Printed in the Conscious Creation Journal
by Sharon Mendenhall
Introduction to this uniquely flavored material: When I was seventeen, I read the book “1984,” and I knew that something would happen in 1984 that would change my life. And it did! A book in the library fell off the shelf and hit me on the head, so I checked it out. Since then Seth not only has spoke to me, he has yelled, loudly. Something about “You Create Your Own Reality, so get a clue, Jack!”
Fifteen years later, when I was just about able to convince Seth my name wasn’t Jack, here comes Elias to hit me on the head with a big hammer. I’m still in the process of getting a clue, but I had to do it my way. Put it in my own words, so Elias would put that damn hammer down. The result was some type of outlandish diary. A diary about me and my jumbled up concepts. I have no other excuse. If I did, I would definitely use it.
I created a reality entitled, “Diary of a Goddess.” It started out just a little at a time, just some random thoughts that I spontaneously committed to electronic paper. But then mysteriously, the chapters started to link together, and some 350 pages later I began to wonder what to do with all this stuff. Some of it is funny, DAMN funny. (Oh my, Spiritual Humor! I always thought that was an oxymoron.)
I’m just a hitchhiker travelin’ through the universe and lookin’ for a good time, as we all are. The diary has been just plain fun for me, and I hope it will be for you also. If either Seth or Elias start hitting you over the head with a hammer, well, I had nutin’ to do wif’ it. You’re on your own.
The Cosmic Motion Picture Company presents
I suppose some people make it all the way through a channeling session, thinking all the while to themselves, “Hey, this pretty cool. I mean dead people not only talk, they have some indefinable accent, and a hell of a sense of humor.” Which will cause those people to miss about three-quarters of the conversation. Objectively that is.
But when the dead get around talking about HOW you create your reality, because they all manage to weave it in there somewhere during the conversation, (if you’ve noticed) this also flies right over your head like seagulls eyeballing your picnic lunch, because, quite frankly, it is much to ingest.
You know, when you think back to like, ah…1947, when the Government said, “This isn’t a crashed UFO, this is a weather balloon,” because if they told the masses there were things the Government couldn’t explain…why people might panic, and run around in circles, and jump into their cars, and drive Lord knows where. Where would you drive?
So the Government kept it a secret, but like you can’t keep stuff from movie scriptwriters, because they get their ideas from unofficial information. I mean, they’d been writing Sci Fi since long before the talkies. So of course, by the time the fifties came along, everyone knew to pee down one leg at the mere thought of Martians, because they’d been watching those scary creatures at the movie matinee for several years now, and throwing their popcorn boxes straight up into the air.
Then the sixties came along, and that was the decade of the family that loves to stir the shit, so you can well imagine that might be the reason that people said, “We think God just up and had a heart attack or somethin’, because we know for pretty sure that he is dead.” Having God suddenly die like that was really an advantage, since it left some people free to do pretty much what they wanted.
But then, some other family stepped in and resurrected God, maybe by direct mouth to mouth resuscitation, and they managed to breathe life into him once again. And I guess God must have been pretty pissed, and clanked a few heads together, because people took off their tye-dyed T-shirts, and put on a business suit. But you know, that after that, things were never quite the same. I mean for one thing, God had a sex change.
Now I don’t think God did it in one fail swoop, as he might have been taking hormones for a good amount of years. But by the nineties, those more astute noticed that God had a set of boobs. In fact, God got renamed to Goddess, probably some sort of Latin translation, and became synonymous with Mother Nature.
But anyway, what that all means is that the judgmental God, the big bad dude, that would send you straight to hell for things like having the nerve to die before being officially blessed, met a challenger. The Alien. Now up until then God was pretty cool, having full use of fire and lightening like that, but I don’t think God even had a 1956 Ford pickup. Or if he did, it was never mentioned. Aliens, however, had not only cool spaceships, but their own personal android. And since they made a lot more movies about Aliens than they did God, it was a lot easier to be scared of Aliens, than of God. And they also seemed to be from the same place; way, way out there, somewhere.
And then when God read his own obituary in the Heaven Times Tribune, God did have a heart attack for real. But it did set God to thinking that maybe he should get a lot nicer. So I think God started attending some of those classes where you do yoga and get in touch with your inner being. I would guess, somewhere about circa 1972, but I can’t pinpoint when God started taking the drugs. And God did get really nice, displaying some advantageous attributes like really listening when you were speaking, and controlling that horrendous temper.
And then a lot of people started attending the self help sessions right along with God, because psychiatry was not only is expensive, it was as useful as a metal bottle opener. (Which if you still have one, it is by now, way back in the drawer.)
And if you remember correctly, self help sessions incorporate some sort of holding hands and feeling connected. And then it progressed to some sort of spiritual thing where everyone sang songs about being one with the Universe. And then they looked over and a binga banga, God had on a dress. And I’ve got to tell ya, God looks better as a woman, than most women look as a woman. So since da Goddess is some sort of supermodel, we sort of pointed out her more nurturing traits, just to keep her in the playing field. Maybe that’s when Goddess turned into Mother Nature, separate from the self.
Never the less, we have it pretty evenly divided now, Goddess, good, Aliens bad. Goddess takes care of all the babies and mothers them, and the Aliens abduct them and use them for spare body parts.
So when a channeled dead guy looks you straight in the eye and suggests that you might have personally been making this up, because you have a rich and fertile imagination, it is just a wee bit to absorb. I mean, you would have to be one hell of a scriptwriter just to write the last fifty or so years. And you, yes you, not only wrote it, you directed and produced it, act in it, and not only that, you are the only one watching it. So he says.
This is a little much. But then, that late night feature that keeps me absorbed until the alarm goes off is pretty fascinating too. And I’m quite aware that I write, direct, produce, and act in it also. And am, the only one watching it.
©2001, Sharon Mendenhall. Printed in the Conscious Creation Journal. http://www.consciouscreation.com (Feel free to duplicate this article for personal use – please include this copyright notice and the URL.)
Sharon Mendenhall has been a lover, a fighter, a bareback movie scriptwriter, and much more. She lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, which is no excuse, and has three children, which is also no excuse. She is a published writer, having written one story, in one book that was published. But you will find her name in italic print if you turn to page 23 of “Expect Miracles” by Mary Ellen. They even spelled it correctly….
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