Sunday, 9 April, 1995
Michael: Good morning, Bivalia.
Bivalia:[a] Good morning to you. This is very bright and early to hear
Michael: Yes, there's a reason. And with pencil and paper too - my
computer's being fixed.
Bivalia: Goodness me - what is the world coming to, you being reduced to
pencil and paper? Definitely "lo-tech".
Michael: Yes, I know. I'll type it into the computer later, in order to
print out - at the moment I'm using an almost unreadable semi-shorthand. I
wish I'd learned shorthand properly, as I once intended. But as it is, I'm
using an ad hoc system of abbreviating words to the bare minimum of letters to
be recognizable, cutting out most vowels, word endings and the like.
I can tell you, once you're used to typing, it's almost unbearable to
revert to longhand, especially if you have to write it out fully and neatly
(which I'm certainly not doing now).
Also, typing wrecks your handwriting - my writing is much less neat now
(even when I'm trying to be neat, which I'm not now) than it used to be. I
suppose it's lack of practice - I just type anything extended nowadays, such
as channelling you, writing letters, etc.
And when I do type this, I bet I'll do a bit of revising along the way,
amplifying my thoughts or explaining things more clearly than I can think of
now. And if I alter your words, it will only be to clarify or
amplify what I consider to have been implicit in your words to begin with.
Bivalia: That is your privilege, and one of the privileges of writing.
We've discussed the question of revision before and it doesn't worry me. It is
an inherent part of the medium of writing, and if you revise my words as you
type, later on, I will be there guiding you, and I trust you to do it honestly.
Anyway, what brings you to me now?
Michael: I've just woken up, and I had this dream. It was immensely
complicated, covering what seems to be a whole universe of its own, and I
don't remember many details. But I dreamed about the Indian-Pacific again,
quite a different dream from the previous one, and a very haunting one it
seemed, too, just so full of nostalgia. That was early on. Much else
happened, of which I remember very little. Some of the scenes of the dream
seemed familiar, and seemed to hark back to earlier parts of my life, as my
dreams so often do. The places and events seem the same as in real life, yet
quite different also. Perhaps you're right that there's really a higher-world
translation or analogue of those earthly things - I don't know.
Bivalia: I do, though. Yes, that is correct.
Michael: I seemed to be doing an awful lot of travelling. I vaguely
remember flying over difficult, wild terrain (by myself, not in a plane),
eastwards to some town or other. I think the general area of territory is
familiar from previous dreams - I think I once said before how my whole dream
world has a certain consistency, their own self-contained geography almost,
certain locations which are common to different dreams. I forget why I was
flying thus, but it seemed important. I remember walking along diagonal
streets on foot, and seemed to encounter Pentecostal churches, somehow. I
think some of the people there were familiar, perhaps from other dreams, but
(as in real life) I felt no kinship with that style of religion or those
people. There was this giant party, with hundreds of people, some of whom I
knew, and some of whom seemed to be public figures such as Jeff Kennett and
Nelson Mandela.[b] There was a feeling as if this marked the end times of the
world, or something like that. We were all very friendly and embracing each
other, friends and strangers alike. (I seem to particularly remember
embracing Nelson Mandela as if I knew him quite well.) That is one of the
last bits of the dream I remember.
I just let all that pour out without self-censorship. I wish I could
remember, because parts of that dream have a haunting familiarity, a sense of
wonder or magic - especially the Indian-Pacific bit, which I want to return to.
I'm not sure if I was travelling in the train or not - that seemed to
vary according to the part of the dream. But the train itself seemed like a
whole world on its own, and a very wonderful one I felt a real affinity for.
But also, there was music going on. I don't know if it was background music,
just like so many locations in this physical world are afflicted with, like a
cancer, or whether it was superimposed on the dream by higher forces but not
really part of it, or what. But that music seemed very Mozartian somehow,
although I didn't recognize it as a particular Mozart piece; yet at
the same time it seemed to evoke or express the very essence of the
train. It seemed to be a piano concerto, something for piano and orchestra.
