Tuesday, 14 July, 1998
Michael: Hullo, Bivalia. It seems a while since we last met in this
fashion, but in reality I see from a listing of my computer files that it is
only a couple of months.
Bivalia:[a] Good evening, Michael, my friend. It is good to hear from you
once again. Indeed it is not so long since we last conversed; but from my
perspective, time is not nearly as dominating as it is for you, so the interval
since we last conversed does not matter. Any time for conversing is right if you
feel drawn to approach me at that time.
Michael: Well, I do; but I must admit that, as is often the case, that my
desire to converse with you is prompted by a particular event.
Bivalia: That is fine. It is often possible to use the everyday events of
life as a springboard for learning insights that outweigh the importance of the
Michael: Yes, it seems that occasionally (not often, though) a relatively
ordinary event gives rise to a train of thought that brings certain thoughts
to mind that I might not have otherwise noticed.
But first, I have some rather sad news. I have mentioned from time to
time in our discussions Priscilla, my mother's cat. Although she didn't live
with me, she has really been a part of my life for over a decade and a half,
because I have cat-sat for her many, many times. Well, she is dead now. My
mother had to have her put down a few days ago, because after the vet saw her
he found she had health problems that were not going to get better. In
particular, she had an overactive thyroid gland, which the vet said was going
to kill her in the end.
Bivalia: Yes, it is sad when a beloved cat or dog leaves us in this world,
as so often happens because their lives are so much shorter than human lives.
Animals have a spiritual role to play in your world, and can assist humans who
are in contact with them to grow spiritually, as the humans can help them, too.
Yes, Priscilla is over in the other realms now, and she has found her way to your
father, and they are both glad to be together again. But Priscilla misses you
and your mother all the same; she was a most loving little pussy cat.
Michael: Mum telephoned me to tell me the sad news. I knew she was not
well, but she was not in pain yet, just a little out of sorts, and it seemed
possible that my mother could get some sort of radiation treatment for her, or
alternatively, some tablet treatment. But apparently she and the vet decided
that these treatments were not promising, and Mum had her put to sleep rather
than let her suffer pain, which I suppose was only a matter of time - a month
or two, Mum told me. It's sad, but I suppose it was the right thing to do.
Well, as a long-time supporter of the principle of euthanasia, you might not
expect me to think otherwise.
Bivalia: That's all right. It is part of the way things go in your world
that domestic animals are placed in the care of humans, and the humans quite
rightly make such decisions for them.
Michael: Mum was very sad, and said she cried a lot. I know what it's
like, because I lost two cats once who were killed by cars. It's terrible - I
never felt worse in my whole life. However, I do seem to feel the pain of
things in general much worse than most people seem to (as far as I can tell
from appearances), so I imagine it wasn't quite that bad for my
Bivalia: It is not always possible to tell from appearances, but it is true
that some people are much more sensitive to pain than others, and I would agree
with your assessment that you are one of those.
Michael: Anyway, I didn't cry, but I almost felt like it. But I went out
and walked a bit outside and called on God, or Spirit, or whatever name you
like to use, to send some love to her, to give her any healing that may be
Bivalia: Yes, and I can tell you it helped her - it was effective. You
also asked your father to look after her, and of course he will. Those accounts
you sometimes read of people reuniting with their pets when they pass over are
quite true, you know. There is nothing fanciful or imaginary about that.
Michael: Yes, I can imagine Mum gardening in the next world when her time
to pass over arrives, with George on one side of her, Sylvester on the other,
and Priscilla off to another angle, because in their various times they all
tended to follow her around the garden - but they didn't like each other, as
cats tend not to if they haven't grown up together.
Bivalia: [LAUGHS.] Yes, I can imagine it. But you might be surprised
that George and Sylvester, now both long since passed over, do see something of
each other, and have got used to each other to an extent. Maybe they're not
quite bosom buddies yet, but it won't be long. Animals continue to grow over
here, as well as humans.
Michael: And of course, there's Terry, the dog we had in the 1960s and
early 1970s, when my brothers and I were still kids. I suppose he might have
learned now that he mustn't chase George and Sylvester.
Bivalia: [LAUGHS.] Yes, he has learnt that now. You might be glad to
learn that, although over here one doesn't own animals in the way you
think of it on Earth, Terry and George and Sylvester do spend a lot of time with
your father, and they are all glad to be together again.
I think you might get a few surprises, too, when you reach this realm. Not
only will you meet them all again, but you have three very loving cats waiting for
Michael: It all seems too far away to be real, and perhaps too good to be
Bivalia: Yes, it may seem that way, but the time will come. I know you
often feel yourself to be trapped in an endless darkness in your world, but it
will come to an end. There will be many opportunities to continue
growing, and the time will come when it will simply seem like waking up from a
Meanwhile, your condition, painful though it might be to you, does not seem
to us in spirit nearly so bad as it might seem to you. After all, you are
keeping your integrity, your vision of truth, almost completely unsullied by the
influence of the world you are immersed in, and that is not as as common a thing
as you might suppose.
Just remember this. You remember, don't you, how Sananda asked you in 1993
to keep your light shining, not to lose the thread of truth (or words to that
effect)? Well, we are all glad to see that you have done that very well indeed.
Michael: It's funny: I don't quite know how literally to take the reply I
got to my question on that occasion, but it's a fact that my spiritual outlook
has been changing - improving, I would even say - ever since that occasion, as
if that encounter with Sananda was a catalyst for great changes in my
Bivalia: Well, you don't mean to say that surprises you, do you?
I'm sure you know that Sananda often acts as a catalyst for great and wonderful
Michael: I guess so. I just hope I am not a disappointment to him.
