Jenny Ann Wiltshire · February 15 at 1:15 PM ·
This is from my book (The Book of the Sun), and was written within the dream, about the dream.
We all know about mayflies; they live for a day. This is true, they do have a nymph stage, in the water for a year. Then, like their cousins the dragonflies, they crawl up a stem, and burst into flight, soar through the air. Unlike dragonflies, they have no mouth parts. All they have to do is to find a mate, lay their eggs and die.
So, one day only in the world we share with them. They don’t know about our lives, what is beyond the field they live in. They probably have no idea of history, or of the stars or the oceans. Their knowledge and life is bounded by one day in a garden or field, being driven to mate by evolutionary force, laying their eggs, dying.
In relation to what goes on in the universe, what the Sun knows, we are like a mayfly. We know our field (this planet) to some extent, but because of the limitations of our bodies and senses, even that knowledge is fairly sketchy. And what goes on in the universes is as beyond our thought and knowledge as the London Underground is beyond the knowledge of a mayfly. I cannot imagine this, try as I do. This is our reality, however. Because of our limitations, we see the Sun only as a burning ball of fire, we see all the stars like that. The Mayfly sees the flowers, may even wonder what a tree is, but cannot begin to imagine what a star is. It may not live long enough to experience the dark, see the stars come out, or the moon. It will not know the dawn. We cannot even begin to imagine what else is out there; we don’t live long enough, our senses are blunted, we’ve barely crawled out of the swamp. Mating is an issue for us, too. (Isn’t it just?!) To other beings, the vast group minds of the stars, the galaxies and universes, we may look as if we just mate, have young and die because our lives are so brief, so instantaneous compared with their own. Perhaps they remember what it was like, for they would all have been through third density too, far back in their existence, perhaps that’s why compassion seems to be threaded through the holographic fabric of reality.
This is our place. We do what we can, but have no very clear idea what goes on in the depths of our oceans. We don’t know why elephants care for the bones of their dead relatives. We don’t know how savants are made, those who seem to know extraordinary information without being taught. We don’t really know what goes on in anyone else’s mind. Our small scraps of knowledge tell us that being kind to each other tends to make us happy, that love matters, and those are the things that connect us with the bigger picture. Killing each other, hurting, wounding, keeps us securely locked in our world of blame and recrimination, will keep us tethered here, going round and round until we learn how to become free. And then the universe will open up to us, the veil will lift and we will know at last who we are. One with the Sun, with the Galaxy and the Universe. This strangely beautiful and terrible dream of existence here on Earth will have furnished us with enough love, forgiveness and compassion to fit us for the next stage.