulfilment of it will very likely be much more imminent than
you are now able to believe.
At worst, you would only follow the atheistic view because you became
convinced it was factually true, not because you felt emotionally committed to
it. That's a very important difference, and in my opinion converting to atheism
because you reluctantly came to believe it was factual, but without real
emotional commitment to that point of view, will not be sufficient to cut you out
from getting into the spiritual realm sooner rather than later. A factual belief
of that sort based on wrong or misleading evidence is quite vulnerable, and would
fall as soon as you learned about the falseness of the evidence you were basing
the belief on.
It's your emotional commitments that count, not what you rationally believe
to be factual simply because the evidence seems to lead to it. And your
emotional commitment, as far as I can see, is definitely to the spiritual, to
that sense of wonder and magic, to everything that is ultimately good, and that
is allied with God. Mere atheism, if you feel forced to it for the time being by
the evidence, won't be much of an obstacle to that. Perhaps a little obstacle,
but certainly nothing to lose much sleep over.
I feel that's what Sananda might have been thinking of when, at the Crea
workshop where you first encountered him, he asked you if you could just keep
hanging onto the thread of truth you already had (or words to that effect). He
knows all about that longing you've been trying to describe. That answer he gave
you on that occasion was referring to that, to all these wonderful things you've
been trying just now to tell me about. That is the real meaning of the phrase
"the Kingdom of God" which the Bible quotes Jesus as using.
Michael: It almost seems too much to hope for, that Jesus in the Bible,
or Sananda answering my question, might have been talking about such matters
as I have been seeking all my life.
Bivalia: Believe it. He was talking of such wonderful things, in the
Bible, and in answering your question. Sananda's wisdom is not merely dry
religious dogma such as many churches teach. It is a living thing that gets
right to the heart of everything that's wonderful and important.
Perhaps it's no coincidence that "dogma" is "am God" spelt backwards,
because a rigid devotion to dogma is almost an anti-God position in a sense,
although I don't want to suggest that those who teach or believe the dogma are
personally anti-God; they probably mean well, in most cases, but just
have a limited perception at present.
Please don't be nearly so harsh in judging their relationship with God as
some of them might be in judging yours; and I know you don't judge them harshly.
Sananda loves those people too, the ones who are full of dogma and damnation
talk. But certainly Sananda cares much more about that wonder you obviously have
a taste for than he cares about dogma as such.
But I'm in danger of encroaching on his territory here, and in danger of
attempting illegitimately to speak for him. But I can assure you he knows of
such wonderful things, and understands your feelings much better than you
imagine. What a wonderful talk you will one day have with Sananda about such
things when at last the veils are lifted. I think I can say that, but perhaps I
should leave all this for Sananda to tell you about one day.
Michael: And I suppose I also am in danger of attempting to channel
Sananda rather than you by talking so much about him here, and attributing
various ideas to him, or letting you attribute them to him.
Bivalia: Well, I don't suppose attempting to channel him is nearly as
dangerous a thing to do as you seem to suggest.
Michael: Well, I wouldn't like to wrongly attribute words to him that
don't really come from him, especially when I can't even check the veracity of
what comes through.
Bivalia: If you did make a mistake in that, I don't think he would
quite bite your head off, or strike you with a thunderbolt.
Michael: No, but integrity of that sort is important to me, even if not
Bivalia: I can see Sananda and Hilarion having a bit of a smile and a laugh
at you saying that.
Michael: I wish I could see them doing that.
Bivalia: You will one day. One day you will have a wonderful reunion with
all sorts of beings you've had connections with over the millennia. I can tell
you, you will be immensely surprised at some of the beings it will transpire that
you have known over many centuries.
Michael: I suppose so. I'm starting to feel scatter-brained, and I think
it's showing in the things I'm saying. I don't know what else to say, so I
think I'll have to take my leave now. I'm bloody cold too.
Bivalia: You may finish; I don't want this to become a chore for you.
Although you may quit this session now, I will still be with you all the same.
Good night, my friend. You may find it corny, Michael, but I love you so much.
I am here whenever you want me for any sort of help.
Michael: Thank you, Bivalia. Good night. I must go now, and mean it.
Bivalia: Good night, Mike.