Bivalia: I would say not. It is true that you may not have yet done many
of the things outwardly in your world as you would have wished; but we here in
spirit consider one's spiritual condition to be of much greater importance than
such things. And you can't deny that you have opened out spiritually an immense
amount in the last few years. Just consider yourself a year before that meeting
with Sananda, or even five years before: a rather disillusioned, cynical
agnostic, almost an atheist for all practical purposes, dedicated only to
learning truth through reductionistic rational processes, limited to the
parameters of thinking laid down by science. You are far removed from that now,
and these channelling sessions we have done are testament to that.
Not that I want to imply that the scientific method of thinking is in any way bad. It is wonderful in its proper territory, and completely valid. But you made an idol of it, worshipped it, refused to consider anything beyond it, and you tried wrongly to apply it to spiritual areas it does not in reality apply to, or work with. We in spirit are very glad to see you have got that in proper perspective now.
Michael: Supposing I go back to that again one day?
Bivalia: Supposing you go back to crawling and sucking a baby's bottle?
Michael: What do you mean by that?
Bivalia: I mean that one is no more likely to happen than the other.
Michael: I hope you are right.
Anyway, I wanted to tell you something that happened to me last night, a
rather disconcerting adventure I had that gave rise to some slightly uneasy
Michael: I can't cook here yet in Healesville because I don't have my
fridge here yet, and therefore can't store food. (It's taking me much longer
than you might expect for my to complete my move.) Therefore I am relying a
lot more on take-away food for now than is really good for me, although I do
intend to remedy that as soon as I can begin cooking.
Bivalia: You don't need to justify what you are doing.
Michael: Anyway, last night I left it too late, because the shops close
earlier in Healesville than I was used to in Melbourne. I went to the
all-night service station, but their pies and stuff weren't yet hot. So the
only thing to do was to drive to Lilydale, the next nearest all-night place,
and one which has a bigger range of food available.
Michael: In fact, I'm going to have to do it again tonight, because the
same thing has happened, and if this channelling takes too long, I will have
to ask your indulgence to break off this session for a while so I can go and
get something to eat.
Bivalia: Be my guest. You can have a break if you like, then we can
resume. This isn't school, you know.
Michael: Let's see how we go with time. I also have a reason for going
back to the same place tonight, but I'll get to that in a bit.
Anyway, I've been to this place before, and I remembered that there was a
stray cat that hangs around there, which is almost feral. The people who work
there tell me that the cat's been hanging around there for a year or so, and
that it scrounges food from the rubbish bins and the like. Apparently there
were once 2 or 4 kittens there (the number seems to be different according to
different staff), brothers and sisters, but the others were taken early on as
pets by passers-by, and only the one is left now. It's probably gone too far
into a feral way of life to be redeemable as a pet now.
Bivalia: Maybe not; but I admit its prospects don't look good now.
Michael: When I've been there before, I've seen this cat, and its
attention was attracted by pies or pasties I took out of the shop. I used to
eat them outside the shop in the parking area before driving on, because it's
difficult to eat and drive simultaneously without making a mess, and it's
probably not safe anyway. The cat would come within a few yards, but no
closer, and meow piteously. It doesn't look unduly thin or malnourished, but
it was obviously desperately hungry. If I took a step closer, it would hiss
and spit at me, then immediately meow again for food; it was rather pathetic
seeing this obvious conflict of instincts showing in its behaviour.
Anyway, I couldn't just stand there without throwing it a few titbits.
Each time I threw a bit, the cat would take it up greedily and run away out of
sight with it, as if afraid I would try to take it back. After it had eaten
the bit, it would come back out of hiding a minute later and ask for more,
poor little thing.
Well, I remembered this last night and decided to go to the supermarket
before driving to Lilydale to get some food for it. (The supermarket was open
till midnight, but nothing there was suitable for immediate eating other than
fruit, of which I already had some, but I wanted to eat something more.) I
bought a few hearts, took them home and chopped them, and drove to Lilydale to
get a couple of pies. I took only half of the chopped meat, because the full
amount would be far too much, and I thought it possible the cat may try to
guts it all down at once and make itself sick.
Bivalia: More people would do acts of kindness like that if only they could
see the effect it has on the spiritual realm.
Michael: Would they? Well, perhaps they don't see it, because I asked
the man in the shop if many people fed the cat bits, and he said no, the cat
just catches and eats bugs. He said it casually as if it were the most
ordinary thing in the world.
Bivalia: That is sad, isn't it? I'm glad you felt moved to give the cat
something last night.
Michael: I wonder what other people pulling in thought, if they saw what
I was doing.
Bivalia: It doesn't really matter what they thought.
Michael: Anyway, the cat was so wary it took a while to lure him (or
maybe her) close, but he started gobbling the meat up pretty quick smart after
he cottoned on. He must have thought all his Christmases had come at once.
Bivalia: You have reminded him what ordinary common kindness and love are,
and you have done him a great turn in so doing. Don't be deterred by the fact
that the cat didn't change its behaviour or show friendliness of any sort.
Michael: I didn't do it with any expectation of reward of that sort, and
I knew it wouldn't happen. I just did it because I felt sorry for the cat.
I was eating my own food while the cat was eating a few yards away, and
was soon ready to go. When the cat finished what I had given it, I put some
more down. Every now and then the cat ran away when someone came nearby, then
returned a minute later. Because I wanted to leave soon, I put the remaining
meat down in a pile, and the cat hoed into it, but then walked away obviously
full, leaving some still behind. I supposed it would eat it later, or maybe
some other cat might get it first, if there were others around.
Anyway, none of this is the real point of this session, but it seems I
just have to tell a sequence of events in the right order.
But I still have some of those hearts left, and no fridge to keep them
in. When I go back there to buy something to eat in an hour or two, I'll
take the rest of the meat there and leave it for the cat.
