(M.J.E. Spirit / Mon., 3 Apr., 1995)

Spirit Dialogues

Explorations of Spirit
by Michael Edwards

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Monday, 3 April, 1995

      Michael: Good evening, Bivalia.

      Bivalia:[a] Good evening, Michael; and how are you this bright fine evening?

      Michael: It's not all that bright and fine, actually. It's a bit on the cloudy and cold side, a quite unremarkable evening.

      Bivalia: From my point of view, it is bright and fine. I was not referring to its physical attributes, but its spiritual attributes - more particularly to the spiritual attributes of God, and myself, and yourself. Once you are tuned into those, as I try to be all the time, every night is bright and fine, however dark and cold it may get.

      Michael: [LAUGHS.]

      Bivalia: Why are you laughing, dear one?

      Michael: Those words I just typed, purportedly from you, just struck me as funny - the sort of thing it seemed rather whimsical and not entirely sensible to write.

      Bivalia: I am a most whimsical soul at times, friend, and the fact that they did not strike you as very sensible to write is perhaps evidence of the genuineness of your channelling of me.

      Michael: I see this is going to be a rather eccentric night between us.

      Bivalia: Let's see how much fun being eccentric can be, then, shall we?

      Michael: If you like. It's about 12.30 a.m., Monday morning, now. Perhaps I should date this for yesterday, if I follow the practice of using the date for the day that's just been; but I started quite noticeably after midnight this time, and I don't have it in mind to talk about something that happened to me today which would require me to say "Today, I did this, and today I did that", so it's quite convenient this time to use the chronologically correct date of Monday, not Sunday.

      Bivalia: You don't need to justify your seeming lack of consistency to me. You are aware that Isaac Asimov, the science and science-fiction writer, quoted Ralph Waldo Emerson with approval: "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds". Just invoke that if you want to be inconsistent, but can't justify it (or don't feel like justifying it).

      Michael: Yes; perhaps.

      Bivalia: And has anything interesting been happening to you recently?

      Michael: No; not especially. About 90 minutes ago, the electricity suddenly failed, leaving me in total pitch darkness. I was listening to Sunday Night Talk, one of the few radio programs I listen to regularly. (It's about religious or social or ethical issues and can be interesting.) I suppose I could have just continued sitting there listening (it was a small battery-operated transistor radio, so it wasn't affected by the electricity failure).
      I assumed the electricity people would be flooded with calls, so I didn't see any need to go and add to the din; it wouldn't hurry them up any more than they were already going, but somehow I felt the need to go outside. (It was pitch-dark inside, and my place is so cluttered that I couldn't sit comfortably without being able to see where I put my feet.)
      I went outside with my radio, with the volume extremely low and the radio close to my ear, so as not to risk disturbing anyone else, but once outside, I couldn't seem to avoid running into people all the time, and thought I looked rather foolish holding a radio to my ear, so I went back inside and stood just inside the door. (It was too dark to make my way inside any further, and as I came outside, I knocked a pile of floppy disks to the floor, which I risked treading on if I went inside any further in the dark. Floppy disks don't like being trodden on, and I might have lost hundreds of pages' worth of files.)
      The radio program finished shortly after that (at 11.30 because of the cricket), and then I went outside again. I still didn't intend to ring up the electricity people, but thought I'd just pass the time walking around, and see how extensive the blackout was. It seemed to cover a square mile or so. I walked on, and spoke to Sananda; I thought that would help relieve the boredom, and perhaps the loneliness. (City or suburban streets late at night can be incredibly desolate and lonely, especially if you don't drive.)

      Bivalia: Whether one drives makes a difference, does it?

      Michael: Well, I've never driven in all my life, so perhaps I don't know for sure, but I think it would. If you drive, I imagine you barely notice the desolate streetscapes, because you pass through them much more quickly, and just get to where you want to. I imagine it makes quite a difference, and although in some ways I find cars and driving quite unattractive, there are times when it seems it would be good to have a car.

      Bivalia: Never mind; one day you will have much better than a car, so that a car will seem just as awkward and clumsy as walking. There are realms where you can be anywhere you want to instantly, or if you want to enjoy the journey, you can take time, but control exactly how much time, so the journey is neither too slow as to be dreary, nor too fast as to seem rushed and unrelaxing.