One bit seemed to be in E-flat major, another bit in B major (the latter my
favourite key, incidentally).
Bivalia: This is very interesting. Although you don't remember many
details, I read between the lines and see this as quite a spiritual dream. Can
you remember how this music went now?
Michael: Unfortunately, no, mostly. There are only 4 bars of the music
which I still have definitely.
Bivalia: Stop right now, and do something for me, will you?
Bivalia: I want you to stop channelling for a moment and write those bars
down, in as much detail as you can remember.
Michael: Okay, if you think I should.
[A COUPLE OF MINUTES LATER.]
Michael: I've done it. But, as I say, I don't know if it's really my
Bivalia: It doesn't matter for now.
Michael: It sounds very like a theme from the slow movement of a Mozart
piano concerto, although I don't recognize the actual tune. But Mozart wrote
about 27 piano concertos, as well as lots of other concertos for other
instruments, symphonies, sonatas and so on, most of which I don't have either
recordings or scores of, so I don't see how I can check whether the theme I
just wrote down is actually in one of them or not. And as long as there seems
a possibility that it may be in one of them, I couldn't use the theme for one
of my own pieces.
Bivalia: I'm not asking you to. That can come later, if it seems
Michael: We'll see about that. I'm extremely purist about not borrowing
these from other composers, totally so in fact. I'm more puritan than any
other composers I know about that. Most composers have borrowed themes at
some stage of their career. It's acknowledged - there's no deception about
it, passing it off as their own theme or anything; but I won't do it myself,
even while acknowledging it. I'm willing to use a general style or approach
to composing that originated with another composer (by contrast, I'm more
permissive than most composers about that), but as for actually
quoting a particular theme - never. I'm so purist about that I wouldn't even
use a folk-tune, which most composers see as quite legitimate. But I am
concerned that my music should be mine, not partly someone else's.
Bivalia: Okay. That's your right and privilege as a composer to take that
stand. But you occasionally dream about music, the most wonderful music which is
usually your own, and in your own style, but you never remember it on awakening.
But now that you've remembered a fragment, I just wanted you to write it down,
even if it does seem Mozartian.
Michael: It's much simpler in style than the music I sometimes dream of
which I don't remember. That is much more complex and doesn't seem Mozartian
or anyone else at all. (My wrist aches awfully - I don't know how much longer
I can continue this.)
But sometimes that music seems so wonderful in the dream, like a glimpse
of heaven, almost, that it is one of the things that makes me think after all
that perhaps I do have it in me to write wonderful music. And such dream
music often seems familiar somehow, although I'm sure it's new (mostly, if not
this time), not something I know in waking life. But it's funny that dreams
can seem to have that magic and wonder - it's something beyond anything I can
dream up or imagine while I'm awake.
Bivalia: Dreams indeed can be a window into realms beyond.
Michael: It's funny the dream should come at this time; last night I was
feeling quite depressed, and most unspiritual. I've had very little in the
way of spiritual thoughts, except to say occasionally to Sananda (especially
when something goes wrong), "It there's anything spiritual I'm meant to be
doing with my life, well I just couldn't give a damn. I'm goddamned fed up
with life, the struggles and hardship, and I can't be bothered with it all.
You want me to do anything higher, then try to make my life a bit easier then,
will you?" - and things like that. I say it outwardly politely, but the
bitterness probably comes through like gall.
And I haven't been composing either. Just a couple of days ago, I looked
at some of my music, some of the sketches I've made for those nature-inspired
symphonies I've mentioned before, thought it had possibilities, and daydreamed
a little, but then a bit later, contemplating it gave me a heavy dull feeling
of despair as if I felt sure I could never come up with the inspiration to
fulfil those wonderful ideas. Just a very few of those passages, all too
brief, seem like glimpses of a vision of a heavenly world utterly removed from
the one I'm actually in. Since looking at those ideas, I've not bothered with
it, but have been reading Dean Koontz's novel, The Door to December,
which is certainly quite an engrossing novel. I've got hundreds of novels I
still haven't read, and I feel I could just pass the rest of my life reading,
and just say "Stuff it all" to composing or anything higher, which to me is
just so full of hardship and grief.
