We Have Been Here Before - by Morris Bishop

I think I remember this moorland,
   The tower on the top of the tor;
I feel in the distance another existence;
   I think I have been here before.

And I think you were sitting beside me
   In a fold in the face of the fell;
For time at its work'll go around in a circle,
   And what is befalling, befell.

"I have been here before!" I asserted,
   In a nook on a neck of the Nile.
I once in a crisis was punished by Isis,
   And you smiled. I remember your smile.

I had the same sense of persistence
   On the site of the seat of the Sioux;
I heard in the teepee the sound of a sleepy
   Pleistocene grunt. It was you.

The past made a promise, before it
   Began to begin to begone.
This limited gamut brings you again. Damn it,
   How long has this got to go on?

If I had known from the beginning of my life to ask such a question of myself - Why is that brute (or jerk or pest or cry baby or clinging vine or .......) in my life - it probably wouldn't have brought me to my senses any sooner: I still would have seen the relationship out. But if I had asked from a Sethian point of view, fully realizing that I'm never a victim, then maybe I could have saved myself from a lot of irritating people.

Then again, that curiosity which is the most striking trait of the Big C (Consciousness, or Higher Consciousness) has a way of influencing us into sticking around to see what happens, right down to the bitter, painful end. Until finally (Oh, thank God - finally!) blessed boredom kicks in, we know exactly what comes next in the script - again! - which is about when somehow, magically, that person drifts out of sight - or is blown out of the water. Either way, he or she is gone, and the Big C is free to coax us together with the next challenging recruit.

It perplexes me sometimes, to realize how detached and even heartless the Big C is. But Seth said it: Consciousness wants nothing more than to expand, and it doesn't care what kind of experience it is, as long as it's experience. That sort of baseline many times runs counter to human morals and all sense of decency. It's outrageous to consider that even at his most despicable, Adolph Hitler's experience was every bit as "valuable" to him as Mother Theresa's was to her. A number of Seth students, whom I know, are so offended by such a proposal that they refuse to take Seth at his word. I don't blame them. Even though it makes infinite sense, it's still a hard pill to swallow.

*******

Emily was such a strong, self-sufficient and self-responsible person. She was also warm and open, which is why she always had intimate friends. She and Josie clicked immediately. They became clubbing buddies, poolside party buddies. They enjoyed things in the same way, spoke the same language. But Josie was a heavy "leaner." Her love life was full of melodrama, and she poured her heart out to Emily on a constant basis. Tearful, midnight visits were common. Emily listened, consoled, advised, and shored up Josie's sagging ego. It was a strain, especially since Emily had a life of her own, and Josie wasn't too interested in hearing about it. Emily's hurt feelings collected and sat for many months before the crowning blow: No call from Josie the day Emily's brother underwent major surgery - or the day after, or the day after that. Josie was in the midst of a hot romance, and she forgot. Emily ended the friendship. And then she gave it a lot of thought while she licked her wounds.

Emily's motive for creating such a relationship became pretty clear: Her own grown daughters had inherited their mother's strong self-sufficiency, and they were busy making their way in the world, proving to themselves that they could do it without Mom. A part of Emily was wishing they were more dependent upon her, so she created Josie to give herself a taste of how the leaning weight of a grown woman would feel. Actually it was rather a clever, safe way to create that experience: Since a person is not responsible for sustaining a one-sided friendship, ending it is a healthy response; but one can hardly walk away from one's own daughter, just because she won't grow up.

*******

When Wright first accepted the job, it looked like a fine opportunity for professional growth. He hadn't reckoned on the monster of a boss who came with the package. Turner Davies was an offense, just walking down the hall. He badgered and bullied and yelled in meetings and regularly sharpened his teeth on bouts of character assassination. He never had a kind word to say to anyone, and his manners were shocking. Wright cringed when Turner addressed one of the women working there: The sexual discrimination could be nothing less than pure hatred of females. The morale plummeted from high hopes for a new branch to surly whispering in corners and "keeping records." Eventually, Turner was ridden out of town on a rail, courtesy of corporate headquarters. But the damage was done, employees were wounded and distrustful, Wright among them. The branch folded: Turner had rotted out its foundations by just breathing on them, and there was nothing left to do but tear it down.

Wright didn't have to look far for an answer to "Why this brute in my life?" He remembered Seth describing the Big C value in "working for a corrupt master." Perhaps there were more reasons that were closer to home, and yes, it did seem to repeat the same script that characterized his despot of a father. Between the two, this was enough reason for Wright. Okay, self said to (higher) self - I've had the experience - twice. Now, buzz off, and don't you ever bring another Turner anywhere within a mile of me again!

The conscious self is the final authority over what experiences one will have. Seth says so, and so do Christian churches when they speak of "free will." Boredom is a surefire way to end an experience, but sheer, strong will works, too. They both must be deep and genuine, however: Playing games with self-honesty simply leaves us open to future "surprise attack." If there's a smidgeon of curiosity or attraction left, we may as well face up to it and prepare ourselves.

*******

Reincarnation, with its neat time-line, differs from Seth's view, which says it's all happening at once. He also tells us that we very often move through our experiences with the same "family" of others, bouncing off one another continuously, trading roles and experiences - weaving an intricate dance on all planes of existence.

What about those profound "brutes" in our lives who thrill and chill us at every level of our being? The ones who defy every psychological explanation and admonishment and refuse to be neatly boxed and labeled? Who keep us enthralled, hypnotized, glued to them?

The profound brute is the person who reads your thoughts and tells you what they are; he cuts you at the deepest level with just a word; he seems to possess uncanny similarities and almost repugnant dissimilarities to you, and sometimes you feel like you're looking into a mirror and a negative both at once; he visits you in strange dreams, stimulates you into arcane experiences, gives rise to a passion of pleasure or pain that you never knew you could feel, and you are so close together in silence that it is beyond description. Above all, you learn from your profound brute - so fast and so much, that it is overwhelming. You are probably deeply, drowningly in love with that person, and at the same time, you experience lightening hot flashes of fear - fear of self-annihilation.

I believe that within our "family" of others, there is often one soul (or more) with whom we are in peculiar balance and counterbalance. We have spent (are spending) a multitude of experiential levels in harmonious response and reaction to one another - I suspect at a CU (consciousness unit) level. So, when we meet up in our material "reality," there is instant magnetic/anti-magnetic recognition, the power of which simply sweeps away our human control. Consciousness expansion is exponentiated, because we two have evolved ourselves into an eccentric attunement for that exact, pure purpose.

It is no wonder that the love is so terrible. Our humanity's very definition requires us to perceive boundaries between me and thou, a clear view of where self ends and everything else begins. With the profound brute, boundary is a non-word; in-difference in the true sense reveals itself. When that happens, the frailty of material illusion falls to pieces, and nothing makes sense. As humans, we can take a sip of love, but we are simply not built to gulp it whole.

Very often, as a result, we find our mundane lives unworkable. When we are finally able to grab ourselves by the nape of the neck and drag our bodies to a safe distance, we may realize that continuing to live in proximity to our profound brute will truly end our life as we know it. If we want to continue our education, make our mark in the world, have relationships with our family, grow flowers or travel the world, the brute will have to go. There's not room for both; we are only human, after all. It's a choice. The Big C doesn't care which one we choose - it's going to go on expanding, either way.

It happened to me in just such a way. I've lived to tell the tale, but it's a tale for another day.