Bivalia: I'm sure it'll be very grateful. If you're not careful you might
end up with a new pet cat.
Michael: I don't think so. It's almost feral; and I'm allergic to cats
anyway, and couldn't live with one all the time. Even just visiting my mother
I used to react badly at times to Priscilla, sneezing and wheezing and getting
a runny nose.
Bivalia: I suppose that will look after itself. If the cat decides it
wants to live with you, you might be surprised at the ways it might, on the
spiritual level, engineer its way into your home and your heart.
Michael: On the way to the shop, I didn't come the usual direct way along
the Maroondah Highway. I took some side roads through some very lonely
countryside, just because I'm the sort of person who sometimes likes to
explore side roads. I'd thought of exploring some of those before, and
suddenly decided to do it, even though I could hardly see anything in the
middle of the night. I joined the highway again at Coldstream, just a couple
of miles before you get to Lilydale.
On the way home I decided to do the same thing again, and found yet
another indirect way back home. I took Ingram Rd. out of Coldstream (which is
not the road I entered Coldstream by), and made towards what was marked on my
map as a very lonely little place in the middle of nowhere called Gruyere,
just because I was curious to see if anything was there.
It was a winter's night, of course, with the sky largely but not entirely
covered with slightly misty clouds, but it was not especially cold. But the
countryside looked very lonely and desolate under that dark sky, illuminated
just the tiniest bit by a three-quarter moon behind the clouds, hardly visible
I took what my map indicated was a road that would take me to Gruyere,
but in fact after a few miles it came to an end; I could see the road
continued, but it had been blocked off for some reason. I had to do a couple
of detours to get to Gruyere, which is not really a town, but just an area
where a few roads intersect. There were a couple of things there like a
school, a rural business of some sort, a few houses - but no shops. I drove
round for 10 minutes or so, going in and out of some of the roads. I took a
road which my map indicated went south of a main road, then after a mile or so
turned west and then joined another main road. I intended to reach this other
main road, then use it to come back and go home. (I wasn't going to explore
round in the dark more than half an hour or so.)
Well, I entered the road, which was only a rather narrow dirt road, and
it got narrower and narrower, and rougher and rougher, as it made its way
through lonely country marked only with the occasional farm. It went over a
crest and went steeply downhill, getting ever rougher and narrower, and it
started to seem like a very crude track into the wilderness. I began to
wonder if I should keep going, thinking it might get too difficult for my car
to traverse. I decided if it got any worse I would turn back; but, in the
meantime, I had to keep going, because the track - it was not a road any more
- was flanked by thick trees and bushes so that there was no room to turn
around. It was little more than two furrows in the ground by now. I
slithered down a slope for several hundred yards, looking for a place to
turn. I actually went past a turning place, thinking maybe it would be
easiest to continue now that I had probably come more than half way.
I got a rude shock a hundred yards or so past this turning place when, at
the bottom of the valley, I found the track completely covered by a large
puddle, several inches deep and full of soft mud. I realized I could get
hopelessly bogged if I went through that, so I backed up the track again to
the place where I could turn, then did a three-point turn to head back up the
hillside again. The track seemed like a tunnel, lit by my lights, with total
blackness all around.
Bivalia: I think I'm beginning to see what you meant by having an adventure
earlier. Would I be right in guessing what happened next?
Michael: [WITH A SIGH.] Probably. Anyway, the track generally was
rather wet, and seemed to consist of a mixture of stones and clay, and in
places there were great diagonal furrows across the track obviously worn by
rivulets of water over the years. You guessed it; on some of the steepest
bits I began skidding, and could get up only with great difficulty or not at
all. When I just couldn't get up, I had to back down, then come up again a
bit faster to try to get some momentum to carry me over the difficult and
slippery bits. However, there was one steep place which I just couldn't get
past. If I tried to, I would either slide backwards, or my tyres would spin
in a patch of mud. I finally got wedged in a soft dip in the track, and could
only surge back and forth a foot or so without getting out. I tried to
reverse down the hill again, but the diagonal furrows caused me to go
off-centre all the time, and if I wasn't careful I'd go off the track and into
I was cursing VicRoads and the local council by turns now (not knowing
which authority is responsible for the roads in the area) for not signposting
the road with a warning about the danger of getting bogged after rain, and
starting to feel a bit scared, and wondering what would become of me, at 1.30
or so in the morning in the middle of nowhere with possibly no human beings
around for a mile or so. This was the first time anything like this had
happened to me, and I was kicking myself for entering the damned road in the
Hey, you're not saying much.
Bivalia: I'm listening. There is a time for speaking, and there is a time
Michael: Finally, after one of these times of almost backing off the
road, I got well and truly stuck. In front of me was a pool of mud that only
got deeper if I spun the wheels to try and get out; behind me was a small tree
right on the side of the road, which prevented me from reversing - and I was
really quite worried by now.
I began trying to think what I could do to get out, even while wondering
if I would have to abandon the car and walk miles and miles to get help.
Gruyere might have only been a mile away, but there was no-one and nothing
there at that hour, and I somehow didn't like the idea of knocking on
someone's door in the middle of the night. (I felt sure they wouldn't like it
either.) I could just stay in the car until morning, when help might be
easier to get (not my ideal way of passing the night); but even then I didn't
see what local people could do to help me, even assuming they were willing to
try to help me.
If there was a public phone in Gruyere, perhaps I could call someone for
help, but I didn't remember seeing a phone there. Alternatively, I could walk
to Coldstream, perhaps 7 or 8 miles away, which would take a few hours, and
there would almost surely be a public phone there; or Lilydale itself would
only be a couple of miles beyond that. (At that hour of night, even the name
"Coldstream" was rather depressing.) If I did this, at least one good point
was that I have a good sense of direction and would not get lost on the way.