I don't know what kept Beethoven going. His life was full of grief, and
he found composing a struggle. But at least he got good results, which
probably encouraged him. The difference between him and me is that he gets
the results and I don't. He had the talent and probably I don't. Why should
I give a stuff in that case? I'm not interested in adding to the piles of
mediocre music that already infest this planet like a noxious disease.
And I tell you right now, and I tell the Masters, including Kuthumi, who
offered to help me with composing: Thank you all for your help and
encouragement, and if I am ever in a condition fit to take up your offers of
help, I will do so with gratitude - but if I'm to continue to be plagued with
emotional problems, depression, hardship, and the like, forget it. I just
can't cope with all that and compose at the same time. Maybe Mozart could
compose while in the depths of despair - in fact it's on record that he did,
and some of the music so written is as happy as a lark - but I don't work like
that - never have. Unhappiness absolutely kills any inspiration I might have
had. I'm a bit more like Scriabin, who (I once read) was more inspired by
happiness than unhappiness.
So there you have it. If my life doesn't improve, I very much doubt that
I'll be able to compose, however many Masters are helping me. And I don't
like pain, and believe I have a much lower-than-average tolerance of pain
(I've always been like that, too); and therefore if things seem too hard, I'll
give up entirely (because the pain of continuing is just too much), and pass
my time, my whole life even, if necessary, just reading science fiction,
thrillers and the like. That's enjoyable, if not quite as spiritual as
composing might be (at its best), and doesn't involve pain. Just things like
that, or messing round in whatever ways occur to me.
Bivalia: What do you think of the psychologist M. Scott Peck's idea of
"legitimate pain", and his belief that the way to happiness lies in learning to
accept "legitimate pain"?
Michael: I think it's bullshit - a load of crap. I don't think pain is
legitimate at all. And if Dr. Peck thinks some pain is legitimate (whatever
he means by that), I wonder what he thinks "illegitimate pain" might be. But
I don't remember reading about that in the book Joan I. (my aunt) lent me.
Bivalia: You're very angry and depressed about life, aren't you?
Michael: Yes; there's no denying that. I've just about written this life
off. I feel as if I'm just killing time as pleasantly as possible, just
reading books, tinkering with the computer, just farting around in various
ways, just marking time until my death. Things have gone wrong with this life
(for which I don't feel I'm to blame), and probably it's too late to repair
the damage now, and probably it couldn't have been repaired early on, even if
I'd known how to. With a bit of luck, perhaps in the next life things'll be
better and I'll get another chance. I like to think I haven't completely lost
the spark of spirituality, because I still think a part of me wants to make it
on the spiritual path - but conditions in this life just don't seem right for
me to do it now. I've noticed over the last few years that more and more I'm
pinning all my hopes in the next world, as I see one hope or dream for
this life after another crumbling into dust.
So, if you don't mind, when this session runs down, I'm going to go and
get something to eat, then resume my Dean Koontz novel. As for composing, you
can stuff that wherever you think it fits.
Bivalia: Beloved one, I'm sorry to hear you feel like this. I will be with
you whatever you choose to do.
Michael: Yes, you'll be with me, loving (as might all the Masters), doing
everything me but the one thing I need and want most of all - and that is for
my life to improve. Believe me when I say it is not simply up to my own
will. Many of the things that are dragging me down are beyond my control. My
moods come and go without my consent, sometimes even with no visible cause.
Much of the difficulty is to do with the conditions in which I have to live,
largely caused by lack of money - I can't afford to move anywhere better than
here, where I don't have nearly enough room, so that I keep tripping over
things and knocking piles of stuff to the floor with the merest movement of an
elbow or toe. I'm so close to neighbours I can't play the piano freely, so
that causes my whole life to drift away from music, which doesn't help my
inspiration for composing.