      Michael: Yes, don't I look forward to that!
      Anyway, I was walking around outside just giving my stray thoughts to Sananda. I walked a couple of hundred feet up Camberwell Rd. to try and see how far the blackout extended, then, coming back, I saw in the opposite direction flashing lights a few hundred yards down the road, near the traffic lights at Trafalgar Rd. I thought it might be where the electricity breakdown had occurred, and that the flashing lights might belong to a truck driven by repairmen, so I went down to see what was happening.
      But it wasn't that. Two cars had collided at the intersection, and the flashing lights belonged to an ambulance and a police van. A man who lived nearby, and who was standing at his front gate, told me the accident had happened after the blackout, probably because the street lights and traffic lights had failed. I had the presence of mind to ask Sananda to be with the victims, and sent them a bit of healing light, but I don't know if that kind of thing really works or not. It doesn't seem credible, somehow.

      Bivalia: It does make a difference spiritually, although it doesn't always make a physically visible difference. But be assured that love given to anyone, in any quantity, is never wasted.

      Michael: Anyway, I hung around a bit, and talked a bit with the man at his front gate, but then made my way back, talking with Sananda. I'd originally come down to see if the lights belonged to electricity repairmen, and when I saw they didn't, there was no point in lingering any longer. Meanwhile, a second police van had showed up and a tow truck also. I don't know why all the police were needed; judging by the time the ambulance was there, it wouldn't have seemed there was anyone much for the police to quiz. I have no idea whether anyone died or not, but the two cars looked rather badly mangled, and half the entire intersection seemed covered with broken glass. Perhaps the police were there to keep onlookers from getting in the way. People always seem to want to look at accident scenes; it seems to be a fundamental aspect of human nature.

      Bivalia: Such an incident reminds people of the deeper questions of life and death, and very likely they are simultaneously repelled and fascinated. Whether they want to face up to the implications of death, or merely want to avoid thinking of such things, scenes such as this unfailingly get their attention. The deep questions nag at one, whether one consciously thinks of them or not, and accident scenes stir up the mud of their unconscious mind.

      Michael: Perhaps. Maybe some people are simply bored, and want a bit of excitement. And the two police vans and the ambulance each had a blue light and an orange one flashing, which perhaps gave a garish air of excitement which might attract some people.
      I've had the dubious privilege of riding locked up in one of those police vans, you know.

      Bivalia: Oh. This sounds rather serious, Michael. Very serious indeed. I am extremely concerned. What have you been up to? You'd better come clean with me.

      Michael: Oh, nothing. This was about 15 years ago. I'd better not go into the whole ridiculous story now, otherwise I'll never get to bed tonight - but a friend of mine at the time, V., and I were out walking one night and were accused by some Vietnamese men (who had done their best to bash the guts out of us) of stealing their car, and they called the police at the same time as I was trying to, to report an assault.
      And would you believe the police believed them and not us, and locked us in their paddy wagon and took us to the police station, where they spent the night questioning us. They were at least good enough, as dawn broke, to drive us back to my place again (locked in the paddy wagon again), after charging us on summons with car theft. Although they were hopelessly incompetent in charging the wrong people, they actually treated us quite decently. (They never charged the other men with assault, even though V. tried to press charges of assault against them.)
      The whole thing was a farce, and went to the Magistrates' Court, and the magistrate convicted us, would you believe, although the case against us was as weak as anything. We had to appeal to the County Court, which quashed the convictions against us. The judge there had a bit of sense, and the case against us was patently as weak as piss, even though this time the Vietnamese men were bolstered with the assistance of an interpreter, which they weren't at the Magistrates' Court.
      The whole thing could almost be the basis of a comedy show, it was so ridiculous. You wouldn't believe it, but our accusers said they saw me getting out of the driver's seat of their car, despite the fact that I can't drive. Also, if we were attempting to steal their car, I would have thought they'd have seen us get in, not out. But these guys hardly knew a word of English, and their story was so garbled that I never found out exactly what it was they were saying we did.

      Bivalia: I see. As long as you're sure you're not guilty, I think I'll let you off this time.

      Michael: Oh, thank you; you're all heart. I wouldn't even know how to drive a car, even assuming I was willing to drive one illegally.

      Bivalia: You don't seem to be ashamed of telling this story, despite the fact that others may read this. I mean, how humiliating to be locked in a police van and carted off like a common criminal! - and yet you tell people about it. Michael, have you no shame, none at all?

      Michael: I'm not in the least ashamed. (I think you speak in jest.) V. and I did nothing wrong, and were wrongly accused, and so we have nothing to hide. I've told this story to heaps of people in the years since, and it's often good for raising a laugh. The police and the convicting magistrate were just so inept, it's good for a good belly laugh. I've made a number of people collapse uncontrollably with laughter by telling the story, giving all the juicy little details.