I was even wondering if I should find a motel in Coldstream to stay the
night, because I didn't relish the idea of staying up the rest of the night
after all that walking, and of course I had no way of getting home except by
taxi, which would probably cost as much as a motel room, especially when I
would later have to come back by taxi too. I found myself wondering if there
was a motel in Coldstream, but I couldn't recall, and anyway no staff would be
up all night there to receive guests. I know there are motels in Lilydale,
but once again they would probably long since be closed for the night.
Besides, aside from that, I thought I would probably just stay up the night
rather than pay $40 or $50 for a motel room.[b] I would then have to simply call
a tow-truck to pull me out, which I thought might cost me well over a hundred
dollars, and I got to feeling rather sorry for myself. (I even wondered if
the tow-truck in turn would get stuck in that treacherous mud.)
Meanwhile, as these melancholy thoughts went through my mind, I tried
practical measures to get out of the rut, but all the time it seemed merely
like going through the motions, because it didn't make a damned bit of
difference. I couldn't go forwards, and I couldn't go backwards either.
Fences paralleled the road all the way along on both sides, on the other
side of which was rolling fields covered mostly with grass: grazing country, I
thought, although I couldn't see any livestock. On both sides of the road,
between the roadside and the fence, there were 10-foot strips of trees and
In a panic-stricken moment I thought I didn't even have a torch with me,
but I realized there were two in the glove-box of the car, and I got the big
one out thankfully. I would obviously have to go outside to see if I could
find anything that could help me. I went into the roadside bushes and trees
and gathered leafy branches and bits of wood and placed them in front of my
tyres, stuffing them in as close as I could, hoping it would give something
for my tyres to grip and get out of the rut; I then got in the car and tried
to drive out, but to no avail. It made no difference whether I tried to ease
out gradually or rev the engine furiously; I was still stuck there, and was
hardly able to move even 3 inches. Every time I released the accelerator, I
simply rolled back against that infernal tree behind me.
Every time I failed, I got out to see if my position looked different,
and to try repositioning the branches and bits of wood in front of my tyres,
or to put more there. Sometimes the stuff simply got gripped by the tyres and
dragged under them so they appeared behind the tyres, and I would put it in
front again. Then I would get back in the car and try again: it seemed
useless; but there was nothing else to do, and I wasn't willing to abandon the
car just yet anyway. It seemed I got in and out a dozen times, uselessly
repeating the routine I just described.
When I did a lot of revving, I saw what looked like smoke rising through
my headlight beams, and when I got outside I smelt what suspiciously seemed
like the smell of burning rubber, but it's possible it was burning bark. The
tyres didn't look visibly damaged, but I hesitated to let them get too hot
through too much revving all at once. Besides, my revving didn't seem to be
accomplishing anything more than making my muddy ruts deeper and deeper; I was
effectively digging my own grave by doing this, but couldn't think what else
to do but keep trying to get out. I really didn't know what I was going to
do, and what was going to become of me.
I took a look at the tree behind me. It was only a small tree six feet
or so high, with a trunk only a couple of inches thick at ground level. The
tree was actually split into two separate trunks from the ground up, and I
pulled on the twin trunks, thinking maybe I could actually break them, or pull
them out of the ground. Indeed, I succeeded in breaking one of them, and I
used the trunk and branches of the tree to stuff under my front wheels. I
said, "Sorry to do this to you, tree, but I have no choice; I have to do it."
Bivalia: [LAUGHS.] Well, I don't think many people in your situation would
bother to say sorry to the tree, or even think of it.
Michael: Maybe. But I rather like the atmosphere of trees (and have
spoken of it sometimes in our sessions), and it seemed a pity to pull it up,
so that's why I told it I was sorry. I guess I didn't really bear the tree
any malice, although I did swear at it quite a bit for being in just that
I don't know what kind of a tree it was, but it left my hands smelling
sort of minty, or a bit like eucalyptus. It didn't look like a gum tree, but
I suppose it could have been a related kind of tree; or maybe other natives
have that kind of smell too. I tried wiping my hands in the grass from time
to time to get rid of the dirt and tree sap, but my hands just got wet from
the dew. I was going to have to resign myself to getting rather dirty and
smelly while I got out of this fix.
The other trunk of the tree that was obstructing me was really just a
stump, the rest having broken off just a foot or so above the ground. It was
no thicker than the one I broke, but I couldn't break it, or budge it at all;
it was obviously more firmly rooted in the ground, and the wood was obviously
tougher. I thought about trying to dig it out, but I realized I would have to
use my bare hands, since I had no tools of any sort, and the ground was
covered in grass, roots, and so on, and I quickly gave that up as hopeless. I
wondered if I could batter it down with my car (even while probably giving the
car some nasty scratches (about which I was caring less and less), but in the
few inches' room within which I could surge back and forth I just couldn't get
enough momentum anyway.
I noticed that the obstructing stump was not squarely behind the car, but
near the right rear corner of the car. It was literally only a couple of
inches away from being free of the car; but it might as well have been a brick
wall all the way across the road.
Things seemed to go on like this for an hour or more, where by turns I
tried to drive out, packed stuff in front of the wheels, walked up and down
the road looking for further branches, tried to pull out the stump, or just
stood in the road in a dither, wondering what to do, and vaguely hoping some
distant farmer might wake up and hear my engine revving and come to help me.
The road was not only steep, but had diagonal ruts in it that threatened
to trip me up if I took a wrong step. The ground was wet and slippery, and my
hands stank from the branches I had been handling. I thought the section of
road I was stuck in was a really nasty hole, and everything seemed to be
arranged to make things difficult for me.
