My Tour Guide Is a Leprechaun

My Tour Guide Is a Leprechaun February 9, 2016

styggkaerret-848532_640I’m seated on Meditation Rock on a wee cushion, five hundred feet above the valley floor in which Pena Creek creates a diamond necklace of trout-peopled pools linked together by the happy gurgling of the Springtime river. All around me are elementals and angelic beings. It’s frustrating not to be able to see them with the naked eye, so I issue a plea, “Please help me to see. I know you’re here!”

I peer through a tree-lined tunnel that travels down the hillside among the Scrub Oaks, Madrona and Manzanita to try to catch glimpses of these ethereal beings camouflaged among the dappled branches. It’s hard to tell whether my eye is detecting real images or merely inferring possible patterns among the light and shadows.

“Help me!” I call out in frustration. An inner voice says, “Soften your gaze, shift your state of consciousness and trust your imagination.” I try to follow instructions, without a whole lot of success. “Not much is happening,” I say to the inner voice. “That’s because you’re simply trying to shift your consciousness along a horizontal axis; shift it vertically out of the electromagnetic spectrum completely,” the voice replies.

I try to comply with this injunction, hampered not a little by the fact that I really don’t understand what it means. After a few moments I hear a chuckle; the unseen seer is obviously amused by my pathetic efforts. So the voice tries again, “Let go of your intellect! Reason is simply the latest toy in human evolution; your whole species is fascinated, focused and fixated on it. You think it will solve all of your problems and bring you happiness. Well it won’t and it doesn’t. It’s handy, but it’s neither indispensable nor infallible; it’s just one tool among so many. Engage the older toys – intuition, body wisdom, heart energy.”

“Meet me half ways,” I implore, and slowly a figure begins to appear using the background colors, textures and features to semi-manifest in physical form. “Will this do?” he asks, as he assumes the shape and mannerisms of a leprechaun. “Do my shoes, beard and hat meet your expectations?” “Perfectly!” I exclaim as I clap my hands in delight.

Emboldened by his presence I say, “May I interview you?” He said, “Sure.” “Okay,” I say. “First I want to know why you guys hide yourselves.” “That’s simple,” he said. “You people would attempt to capture us and put us in a zoo; or do vivisection on us to fill out your taxonomy of mammals. Then you’d attempt to weaponize us and press us into service in your interminable wars, just as you’ve done with our cousins, the dolphins.” I averred that all that was highly probable. He went on to say, “We are masters of manifestation; we have the power to appear in a variety of densities all the way from the solidly physical to the absolutely ethereal. But, here on Earth, we avoid the physical most of the time because of human violence. Only kids, artists and mystics make it safe for us to become fully physical.”

I pondered this for several minutes, then I asked, “Are you the only beings who can do that?” “Heavens, no!” he replied. “All creatures are multidimensional, even humans.”

“Explain that to me” I said. “Okay,” he said. “Imagine a typical human; I’ll call him John Smith. John is a son, a brother, a friend, a husband, a father, and an attorney. But he is never fully present to all of these aspects of himself, at the same time. In fact, John Smith, who is now 38 years old, finds his parents old-fashioned and boring. He rarely visits or even phones them any more. All of his siblings live out of state and, apart from the customary Christmas cards they exchange, he has no contact with them.”

“He has outgrown all his old friends from school and college. In actual fact, he is almost totally fixated on his profession – his core identity is as an attorney. He is only vaguely aware of a woman who raises his kids and does his laundry; and occasionally, over the rim of the Sunday morning newspaper, he issues meaningless injunctions to the little people seated around the breakfast table to be diligent in their studies, so that they can become successful – presumably like himself. John, although he has all of these aspects – son, brother, friend, husband, father and attorney – is identified, almost 95% of his waking hours, only with his profession.”

