Dear Diary: August 2020 is one for the record books. You already know that because your pages are smeared with my sweat, blood, tears, scribbles and doodles, cookie crumbs, cross-outs and a few torn out pages. The entry on the previous page was just one big “WTF!!???”
Don’t get me wrong, Dear Diary. I’m not saying it was a bad month. It was just one hell of a month. I’m a relatively simple guy. I like my omelets with two real eggs, ham and cheese. Hold the salt and pepper. It’s been that way for 40 years. But if this month was an omelet, it would have onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, garlic (ugh), five different types of cheese, black beans, chorizo and bananas, all covered with raspberry chocolate sauce. That’s the kind of month it’s been.
You ask if Adamus has been around to help smooth the rough edges? Yeah, right. I’m not pointing a finger at him because it would probably burst into flames, but let’s just say that he’s part of the omelet, if you know what I mean. I suspect he’s the chorizo, and damn proud of it.
We’re in the middle of the COVID-19 global pandemic, which certainly doesn’t help. “To Mask or Not to Mask: That is the (Ignorant) Question.” I don’t mind wearing a mask in public, not just to prevent germs from spreading, but then I don’t have to worry about bad breath from my August Omelet. Did I mention that I’m not a fan of garlic? But I’ve sure had my share of it this month, figurately speaking.
Muggles were a little weird to begin with, but this virus thing has pushed them to new levels on the odd scale. On the good side, they appear to be more present than ever, but now their fear and paranoia are more present as well. Used to be that when I went to the grocery store, people would just ignore me because they were lost in their own worlds. Now they’re looking out from their masks with fearful eyes, like I’m going to cough on them or step inside their 2-meter bubble. The dark side of me, which you know all too well, Dear Diary, wants to record a loud cough on my smart phone and play it while I’m walking around the store, while keeping my real mouth shut. That would certainly clear out the cash register line.
I shop as fast as I possibly can, and then speed back up the mountain to my refuge. The bad news is that the canyon highway is under construction this summer. They’re repairing the roads and bridges, replacing the electric power poles and lines, adding a bike lane, and putting in guard rails. For the past 24 years the State of Colorado didn’t know that Highway 72 existed, but this year they’re thinking of every possible road project just to irritate me. On a good day there are four one-lane traffic stops. What used to be a pleasant drive up and down the canyon is now a time-and-patience-consuming stop-and-start crawl. For some unknown reason Subaru* drivers are now going 15 miles per hour under the speed limit rather than their usual 10 miles per hour under. What is it with Subaru drivers, anyway? Are they just safer drivers, or are all their speedometers broken?
Yep. It’s been one of those months, and look at me now. I’m bullying Subaru drivers. (sigh) But wait… I just did a Google search to see if I’m obsessive, and found this on Torque News: “According to a recent study of 800 car owners, Subaru drivers drive too slow, or the back of their cars are full of stickers, or they are driven by granola-eating hippies from the 60s. The survey respondents noted that if they get behind a Subaru, it’s likely to be a slow driver. A whopping 75 percent agreed that Subaru owners are bad drivers.” Whew! I thought it was just me, with some weird pet-peeve about Subarus. Probably from a past life. Dear Diary, it’s good to know I’m OK. I drive a 2007 Toyota Land Cruiser. It goes 10 miles over the speed limit.
It’s been one of those months. But the chocolate raspberry sauce on top of the omelet was the Threshold Online event. I don’t even know how to put it in words so I’ll just do a doodle on this page. That’s a smiley face, with a thumbs-up, if you can’t tell. Sure, it’s wearing a face mask as well, so now you know how weird it’s been.
1200 Shaumbra from 52 countries participated in the Threshold Online event. That makes it the largest non-Shoud event ever. You know, Dear Diary, I was more than unsettled when, back in June, Adamus told us to film Threshold and offer it as a Cloud Class before the end of August. WTF? Threshold was always for small groups of 25 Shaumbra.
There were a lot of personal interactions with Adamus during the live four-day events. How could we possibly film it, without an audience, and make it as viable as the small live events? Oh, and do it all in less than two months, when usually it takes 3 or more months to adequately prepare, film, edit and produce a Cloud Class. But just between you and me, Dear Diary, it worked far better than I could have ever imagined. Sure glad that Adamus doesn’t read my diary because I’d be hearing “I told you so” from here to the Ascended Masters Club. (Adamus, you don’t read my diary, do you???)