There's another tactic I tried: I stuffed branches in front of the wheels
as tight as I could, got in the car, and tried to make the front wheels climb
up a couple of inches (and succeeded in that); then I braked hard while in
that slightly higher position. I got out and stuffed small logs
behind the front wheels, hoping that would prevent me sliding back
when I released the brakes, after which I could then try climbing another
couple of inches higher out of the rut, with the help of more branches for the
wheels to grip onto. But this was of no use either, even though I tried it
At some stage during all this, the moon came out, and I could see that
the country around me was probably quite beautiful, and was bathed in that
ethereal silvery radiance of the moon, slightly weaker than usual, perhaps
partly because it had already started to wane, and was three-quarters only,
but mainly because it was coming through a thin film of misty clouds in the
sky. I perceived that special atmosphere of the moon, and the whole spirit of
nature around me, but was perhaps in no mood to appreciate it like I might
otherwise have done. But I certainly perceived it at least, and it prompted
certain thoughts. These are really what I wanted to discuss with you.
Bivalia: Yes, this is interesting.
Michael: I reflected that at other times I felt something of a kinship
with nature, as if natural things evoked spirit for me in some way, triggered
that unidentifiable longing I have mentioned to you from time to time. It
sometimes seemed as if nature was itself somehow an aspect of paradise, as if
it was somewhere I could feel at home in some deep way, as if it held the very
meaning of life in it. Such thoughts and feelings seemed to typify the old
familiar nature romanticism I have spoken of from time to time.
I didn't feel these things now; I just reflected that at other times I had had such thoughts about nature.
Bivalia: Yes, you have spoken such thoughts quite eloquently at various
times in our sessions.
Michael: Well, I have to tell you now that I had quite a different view
of things. And not entirely because my present awkward situation distracted
me from the beauty of nature. I was forcibly struck by the reality of a quite
different aspect of nature, one I have also discussed with you, but which I
tend to mention much less often. It was the essential alienness of nature. I
wasn't at home in it at all. I was strongly aware of my separation even while
seeing the tranquil beauty of hills and trees and fields bathed in ghostly
moonlight. There were shadows, too, and they were dark, I can tell you. It may have been tranquil, but it was lonely, too. Let your imagination go in certain directions, and moonlight can be spooky as well as beautiful.
I could hear nothing except the croaking of distant frogs, and it was a
lonely sound. I was a stranger in their territory, and in the territory of
the trees and the grass and the insects. I was stuck here in what was
supposed to be the beauty of nature, yet I had nowhere to sleep, even though
it looked possible I might have to spend the rest of the night there. I
couldn't handle those branches without getting my hands dirty and smelling of
sap, and I had nowhere to wash them. I could rub them on grass, but my hands
were chilled as they were smeared in dew, which didn't remove all the dirt
anyway. And I noticed a bit later that handling those branches seemed to have
put dozens of little red pimples all over my palms and the inner surface of my
If I had been stuck there for days, not hours, there would be further
aspects, relating to sustenance, that would only emphasize this sense of not
belonging, not being at home: I could perhaps find brackish water with a
little difficulty, but I could probably not find food, and if I did, wouldn't
know what was safe to eat anyway.
I went over to a tree to have a pee and was glad I didn't have to go to
the toilet for anything more than that. Nature would be quite unaccommodating
of what we consider our needs in that area, and if we truly lived amongst
nature we would have to adapt to what was available in the way of toilet
facilities, and sacrifice what we consider to be minimum standards of
cleanliness and hygiene. (To put it crudely, we would have to bog against a
tree and make do without toilet paper, or soap to wash up with. [c])
I found I didn't fit in here at all, that if I could adapt to life in the
wild, it would only be with great difficulty and much discomfort and
hardship. I realized that humans are helpless without their modern
conveniences, and that, if they could survive at all in a natural environment
without all sorts of man-made aids, they could do so only while facing
unending hardship; and I felt a profound sense of nature's indifference to
man's needs, a deep awareness of what I can only call alienness. There was a
deep sense in which a tree or a frog or a sparrow or an insect belonged here,
and was at home, that no human could ever experience.
Just taking in the atmosphere of the natural things around me, I could
feel that alienness of atmosphere. It was as if I was perceiving the nature
spirits but could not connect with them in any way.
I couldn't help wondering what the reality of nature makes of my warm
spiritual feelings about nature, the nature romanticism, if I can call it
that. Was it all a mere fantasy?
Bivalia, please tell me I've got it wrong somewhere, because that feeling
is one of the driving forces behind the music I want to write, and even has a
lot to do with my spiritual vision, as our 250-plus pages of sessions so often
testify. That vision is something I'd hate to have to give up.
Bivalia: I can't tell you you're wrong, because you're quite right:
everything you say is absolutely true. As you also said, we have discussed the
essential gulf between man and nature, and whether this might represent a sense
in which humanity is fallen. [d]
But I can also tell you that things are not as bad as you have just painted
Bivalia: What you described is just one side of the matter. What you call
the warm spiritual feelings of longing that seem to be so intimately connected to
nature are also real, and represent another angle. Your lyrical writings about
nature spirits in previous sessions are a perfectly valid and true view of
nature, and of the nature spirits.
Even now, I see you asking a question about the spirits of nature. (I
think we both agree that they comprise the essence of nature, of which the
physical things are mere manifestations.) The question I see you asking is this:
how can the spirits of nature be both alien and remote on the one hand, and
friendly and spiritual and uplifting on the other? Well, it may be one of the
paradoxes of life, but they can be both at the same time. It just depends on
what level you look at them. Like everything in the universe, nature is
multi-levelled, just as humanity is. Humans have their loving, spiritual side
that longs to unite with God; but they have their dark, primitive instincts which
can impel them to do the most dreadful deeds, hatch the most evil plots.