“It’s exactly the same with most humans. Although you are indeed multidimensional like us, you spend 95% of your time identified with the physical plane. And that is why it is so difficult for you to experience the other levels of yourself or of nature. To make matters worse you ‘educate’ your children, who are natural-born mystics and Interdimensional beings, to become monochromatic zombies like yourselves. You are a sad, pathetic species.”

There was a long silence as I pondered this. Finally, I asked, “So, what’s the secret?” He replied, “Don’t fixate on a single identity or live in a single dimension. Try on other identities and visit other dimensions sequentially. When you get really good at it, you can multitask and be aware of all your identities in all dimensions at the same time. That’s what ‘being awake’ or being ‘enlightened’ really means.”

“How did we get into this state?” I asked. He scratched at his chin under his long, grey beard and said, “You have been shepherded into a cultural prison called ‘the Bell Curve’. Those who agree to be so confined are called  ‘solid citizens’ and deemed to be sane. The others are either called criminals or crazies. These latter are the outliers who refuse to accept the consensual reality crafted by the corporate-sponsored consumerism. Most scientists, politicians, military personnel and business-types are considered the ‘sane’ ones, while artists, prophets and mystics are called the ‘crazy’ ones. The huge number of the ‘sane’ is bloated by the great mass of humanity who trade ‘bread and circuses’ for agreeing to pretend that the emperor is wearing clothes.”

I considered making a half-hearted defense of my species but, on reviewing the evidence, I decided this would be a foolhardy exercise. Instead I chose to inquire more about his species. Alas it afforded only temporary relief. “Tell me more about your people?” I requested. “Well,” he said as he picked a few berries and popped them into his mouth, “we specialize in providing the etheric energy and the blueprints for the evolution and health of the flora and fauna of Gaia. We devised and drafted the prototypes of these berries for instance; and we tend to them and modify them so they can adapt elegantly to changing circumstances. We create life forms for each unique niche so that each species is an ideal fit for its environment.”

“And, for the last few hundred years, we’ve been cleaning up after you. We try to undo the devastation of your chemtrails, your herbicides and pesticides, your fracking and agribusiness and oil drilling. And we’ve cleaned up after all of your previous near-global disasters: Lemuria, Atlantis… You people never seem to learn or even to remember.”

“We’ve watched this present cycle of mindless conquest move ever westwards: Sumer, Egypt, Greece, Rome, Spain, England, the USA, and now China perhaps? Some day Gaia may finally tire of you and allow you to self-destruct completely. You are, once again, cavorting blithely in a minefield of your own making. You may very well be in an evolutionary cul-de-sac; and what you term, ‘natural selection’ may cull your entire species from the gene pool.”

I ventured one final attempt to explain my people, “Well, our scriptures tell us that God made us stewards of His creation. The Earth belongs to us.” He rolled around on the ground in a paroxysm of uncontrollable laughter. When he eventually got his breath back and his eyes stopped dancing with merriment, he shot back, “Stewards? Stewards! Who in God’s name told you you were stewards!! You are as much stewards of the Earth as the fox is steward of the hen house. And how can you even call yourselves, ‘Earthlings’? You’re merely a Johnny-come-lately; a very recent arrival. My kind was frolicking on Gaia billennia before you were a glimmer in the imagination of a creator-gone-temporarily-demented. Some day, if you live long enough, I’ll introduce you to the real Earthlings.”

“Such chutzpah! Your mindless masses claim you are owners of the Earth, while those among you who think you are ‘enlightened’ call yourselves stewards of the Earth. You are neither. You are temporary guests in an ancient home whose history and future you cannot even measure!”

Thoroughly chastened, I offered a pathetic apology on behalf of my kind. I mumbled a “Well, it was very nice talking with you.” I’m not sure if I was sincere. He faded back into the shadow-dappled foliage and I sat disconsolately for another hour upon Meditation Rock on a wee cushion, five hundred feet above the valley floor in which Pena Creek creates a diamond necklace of trout-peopled pools linked together by the happy gurgling of the Springtime river.


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