      Bivalia: Well, I'm glad you're able to take a light attitude to it, even though it does raise serious issues about police efficiency, and the justice system, and so on.

      Michael: Oh, our barrister told us that the magistrate who convicted us is known in barristers' circles as "The Hanging Judge", because he has the reputation that he convicts everyone who appears before him. I'm glad I didn't know that until after the Magistrates' Court hearing. And I hope the County Court judge who quashed our convictions sent a damning report to that incompetent magistrate.

      Bivalia: I don't think you need to lose sleep at nights over that now.

      Michael: I don't. I just made the remark lightly. I don't lose any sleep over it at all. It's over now, although I'm probably more willing to believe that the police and the justice system can be corrupt than I was willing to believe before.
      Anyway, I didn't mean to get onto that now; I was just reminded of it by seeing the police vans at the accident scene, and in my usual immodest way, I allowed myself to repeat a story I've told many people. (Believe me, you just got the short version. I could spend an hour telling the whole story, but I will spare you that now.)
      Anyway, after leaving the accident scene, I thought I'd keep wandering up and down a bit talking with Sananda as long as there was no light (the street lights were gone, too). And I looked up and noticed the stars looked rather brighter than usual, because of the absence of street lights in the immediate vicinity. They weren't brilliant, though; a quite distinct glow from the city was visible in the west, all the more noticeable because there was no light locally. Outside, it was still far from pitch-dark.
      But all the same, the stars reminded me of the time I travelled to Alice Springs by train (one of the various train journeys I used to make). This was before the new Ghan train started about 1980 or 1981, and it was necessary to change trains at Marree in the South Australian outback. (Indeed, this trip was taken as a last opportunity to ride the older train, before it disappeared forever.)
      Well, there was an approximately 2-hour wait at Marree, although passengers were able to board the second train immediately. This train had sleeping berths, roomettes and twinettes (single- and double-berth compartments respectively), which would probably be more comfortable than waiting about on the platform. (It was about 11 p.m., so there was probably little point in visiting the town itself to pass the time.)
      Well, I found my roomette and shut myself in. The train wasn't due to leave for quite some time, but I was so mad on trains, I just liked sitting inside one. I even thought about getting into my pyjamas and getting into bed straight away, which was very early for me.
      However, before I could do this, the station lights failed completely, and everything was in pitch darkness for quarter of an hour or so, until the lights were fixed. I have a feeling the train's electricity was still working, so you could have lights on in the train, but nowhere else. But, a little impulsively, I turned my light off, just to see what it felt like to sit in a roomette in a train in pitch darkness. It seemed quite exciting somehow.
      However, it occurred to me it might be interesting to go outside while all was shrouded in darkness, to see what that was like. So before undressing I went outside for a little while; and the thing I noticed was the stars. In that clear unpolluted air, unspoilt by any light at all, the sky looked as if it were strewn with millions of needle-sharp diamonds. You could almost have reached out and touched them. It was incredible; I've never seen anything like it before or since. The whole universe seemed to consist of the station platform, the train, and the stars. The stars just dominated everything; you couldn't possibly not notice them.
      In a way, it was a good thing the lights went out then, even though some people may have found it annoying. There was no other way I would ever have seen that incredible display of the full brilliance of stars at night. One often thinks of the night as somehow gloomy and dark, but in the right conditions it can be incredibly beautiful.
      Then the lights came on again, and the stars were immediately dimmed once more. I went back into my roomette, and got into bed, and waited patiently for the train to start. You've no idea how cosy it feels to lie in bed shut up in a roomette on board a train.

      Bivalia: Oh, yes, I know what it's like. You may not have been aware of it, but I've been with you on every train trip you've ever taken, sharing the experiences with you. I know better than you realize what it's like.