Nature spirits do not have the same degree of free will as humans, and
cannot (or at least do not) hatch plots (although I don't agree with those who
say they have no free will whatsoever); but they are just as multi-dimensional as
humans, and present different faces in different situations. What you see will
partly depend on the situation you are in (if you had been camping in that very
spot on a holiday with a couple of close friends, that scene might have felt very
different to you, and much more reassuring); but it will also depend on the
attitude with which you see it, the spiritual mood you are in at the time.
I can tell you that, as you grow spiritually, nature takes on more and more
of that uplifting, benevolent aspect. It is difficult to tell you why it (or
anything) appears different according to your own frame of mind or spirit. I can
only say that it just seems to be the way the universe works that everything in
it is, in a sense, a mirror which presents to you a reflection of what is already
Michael: I have to say that at times it seems to be a very distorting
mirror, kind of like those weird mirrors that used to be in the Giggle Palace
at Luna Park years ago.
Bivalia: [LAUGHS.] Quite so. Yes, those mirrors of life come in all sorts
of weird shapes and sizes. One aspect of spiritual growth is to learn to
straighten out all those mirrors that surround us, to learn to choose the mirrors
that give us truer and truer reflections.
Michael: So is the alien aspect of nature I noticed so acutely last night
in a sense a mirror of my own separation from it? In other words, is it I who
has the alienness, not nature?
Bivalia: Yes, partly. Yet you are a mirror to nature, too, and at least a
part of the spirit of nature is aware of that. It cuts both ways, you see. You
are not perfect yet (at least not in outward manifestation), and are buying into
separation to some degree. But nature is not perfect yet, either, and is also
buying into separation; I'm sure any naturalist will tell you that amongst
animals life is not all sweetness and light and ineffable upliftment of spirit.
For both man and nature to transcend these limitations is part of what the
evolutionary step of Mother Earth that some call ascension is all about. It's
happening even as we speak. The worst is behind us now; we are on our way to
God, where we will find ultimate joy and love.
Michael: I hope you are right.
Bivalia: You will see it in full clarity one day. Meanwhile, there is a
real sense in which humanity, more than other earthly inhabitants (other animals,
plants, and minerals, that is), is separate from the planet as a whole, from what
you call "nature". This is not something to worry about unduly, as it is a step
that humanity collectively is going through at the moment. We discussed this
separation in the wake of your visit to Mt. Donna Buang earlier this year which
prompted a session between us, and considered whether this was a sense in which
humanity could be regarded as "fallen". During this phase of separation,
humanity feels the deep need to surround itself with all manner of gadgets and
technology and other man-made things, essentially to form a barrier to keep
nature (or some aspects of nature) at bay, to create an enclave amidst nature,
yet not of it, within which a comfortable zone can be created where humanity can
Meanwhile, humanity still feels a deep need of nature, is subconsciously
aware of its interconnections with nature, and feels a deep, unappeasable longing
for nature that will not be denied. So people go out camping, they hike in the
woods, they swim at the beach, they go mountain-climbing, bird-watching, or a
hundred other things, so that they are amongst nature at least physically;
yet at all times they are surrounded by man-made things to make life comfortable,
and often are not really truly united with nature in spirit. They may kid
themselves that they are, but what they think of as their oneness with nature is
in large measure a world of their own creation with the help of a thousand
man-made artifacts without which their sojourn amongst nature would be very
different, and very much less comfortable.
This is all right; there is nothing wrong with humanity doing this. It
would help the growth of both nature and humanity if humanity made more effort to
do less damage to nature in the course of building and using all the man-made
trappings of life; but there is nothing inherently wrong with those trappings in
themselves, and it is possible to even use those trappings fully and still be at
one with nature.
In time, humanity will learn to be less dependent on its cocoon of man-made
comfort (without feeling the need to abandon it) - and nature will also become
more accommodating of man, too. Nature is evolving just as much as man is, and
what you may think of as the more hostile or at least indifferent aspects of
nature will recede more and more. Those aspects belong to the physical plane,
and the lower or middle parts of the astral, and as both man and nature evolve
past that consciousness, those things will become less a part of their
consciousness, and will manifest less and less.
I can tell you that your vision of nature in its benevolent, spiritual
aspect is real, even if not yet fully manifest on your planet. All that longing,
that wonderful upliftment that you get glimpses of every now and then, is real.
It is the merest hint of a world that will become fully manifest in due course,
and you will see that it is more glorious than you can even imagine at present.
What's more, your vision is also the remnants of memory of a realm from which you
(along with all humanity) came long ago, to which you will eventually return.
That's why you seem to carry with you a mental picture of an ideal world which
seems to be like the physical world, but compared to which the physical world
seems to fall short, to somehow not be good enough. They are the haunting
memories of something too wonderful for words which you left behind long ago, and
to which you long to return. Believe me, you will return to that realm; all
humanity will. It is the plan God himself is working through.
Whatever you may have felt was the "reality" of nature last night, Michael, I urge you not to give up that wonderful vision of which nature seems so much to be a part. Just try to be patient and wait for that wonderful vision to fully manifest. If you can, give expression to it in some of that wonderful nature music you want to write; that will actually help it manifest, and nature will rejoice at the help you are giving it.
Michael: What about the terrible ecological damage man is doing to the
Earth, the overpopulation, the pollution, nuclear testing, the damage to plant
and animal species, and so on? Is all this a cause of this seeming separation
between man and nature?
Bivalia: Yes, it is; but perhaps not quite as overwhelmingly so as you
might imagine (and I don't care what some of the greenies say to what they may
see as the soft line I'm taking). The separation was there long before this
damage began happening in earnest; and nature might turn out to be more adaptable
to this damage than some people presently believe. Some of that damage is also
the result of that separation rather than the cause. Cause and effect flow both ways in that regard.