None of this helps, yet you and the Masters give me your love and
compassion, but you can't help change all these other things.
Bivalia: I can see why you are so cynical of us here in the higher realm,
and I don't blame you. But to do all the things you want is not as simple as you
might think. Believe me, we don't like seeing all these things ruin your life -
but we can't just reach down and wave a magic wand and change it all. If such
things were possible, you would constantly see people in your world appearing to
conquer their problems like magic; and everyday experience tells you this very
rarely happens. For whatever reasons, that just isn't the way the world
operates. We in the higher realms may be free of physical limitations, but our
interactions with the physical world are subject to its laws (with a few little
exceptions which occasionally be very significant, but which in most situations
don't count for much).
When you way "Stuff the physical world - I'm going to just pass the time
the best I can and wait for the next world", you see yourself as going on strike,
almost: militantly rebelling against the spiritual order, karma, or whatever, and
sticking up for your rights. But we in the higher realms are on your side more
than you imagine. Your attitude is entirely understandable, and partly the
result of your current mood; quite likely, a few days hence, you may feel a bit
better, and be talking to the Masters again, and not in that cynical rebellious
way, either. Don't put too much weight on those passing moods, my friend,
however bad they may seem.
And yet what interests me is that out of all this anger and bitterness
(which you certainly felt yesterday), this dream came, and in an indefinable way
it seemed quite inspirational. That's why you began this session, and you began
in a better mood because of it. As our discussion went on, you allowed all the
negativity to come back (and I played along with it because I thought you needed
to work through it all). But it might be good now to return to those earlier
things we were discussing.
Michael: I don't think there's anything more to say about that. I've
told you everything I know about that. I do have difficulty remembering
dreams in detail, especially if they're complicated, like this was; all I'm
left with is a feeling or atmosphere which is usually completely impossible to
put into words anyway.
Bivalia: What is important is that dreams like this give you that sense of
hope again. You almost feel the dream is pointing to something real and
wonderful out there somewhere. Never mind what it is, or whether you interpret
it correctly or not. The thing is, it's reminding you of a broader vision of
wonderful things. Hang onto that vision, my friend. This is part of what
Sananda meant in that original message to you (at the Crea workshop), about
keeping the thread of truth going forwards. And he thought you could continue to
do so - after all, you've done so for 41 years already, and if you've kept it
going for that long (and through hundreds of earlier times of hardship or
despair), I don't seriously suppose you're going to drop it all now, however much
you may feel like it now.
Michael: Maybe. I don't know. I don't seem to have anything more to
say. I know you want to turn the discussion back to how we began this
session, but (I don't know about you) - but I think I've just run out of steam
on that. It's remarkable that I began this session at all, considering all
the surrounding circumstances.
Look, if it'll make you happy, I'll just spend a minute going back and
looking over what I've written (17 notepad-sized pages, believe it or not),
and see if there's anything I can pick up.
Bivalia: It's not to make me happy. I am anyway. But I would prefer to
leave you feeling better than worse, and for that, it would be desirable to try
and end with the more hopeful feeling you began this session with.
Michael: Just wait a minute then and I'll see what I can come up with.
[ABOUT 10 MINUTES LATER.]
Bivalia: Okay - you've looked back, and I've picked up an idea. What seems
important (at the moment) is that you've been having a hard time, and yet this
dream came, seemingly out of the blue, offering you a vision of hope. It seems
to me that dreams (certain ones, not all of them) have more of a feeling of
spirituality for you than anything else - more than any amount of philosophy, or
even channelled words from the Masters. This is what we should work with.
Sananda also confirmed once, during a channelling with Ra, that dreams were one
of the best signs for you: they're something you experience rather than just hear
about, and they do at times seem to have that wonder you yourself say you couldn't
just make up or fabricate while awake.
You don't appear to be in any mood to make any effort to improve your
situation, especially while seeing no rewards for your efforts, even though
theoretically there probably are a lot of things you could do. But if you don't
know what they are, fair enough.