      Michael: Well, perhaps you know what I mean by saying it feels cosy. And it feels especially good if the train is rushing along through the night at more than 60 miles per hour, although it has to be said the old Ghan trundled along at an average speed of 19 miles per hour (I read in one book). The Ghan may have had its charms, but speed was not one of them. (The reason it had to go so slowly was because the track was of very poor quality, which is the main reason for building the new one, which follows a completely different route. I wouldn't be surprised if Oodnadatta is now a ghost town. (I bought some science fiction books there during a stop there on the way back, would you believe?))
      After the old Ghan train stopped running at the beginning of the 1980s, a new train started, on a new line built for it, and it is much faster. It goes from Adelaide to Alice Springs in 24 hours, and you don't have to change trains anywhere. I had to change twice, at Port Augusta and Marree, and I think the whole trip took more than 50 hours, if I remember correctly, which I may not do. But it was considerably longer, anyway.
      I haven't been on the new Ghan train, which uses the same kind of cars as the Indian-Pacific. I don't know what became of the old Ghan's cars now; I hope they weren't sold to the Americans or anything like that, but nothing would surprise me these days.
      Those cars weren't all that antique themselves, actually; they were built in Germany in the 1950s, I think it was, and were actually used on the Trans-Australian railway before the Indian-Pacific started in 1970. I was glad to have an opportunity to travel in those cars, because once the Indian-Pacific started, they were not used on that line much, except when passenger demand was exceptionally strong. Perhaps they are still used at such times now; I don't know. I've lost track of railway affairs now, although there was a time when I seemed to know all about such things.
      Anyway, I don't mean to bore you with all sorts of arcane railway knowledge. But tonight as I walked the streets waiting for the lights to come on, I was just talking with Sananda about all this sort of stuff, just being very nostalgic with him, even though it may seem corny to relate it now. I was just telling him how nostalgic I find trains, even though I haven't travelled in one (apart from local trains) for about 15 years. Not at all spiritual; just rather corny.

      Bivalia: It doesn't seem corny, my friend. Sananda treasures the company of those who are able to share their intimate thoughts in such a free manner. He knows what it is like to be human, and he doesn't expect everything you talk about with him to be all spiritual. I hope you don't ever feel that there's something you'd like to share with him, or with me either, for that matter, but which you feel is too trivial to burden him, or me, with.

      Michael: Well, I let my hair down tonight. In fact, I got so involved in these thoughts that even when the street lights came on again, I didn't immediately go inside again, but walked a little longer to finish my thoughts.

      Bivalia: Well it's interesting that where normally you would be waiting impatiently for the lights to come on, you found while talking with Sananda that even when they did come on you didn't need to go back inside immediately. Perhaps you are finding there are benefits to communing with the Masters. And it doesn't matter in the slightest that the thoughts you were sharing with Sananda were, as you put it, "corny", not "spiritual".
      And is it to share these thoughts with me that brought you here tonight?

      Michael: No, not exactly. I didn't really come with an agenda of things to say, and I certainly wouldn't normally consider starting a session expressly to discuss an electricity blackout, or to relate my brush with the police and court system, or any of that, or even to talk about trains (well, I don't think I would start a session for the last of those, anyway).
      But I think somehow talking with Sananda made me feel like channelling you, and because those thoughts I've discussed were in my mind, that's what I ended up discussing with you. But I have a feeling it was talking with Sananda that really triggered it.

      Bivalia: Ah!! We have our ways of making you talk, making you share your thoughts with us. Whenever your channelling seems to be flagging a bit, we put our heads together and discuss ways of making you spill the beans you at times keep so close to your chest. But you cannot resist us for ever, my friend.
      Mind you, we do not force you. But you reach a point at which you can't keep things to yourself for ever, and it becomes blessed relief to share them with us.

      Michael: We'll see about that. I didn't channel for 3 months recently, and I feel at times I will never be able to do it again.

      Bivalia: Yes, we shall see.

      Michael: I think I'm still feeling a bit nostalgic about trains. Funny how a dream such as the Indian-Pacific one I had a few days ago can have that effect on you, sometimes for several days afterwards.

      Bivalia: It is not so strange once you take into account the reality of dreams and of the dream-world, and stop regarding them as mere fictional products of the uncontrolled unconscious mind, as many people do, including many psychologists and psychiatrists who supposedly study the essence of human nature. Many of them miss the point entirely, however.

      Michael: Yes, I don't think I've got all that much faith in them, somehow. All the psychological double-talk somehow seems sterile, although I don't quite know why. It just gives me a heavy feeling, even on the rare occasions when I do understand what is being said. I just have a reaction of (yawn) "So what?" I find most books on psychology incredibly dull to read these days.

      Bivalia: You have an understanding of the deeper reality they miss; that is why you react in that way.

      Michael: I don't think I understand much at all of any "deeper reality".

      Bivalia: Your understanding is deep within; it does not necessarily manifest in your conscious reasoning mind; but it affects your attitudes in indirect ways.

      Michael: I can't really comment on that; I just hope you're right (as I say so often in these dialogues).


      Bivalia: Was there anything else you wanted to talk about with me?