There is a sense in which nature sees itself as being in a similar
situation as man, and throws in its lot with him. Just as man has to accept the
limitations nature imposes on him, and at his highest makes the best of it and
still manages to love nature and appreciate its good points, so does nature
accommodate the damaging effects human activity (which originates in a reaction
to limitations) causes. I think you have heard one or two New-Age types of
people say that out of love for man Mother Earth accepts much of the damage man
is doing to her, even though it hurts her. There is much truth in this.
Man and nature are both in it together (at least during this phase of your
planet's evolution), and both have to make sacrifices for each other. Both
nature and man are hurting; both nature and man need each other, and, underneath
all the seeming separation, have a deep love for each other. It will be to the
mutual and everlasting benefit of both nature and humanity to recognize and
accept this, and at least parts of nature and of humanity do realize this and
take it into consideration.
I know you were acutely aware last night of how alien nature seemed, how
separate you were from even the things that superficially seemed beautiful. But
it is important not to exaggerate these feelings. The way you explained it, it
seemed as if all nature was at one with itself, and full of sweetness and light
and spiritual feeling, and you (and humanity generally) alone was left out.
Although there is a degree of truth in this impression, it is not nearly as
strong as you may think. As I said above, nature is not all sweetness and
light. I'm sure the antelope being chased by a lion (you can't deny that is a
totally natural situation) doesn't feel at one with the lion, and probably feels
a thousand times more alienated and fearful than you did; and the lion probably
feels a degree of this too, possibly feeling desperately hungry and wondering if
he's going to succeed in finding a meal in the near future. Perhaps there is
much truth in the pictures of nature alluded to in such phrases as "nature red in
tooth and claw", and "life is nasty, brutish, and short". No, don't get too hung
up on the idea that nature is all friendliness within itself, and humans are the
In spite of the way the seeming harshness of nature may often seem to
reduce your uplifting, sublime vision of nature to mere fantasy, you can best
help nature by hanging onto that vision, by nurturing it, not by abandoning it
for a darker vision that appears to conform more to reality. So don't abandon
it, whatever you do. Not every human is given the vision you have; it is
precious, and nature needs people who can maintain that vision, to help manifest
it in full reality. It is one of the tasks you undertook to do in this life.
Michael: I guess you're right. I'll try to keep onto it, anyway. But
you and God and nature alike will have to recognize that I'll go through bad
patches where I at least temporarily will lose the vision and fall for the
supposedly more realistic one.
Bivalia: Of course. That is of little moment. It is the broad
undercurrent that matters more, not the day-to-day changes in the surface
currents. And I am glad to see that that broad undercurrent is really quite
strong, and in no danger of petering out, however invisible it may sometimes be
on the surface, no matter how many little eddies there might be that sometimes
swirl backwards. The eddies look much smaller to me, and to God himself, than
they sometimes do to you.
Remember this. You have reflected at times that all the evidence supports
the darker vision of nature, the slightly alien, sinister aspect you saw so
clearly last night - even the "Selfish Gene" view so brilliantly expounded by
Richard Dawkins in that book of his that so profoundly disturbed you some years
ago; and none of the evidence supports the benevolent, shining vision you have
such a keen sense of. Yet, if this is so, why does the benevolent vision of
nature persist so much, not only with you, but with innumerable poets, musicians,
mystics, philosophers, and other thinkers? Even amongst fundamentalist
religions, why is Heaven so often depicted in terms of a beautiful, garden-like
nature paradise? This appeal of nature is obviously a deeply-rooted thing in
humanity that cuts across religious or spiritual differences.
Usually things that are not real do not last long in the consciousness of
humanity, or only persist as scattered myths and legends. But this not only
persists, but in a form of extraordinary subtlety and depth and emotional
resonance. Perhaps this is because there really is a solid foundation to this
vision, but it is sufficiently subtle as not to be visible to the kind of
scientific, rational thought processes that are usually behind the evidence
evaluation that seems to point to the darker vision.
As I think you are aware, there truly are levels of existence and reality
that simply are not accessible to this level of thinking. You should not be
surprised that that level of thinking fails to uncover it, and instead finds a
darker vision of things.
Michael: Perhaps so. I hope you are right. Yes, I will probably hang
onto it, because it is the only thing that gives me even a tenuous feeling of
hope. With only the rational darker vision of things, I would surely give way
to total despair, perhaps even suicide.
Bivalia: We don't want that, do we? Just hang onto your brighter vision
then, and don't let rational modes of thinking limit you, even though you might
make full use of them with your intelligent mind in those areas for which they
Michael: Well, Bivalia, thank you for your encouraging thoughts. I am
glad I am able to converse with you in this way. Although I still don't feel
sure I am really channelling my Higher Self instead of merely making up
dialogues in my own mind, I feel nevertheless that this is probably the most
spiritually significant thing I have done in recent years, and it has
certainly significantly contributed to the growth and expansion of my
spiritual view in recent times.
Bivalia: Well, I hope you keep doing it, then. And it doesn't really
matter whether you think these channellings are genuine or just a creation of
your mind. It's the results that count, and if they are beneficial to your
growth, who cares whether it is genuine channelling or not? You're not doing it
to impress other people.
Michael: Well, thank you, anyway. Meanwhile, I will have to go to bed
soon, and I think this session is starting to wind down. I guess that stuff
about nature, the feeling I got last night, was the main thing I wanted to
cover in this session. Unless you have more to say, I will perhaps call it a
day and hit the sack.
Bivalia: Before you do, would you mind telling me how you got out of your
scrape last night? You were starting to get onto that when the nature stuff came
Michael: Oh, okay. But the nature stuff didn't just "come up"; it was
the main thing I was leading up to, and, although I intended to tell you the
end of the story, I was tossing up whether to do it before I discussed the
darker side of nature, or afterwards; and afterwards won out.