Perhaps you don't have the self-discipline to do anything, but I do - and I
think I can persuade you at least to play along with me, just for the lark, as it
were. We'll be very light about it all, and have some fun.
Here's what I want you to do - and it's very simple to begin with, so it
won't scare you off. Enjoy your novel for today, if you like; but I want you to
go to sleep tonight intending to have an inspiring wonderful dream, one which
points the way for you spiritually. I don't want you to make an intense effort,
repeating that intention a dozen times, as if you're not sure whether or not
you've impressed the intention on your unconscious mind sufficiently. Forget the
unconscious mind, and just trust it to do what is necessary. Don't strain
things, but simply have the desire and intention to have such a dream, and just
take the attitude that it will be quite natural, and just flow the way you
intend. Do you think you can do that, Michael?
Michael: Yes, I think I can do that.
Bivalia: Don't specify what the dream should be. It might be another train
dream, or it might be about one of the Masters, or about music, or atolls, or
flying, or fairies, or anything at all. But it will be what you need at that
Meanwhile, I will also intend to help such a dream come to you, will help
you in astral travels which might be necessary for such a dream to happen. And I
will help you remember as much of it as possible the next morning. You should
also form an intention to remember as much as possible.
I will talk to Sananda and Kuthumi and Hilarion and other Masters you are
close to, and ask them to help in whatever ways they can. You should also speak
to them today and ask for such help.
The next morning I want you to write down whatever you remember, however
brief or scanty it might be. You don't need to have a session with me like
this. To insist on such a time-consuming thing on a daily basis would be quite
an impractical thing. But do make a few notes of the dream - and on succeeding
days too, as often as you can, in fact; and whenever we do have our next
discussion, we can discuss what you've written. Okay? Does that sound fair
Michael: Yes, I guess so.
Bivalia: And on succeeding days I want you similarly to have the intention
to dream along the lines I've described. Also, I don't want you to get attached
to having instant results. I don't want you thinking the whole idea has failed
if no dreams come. These things don't always work the first time, or even the
second or third, and so on. If nothing happens, accept that and try again the
following night. If you keep trying, it will happen sooner or later, and will be
all the better for having waited till the proper time. Try to trust me and your
unconscious mind to know what's best.
Michael: Okay. But I don't think you can give me the line that whatever
happens is for the best. The merest casual look at the world makes it
manifestly obvious to me that it is mostly not for the best, unless
you choose, after the event, to define "best" in whatever way will make the
statement true, given the way the events have already turned out. But to
redefine words simply to fit preconceived doctrines is nothing more than
gobbledegook of the worst New-Age kind.
Bivalia: Okay; I tend to agree with you. I wasn't saying that everything
is for the best, or that the timing that happens is for the best in all cases; I
was simply saying it with respect to your dreams, which I think is a much more
likely proposition than saying it of all events generally.
So I think if you let it happen without straining at things, your dream
life will work out in a way that will help you.
Michael: I hope you're right; that's the most I can say.
Bivalia: Perhaps by starting thus, we can begin a process of lifting you up
by your bootstraps into the wide blue yonder where the realms of wonder and magic
are to be found. We might get onto lucid dreaming later, and before you know it,
you will be able to compose wonderful music with the help of Kuthumi, Sananda,
and myself, and perhaps the help of other beings too.
I will let you go now, having given you your homework. Your right hand is
getting tired, you're getting hungry, and I think the discussion is winding down
What time did you start this?
Michael: About 8.30 a.m., I think it was.
Bivalia: What's the time now?
Michael: I have no idea - let me look... 11.17.
Bivalia: Not a bad session, especially at such a time (and so early in the
day for you).
Bivalia: Come back any time you want, and keep talking with the Masters,
even if it's only at times to tell them how fed up with life you are. Better
times will come, and at least you are still in touch with them.
Michael: Okay, thanks. And perhaps I'll see you tonight in the realms
Bivalia: See you later, beloved one.