      Michael: I'm not sure. If I came with anything resembling an agenda, it was probably things I've hinted at in previous sessions, about that intangible sense of longing and wonder which somehow seems spiritual. There were further things I wanted to discuss with you in connection with that, but I think it's getting a bit too late to start on that now. It's quite cold tonight and I want to leave before I turn into an ice-block, not after.

      Bivalia: You are amused by something. Would you like to share it with me?

      Michael: It isn't quite proper.

      Bivalia: Everything is proper with me.

      Michael: It might not be with some of those who might read this.

      Bivalia: That is their problem, not yours or mine. Once you start writing for other people, the purity of your channelling is immediately compromised. I think you had better stop showing these pages to other people if fear of what they might think is going to inhibit your freedom of expression.

      Michael: Okay, I'll tell you, although it verges on the indecent. The phrase "cold enough to freeze the balls off the brass monkey" came to mind when I said tonight was cold. I don't even remember where the phrase comes from, but I remember there was a protracted correspondence a few years back in the Age newspaper, in the "Letters to the Editor" column, on the origins and meaning of the phrase, with some extremely learned-sounding dissertations on the subject, one or two from professors of English and such people, but all giving a totally different explanation. It was quite funny, actually, but eventually the editor called it to a halt with a notice in the paper that correspondence on the subject was now closed.
      Nothing more than that. I just told you that much because you asked me to share with you the cause of my amusement.
      You must realize by now that I am quite eccentric, and the oddest things amuse me at times, while I can be left totally cold by things that endlessly amuse most people. That's just how I am, and I make no apologies for it.

      Bivalia: Nor should you. There is no reason at all why you shouldn't be individual in your sense of humour, instead of laughing at the same things other people laugh at. You might be surprised to know that sometimes when people laugh at something that really isn't all that funny, they themselves don't find it all that funny, but their laughter is an attempt to gain acceptance from other people. They think they will be accepted more if they seem to find the same things funny as the other people. And on a superficial level, they may indeed be accepted more, but inside, if they think deeply enough about it, it will still all feel wrong somehow.

      Michael: I would think manufacturing laughter that isn't genuine, and doing it convincingly, would be one of the hardest things in the world to do.

      Bivalia: Yes, I think you would find it so; but some people have nevertheless learned to do it. Their desire to be accepted at all costs may overcome the usual unnaturalness and discomfort of laughing insincerely.


      Michael: Well, I'm sorry to let this conversation down with a bump, but I think I've dropped my bundle; I think I've run out of things to say.

      Bivalia: It seems quite a natural place at which to stop for now. I could go on indefinitely, but I understand that you have physical needs to attend to.

      Michael: So I think I'll take my leave now, even though it hasn't been a very productive session.

      Bivalia: There is no such thing as an unproductive session between us. I don't judge any of our sessions in such a way, and I would encourage you not to, either. I have enjoyed myself considerably with you, and if you but cast your judgement aside for a moment, I think you will realize you have done also. It matters not in the slightest what we talk about, whether it's deep matters of spirit, or simply train rides, or even rides in paddy wagons.
      What counts is communing with one's Higher Self, and that is always enjoyable. It is as natural as enjoying a drink of cold water when one is hot and thirsty, and should not be judged any more than one judges the act of drinking water.

      Michael: I guess you're right. You always have an answer for everything, it seems, which I guess is some comfort.

      Bivalia: That is one of my functions.

      Michael: Anyway, I think I'd better stop now.

      Bivalia: Yes, good-night, then, Michael. May we meet once again in the not-too-distant future; and, meanwhile, I am always with you.

      Michael: Hang on, I think Jesus said that, didn't he?

      Bivalia: Possibly. Why cannot I say it too? After all, he is with you all the time, and so am I. We are both speaking the truth.
      There may be more kinship between Jesus and me than you think, after all. We are all one in the end - all beings, whether human, animal, angelic, Masters, or even God Himself. All are one, ultimately: our job meanwhile is to realize that, by stripping away everything that distracts us from that. No, not stripping it away, but by transmuting it into something that unites instead of divides, that reveals truth instead of hides it. Ask St. Germain about that one day. That is one way out of many of summarizing the purpose of life.

      Michael: I can't top that just now; what more can I say? Good-night, Bivalia.

      Bivalia: Good-night, beloved friend.


[a] Tuesday, 26 March, 2002 - "Bivalia:":
      See the first
note at the end of the dialogue for Monday, 13 June, 1994, for the meaning of the name "Bivalia", and why I adopted it in these dialogues as the name for my Higher Self. [Back]

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