Sitting at the studio with Linda and the production crew during the event, I felt something HUGE shift within all Shaumbra, whether they were viewing Threshold or not. It was like a consciousness earthquake that rattled deep down beneath the surface. It shook the collective Shaumbra house, and the aftershocks are still happening. “Holy crap,” as Sart would say.
H-O-L-Y C-R-A-P. Few of us realized until later that the first day of Threshold was on the 21st anniversary of the Crimson Circle. What a birthday present, to us! The three-day event was exhilarating, intense, clear and palpable. It’s one for the record books. I had roughly projected that we’d have between 100 – 125 Shaumbra participating in the event, based on the last-minute notice. I would have never, ever imagined 1200. Dear Diary, you’ve been with me for many years now, so you know I’ve never experienced anything so expansive and transformational, for Shaumbra as a whole, as this Threshold. At least not since the Temples of Tien. I don’t think paper or diaries had even been invented back then. Sorry.
Then Monday morning came. The day after Threshold. You know how I feel about Monday mornings. There’s not enough coffee in the world to cure what Monday mornings bring. Don’t get me wrong; I was still elated about the weekend. But Linda and I were totally exhausted. I made the mistake of scheduling a few Zoom meetings on Monday morning. What was I thinking? (Note to Self: You are not Superman or Adamus. Allow time to recuperate after a big event, even if it is online.) I was able to make it through the meetings, and at high noon Linda and I shut down our computers, hopped in the car and drove to a resort for an overnight get-away. Our plan was to spend the afternoon in the hot tub and heated swimming pool, then have dinner, hit the casino and sleep in late the next morning. The minute we got to our room we hit the bed and slept until dinnertime. We actually had a nice quiet dinner. I chowed down on a huge cheeseburger and fries, while Linda stayed sensible with a salad. No wonder she looks so good. I was in bed by 9:00 PM. So much for a night at the casino, although I did win $500 while I could still keep my eyes open.
A week after the Threshold, we’re still not fully recovered. Most of the Crimson Circle staff is in the same condition. Jean Tinder just sent me an email and asked if we could wait until next week to send out the magazine. Her body and mind have been acting like a Subaru ever since the Threshold: Really slow, weaving down the road, sudden turns without signaling, lots of brake lights. (Note to Self: Be prepared to get lots of emails and social media comments from Shaumbra Subaru owners. Oh, Michelle Carazao Dinu in Kona is going to rip me a new one.)
If it sounds like I’m complaining, Dear Diary, I am not. This is your job; I’m just trying to make your existence meaningful by dumping as much as I can here. The more I write on your pages, the better I feel. If I’m boring you with trivial details like what I had for dinner, I can only assume you’re savoring it because this is why you’re here. Dear Diary, you are serving me well!
Why am I here, you ask? Funny that a diary would ask questions, but then again, you’re my own living energy.
Among other things, I’m here for exactly what we as Shaumbra are doing right now. It’s the Summer of Realization. It’s also the Time of Machines. Everything is converging right now, and that’s why August has been one messy omelet. On one hand, we have the daily dreary news in the media. On the other hand, we just joined together in the Threshold, effecting changes that could be talked about for decades (or generations) to come. While the land and tempers are burning, while social and economic injustices are coming to the forefront and causing violence and fear, while global anxiety and stress is at an all-time high, we stand behind the short wall and relax on a park bench, all while allowing our Realization. It’s easy to get sucked into the drama of a changing world, but this is why we’re here.
We knew it wouldn’t always be easy. Who in their right mind would plop themselves smack in the middle of the hurricane in order to change its trajectory? We knew, from the time of planting seeds of consciousness 2000 years ago, that we would come now to reap the harvest. We also knew it would be our last lifetime on this planet, so we wanted to leave a most precious gift: The light of consciousness. We are doing it as sovereign beings, un-grouped from anything that would otherwise hold us back. That ungrouping is a blessing at times, but sometimes it’s very difficult to walk this path alone. Thank goodness I have you, Dear Diary, to absorb my angst on your pages. Now if you don’t mind, I have to finish writing and make my breakfast before the morning slips away. Yep, a two-egg omelet with ham and cheese. Hold the salt and paper.
* I acknowledge that Subaru’s are well-made, quality cars. I also drive a
Japanese car so please don’t accuse me of auto-profiling.