Thursday:

• Ate lunch at Open Harvest.
• Rode Serenity downtown to go see Serenity.
• Visited the Linknoid and Humblik zone, returned Linknoid's book, tasted Linknoid's gluten concoction (which he was kind enough share and send some home with me to share with Yanthor and Anya, and said he'd teach me how to make it on a future occassion), rode with Humblik to Jewel Heart.

• Jewel Heart. As on many previous occassions, I find myself with a mixed reaction. This time, for most of the prayers and mantras, we used a cd with a sound recording of a group led by a woman who was really good at the pronounciation. Surprisingly, I found this method far more meaningful than the way the group usually goes through them. I think it had everything to do with the way it was paced.

  Usually, it feels like the group goes churning through everything as fast as possible, zipping through the English prayers, sometimes slurring together the syllables of the mantras in order to repeat them the specified number of times and be done with it so we can get on with the meeting.

  But on the cd, they took the time to let each syllable linger, pausing between the words and lines. For the mantras, it gave me a chance to actually feel each syllable as it passed through my vocal chords and mouth (and listen to what it sounded like coming from the recording, as well as others in the room); for the prayers, I could think and contemplate on the meaning of the phrases we were uttering, instead of feeling like it was all a big race for the finish. What a difference!

  For the last prayer we did, there was no cd recording. Since we were accustomed to the pace of the cd, I think we did start it slower than they usually go, but even still, as we progressed through it, I could feel the group around me speeding up, and by the end, it started to feel like the same mindless muttering that had, on previous occassions, made me suspect that the whole practice was a pointless waste of time (for me).

  Now I'm more inclined to believe that there is some merit to it, and that the hurried, monotone pace they typically take just doesn't work very well for me.

  Other thing I liked: group meditation again.

  Didn't like: The seeming obsession with guru approval of everything, verging on the point of worship. (Or on finding and choosing a guru, and once found, putting that guru on a sort of divine pedastool.) It's an aspect of Jewel Heart that's always made me instinctively wince a bit, though not to the degree that I want to run off and never return. The talk about doing a hundred thousand prostrations and saying the mantras X number of times in order to achieve various levels of initiation does trigger my "run screaming the other direction" instinct. (That's not what this group does, but they talk about how the Tibetans do.)

  To be clear: I think the Lincoln Jewel Heart group consists of a bunch of well meaning, fairly open minded, and often insightful group of people. However, I'm not convinced their path is my path. Maybe it doesn't have to be. Maybe whether it "is" or "isn't" the right path doesn't need to be defined as an absolute.

  Maybe I can just go when I feel the need to go, take what is meaningful, and leave the rest. As with anything.

And then there was today. Friday. Back to work in gas land.

Since I'm 98% sure I'm going to be a shoo-in at Open Harvest (then again, it's possible I'm being overly optimistic on that count), I went ahead and said that I wanted to get Monday nights removed from my schedule. When I told the boss the reason was that I was likely to be starting another part time job, though his words said it would be no problem, I sensed worry in the tone of his voice.

Maybe he sensed what I already knew: If, last Wednesday, L had said she wanted to hire me for a 30+ hour/week position, I would have been ready to jump ship and give my 2 week notice immediately. More pertinently, if a month or two from now, Open Harvest decides they can expand my role to something closer to full time, I could be in the position of choosing whether to quit my current job entirely in order to fulfill that role.

In that moment, and for the rest of the day, I was glad I had only been offered two days a week at Open Harvest. I realized that though the mission of the co-op may be my calling, I am not done here. There is more for me to do in this place. Exactly what I am to do, or how I am to do it is still vague in my mind, but I think I have some clues.

4. You are here to help. The bigger picture. This society is in a slow motion train wreck, and most people still don't know it. It is my supposition that the Invisible Gnostic Underground (or Secret Grey-Robed Christians) are in the process of spontanious deployment throughout the material realm. When I am at my best, or most awake, I am one of these. We are here to help those that have not yet awakened to survive the oncoming crisis.

This is why, at least at this point, we cannot simply wall ourselves off into groups of people who think alike. Though I suspect there will come a time when, for the sake of survival, we will need to disengage completely from the present order, and leave behind those who still cling to the old ways, that time is not yet upon us. For now, we must simply be there to assist others who are gradually coming awake, and support them as they start to come to grips with reality.

(If I sound like a crazy person, feel free to jump off at any time.)

Coming back to Earth. The thought of me -- with all my shyness, self-doubt, insecurities, and uncertainties -- figuring out how to help "them", well, it's daunting. I wouldn't have a clue how to begin. (And yet, beneath all the layers of artificiation, there is the deep intuitive sense that this responsibility cannot be avoided.)

Then I remember that "they" are me, and I am them. And it's not really about helping anybody, at least not in a patronizing sense; we're all just in this struggle together. These people around me who are struggling -- they're not ready to part with me, nor am I ready to let go of them. So we keep on pushing.

I remember hearing (or reading) somewhere about how all the great whistleblowers of our era -- like the reporters who sacrificed their careers exposing the dangers of Monsanto's growth hormones -- could not have done what they did in a vacuum. The most heroic among them have well developed support networks outside the corporate and government structures in which they operate. Human connections upon which they could fall back, so they weren't truly risking "everything" in a self-sacrificing gesture for the rest of humanity. They were doing it for the communities to which they already belonged in a symbiotic web.

So I think of myself as building this web of connections. Some of them are at Open Harvest. Some at the church. Some at the gas station. Some with my old friends from college. All of these interactions are different, but they've all become vital in some way. Otherwise, they wouldn't be worth continuing.

Later in the afternoon, the manager asked me a few more questions about Open Harvest, as he had never been there, and seemed genuinely curious about it. I told him that in addition to carrying the best quality food in town that I've been able to find, it's a company that's owned by its customers, all members are shareholders, and that we even got to vote for the board of directors.

He said, "Wow, that's really cool." (At heart, I know he's an egalitarian too because of the way he treats his employees.)

Now I don't know if that means he's going to start shopping there, but I think what I said at least put his mind at ease that if I might be starting to "phase out" my work at the gas station, it's not because of any shortcoming on his part, nor would there have been anything he or anyone else could have done to prevent it. If I go, it's because my calling brings me there.

But for now, I'm sticking around at the gas station too, because even if it weren't for money, I can sense that I am still needed in that place, at least for a while.

And still, there is oh so much for me to learn, so much to contemplate. Such a bizarre time and place to be alive. I'll rest on that for a while now.