I think you know the story anyway, but in these sessions I usually like
to relate a story in full, partly because I seem to have to do that in
general, but also because if I read this years later I want to be able to
learn the full story without worrying that I might have forgotten it. The
fully-detailed narratives I sometimes give you in our discussions are often
more for my benefit years later than for your immediate benefit.
Bivalia: That's fair enough, and a perfectly legitimate reason for doing
it. It's why I asked you to complete the story just now.
Michael: Yes. Anyway, before the deeper thoughts about nature came up, I
think I was talking about that stump of a tree that still trapped my car. As
I studied the stump behind me a little further, I finally saw a possible way
out. I saw that if only I could move the car 3 inches or so to the left, I
would be able to reverse past the stump. Then I could reverse a few dozen
yards down the road (where it was less slippery), then come up again and
gather enough momentum to go right through the muddy patch. It seemed that if
I just kept revving the car, surging backwards and forwards over the few
inches of freedom I had by alternately pressing and releasing the accelerator,
I might be able to change the angle of the car if I could turn the steering
wheel just right. (I had to be careful not to do too much of this without a
pause, because I didn't want to burn the rubber of the tyres.)
Well, finally, I managed to accomplish this, and slid backwards past the
stump with not even one inch to spare. (I'm lucky the car isn't horribly
scratched, although it is covered in mud.)
I backed downwards a few dozen yards, feeling as if I'd been released
from prison, then of course realizing I had accomplished only the first
stage. I still had to get up the treacherous slope on the track ahead of me,
and realized I may still not be out of trouble yet.
I drove forwards with what I thought was enough speed to take me through
the muddy patch, and it did - just - then went forwards another couple of
dozen yards. But at this point there was a very steep patch, made worse by a
deep diagonal rut that forced the front wheels to one side - into another
patch of mud. I just couldn't advance any further than that; but at least
there was no tree behind me, and it was easy enough, owing to the downward
slope of the track behind me, to slide backwards out of the mud. I reversed a
few dozen yards down the hill again, and tried again, trying my best to twist
the steering wheel hard to the right just before I reached the rut that forced
me into the mud. But I couldn't. The rut was too deep, and kept forcing me
into the mud, no matter how I turned the steering wheel, and no matter whether
I was going fast, slow, or in between. I tried four or five times with no
success, and realized I was still stuck on that infernal road.
I had a new thought then, and changed tack. I decided to go all the way
down the hill and see if maybe it would be better to go through the puddle at
the bottom that blocked me going the other way. Maybe I could get through
after all, although I was hesitant, because I could see that that puddle might
entrap me far more securely than the mud patch and the tree stump had done
before. But I decided to see if maybe I could find a way around the puddle.
When I got there, I found a large tree right by the road next to the
puddle; but on the other side of the tree, to the left, and just next to the
fence, there was a rough patch of ground covered with grass, fallen branches,
and the like. I thought I might be able to drive through there if I removed
the branches, and would bypass the puddle that way. At the same time I found
myself wondering why I hadn't thought of that a couple of hours before, when I
started getting into trouble. And I realized why I hadn't. When I had first
come to the puddle and decided to turn back, I wasn't yet in trouble, and
expected to just go up the hill the way I'd come and leave the whole road
behind. Because of this, at that point, I didn't even think to observe
whether there was a way around the puddle; I had just decided to turn back,
and that was all there was to it. Only now did I really notice for the first
time that it would be possible to get around the puddle.
Well, I did get around it with little trouble, driving carefully just in
case I might get stuck in soft ground there. The underbelly of the car got
entangled with branches that rattled and banged under there for miles
afterwards, but I got through, and back onto the track.
Of course I was now wondering if it would turn out to be a dead end, and
I would have to go back the way I'd come after all - and the track got
dismayingly narrow once or twice. To be sure, my map indicated that the road
wasn't a dead end, but that was cold comfort; after all, earlier in the night,
the map had failed to inform me of another road that had been blocked off.
But after a while I saw it was getting wider on the whole and it turned west,
and joined with the road I had originally thought it led to. I pulled onto
that road thankfully, and wended my way through the back roads onto the
Maroondah Highway once more, and went home. I got back at about 3.30 a.m.,
vowing never again to go onto such treacherous roads, especially in such
lonely parts, and especially in the darkest hours of night. I must have had
rocks in my head to do that, and to take alarm and try to back out only when
it was too late. [e]
Bivalia: So that was the adventure you earlier referred to, was it?
Michael: Yes. But I guess I live happily ever after, having come out of
it; or at least I go back to the normal routine of life, if not live happily
Bivalia: It will be happily ever after for all humanity, if only you take
the long-term view.
Michael: Well, once it was over, I suppose I wasn't so upset, and at
least it's given me the material over which to have a session with you.
Perhaps it was almost worth it for that. It prompted thoughts which led to an
interesting discussion we might not have otherwise had.
Bivalia: This is true. That's perhaps the best way to regard it.
Michael: Anyway, sorry to cut this off, my friend, but I've run down and
reached a natural conclusion, and I'm starting to think of bath and bed.
Bivalia: Go and enjoy them. We've done some good work tonight.
Michael: I didn't interrupt the flow of conversation to mention it, but I
did break off to go to Lilydale to get something to eat. I also took the rest
of that meat to give the cat, but the cat was nowhere to be found. There were
a couple of teenagers hanging about outside, and the man in the service
station was outside washing all the concrete with a hose. I didn't think the
cat would be anywhere near with all that going on, the way it's scared and
suspicious of humans. I decided it would be best not to leave the meat there,
where the man might see me, and perhaps not approve.
I'll drop in there tomorrow on my way to my mother's and leave it there.
Bivalia: I'm sure puss will thank you. See you later.
Michael: Thank you for coming, and good night.