Mister O E-Book

Giuseppe Puddu

• Herausgeber: Giuseppe Puddu
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

How many times in our lives have we experienced the sensation of déjà vu, the feeling that we have already lived, seen and felt something, without, however, finding confirmation when we look back our experiences?The protagonist of reflections contained in the following narrative, whose prov-enance might be from collective thinking provided in form of dreams, is a real character and imaginative at the same time, assuming deliberately the impersonal identity of Mister O. The mysterious thinker was coming from the community of those who feel capable of deep introspective analysis. Mister O claims, in these pages, that body and soul remain bound together after death, at least until persists a vital energy in the decaying corpse. The thread that binds the two entities will break only after all the force that connects them will be exhausted, leaving free the soul to reincarnate in a new process of conception. The union of soul and body are a necessary condition to exist. The two dimensions of transcendence and immanence are aspects of a single reality, which we have cho-sen only the most reassuring facade, rationally acceptable.

Leseprobe

Giuseppe Puddu

Mister O

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Table of contents

Mister O

Our meeting

A common, very ordinary mortal

Lucid Dreams

The nature of our meeting

The first steps in life together

Time and dimension

The imitative model

Religion and philosophy

The journey

Little Cloud

A sweet coma

A bad boy

The tree of life

Resì

Drowning in memories

In the Valley of the Kings

A Cosmic Love

The powerful in the world

The thirst sapiens

Mister O

A trascendental journey

Author’s preface

Immanence and transcendence, two existential conditions that create embarrassment to most of us, are treated in these pages with the simplicity of a naive dreamer, in the indulgent illusion to give a modest contribution to unravel the tangled skein of human dimension mystery.

Like all dreamers, some rhetorical images assume the significance of evocations to support our thesis, at least until someone, depositary of the truth, can dispel it.So, in the ocean of our own existence, in primitive belief that something does not die with the body, the life of our body takes on the guise of a small boat buffeted by waves, or a tiny candle flame dangerously swinging with every breath of wind. The vessel’s desperate desire to be not submerged, renewed at every breaker, or the stubborn yearning of a flame to stay on, ruthlessly attacked and reduced exhausted from unknown and threatening dark, depicts very well our human dimension. The flame verticality desire symbolically expresses the will to rise, domain and conscience, of courageous consistency of intent in our daily lives, as the stubborn and heroic stand of tree under the gusts of wind, almost conscious, to the stars of heaven. And in the immensity of the existence ocean, with its unpredictable waves, so different in their appearance, so unequal in their dangerously aggressive, our life journey through a world of loneliness and detachment, inextricably tied to his body as a vessel, where the throb of candle flameis confused with beating heart. Beyond any comparison, the boat in a storm and the candle flame, are two large paintings, which evoke images that induce meditations, feelings, thoughts and values, capable of inspiring wallpapers and background music, on which to baste our personal truths. In front of a candle flame many of us tend to ramble quiet into a thousand fantasies, others catch with pain life’s brevity: - Soon the flame will go out and will be dark, nothingness will wrap us …

Against this pessimistic darkness, which does not allow seeing the grandeur of the world where we live in, the following pages offer a different vision, a delicate perfume of life renews itself each spring after a long winter hibernation. To direct the tale is Mister O, an evolved consciousness that try to shake our distrust talking about transcendence and existential mysteries, made only from unjustified fears of our mind.

How many times in our lives have we experienced the sensation of déjà vu, the feeling that we have already lived, seen and felt something, without, however, finding confirmation when we look back our experiences? It is an inexplicable sensation. How many times have we been surprised when reading a book or an article to find the concepts it expresses perfectly reflect the baggage of our own mental labors, our convictions? We feel that we not only share the same beliefs, but we express them in the same way, in the same sequence.

Different schools of thought maintain that our creative, ideational and intuitive activities liberate forms of energy, which contain our efforts our work in order to transmit it over the airwaves, to speak. It is therefore put at the disposal of all those who are in harmony. If we accept this theory, we have to acknowledge the fact that we all have access to information and results, which are fruit of the research of one specific subject, who, in turn, has received elements of thought from the same information channel.

The protagonist of reflections contained in the following narrative, whose provenance might be from collective thinking provided in form of dreams, is a real character and imaginative at the same time, assuming deliberately the impersonal identity of Mister O. The mysterious thinker was coming from the community of those who feel capable of deep introspective analysis. He formulates thoughts as flights of fancy, usually suffocated by confrontation’s fear. Turned out with energy, imposing to me a long period of total attention, forcing to me a writing work accompanied by a daily appointment claim: at four o’clock in the morning. The human dimension, which offers Mr. O, mysterious in its genesis, becomes inspired by reflections on topics that belong to us. The different world views, the expansion of our boundaries, beyond Earth, within which, according to him, we will have to face in the near future, the communication method selected, the obligation of submission without compromise with strict rules of expression, on topics sometimes difficult to understand even for minds evolved, impose a premise apparently taken from the statement.

Mister O claims, in these pages, that body and soul remain bound together after death, at least until persists a vital energy in the decaying corpse. The thread that binds the two entities will break only after all the force that connects them will be exhausted, leaving free the soul to reincarnate in a new process of conception. The union of soul and body are a necessary condition to exist. The two dimensions of transcendence and immanence are aspects of a single reality, which we have chosen only the most reassuring facade, rationally acceptable. Mister O exposes in these pages an overview of our existence, referring mainly to his life experience in a universal world. I wanted to mention, at the opening of each chapter, the wisdom of an extraordinary Teacher. Anthony de Mello knew capture the nuances of life and exposed with parables of great simplicity and understanding. I thought some of these in line with the contents of Mr. O’s revelations.

Our meeting

A common, very ordinary mortal

-That man says things without sense-

said a visitor

after hearing the words of the master.

A disciple replied

- You would also say things without sense

if you tried to express the inexpressible- .

When the visitor questioned the very master

on the subject, he received this reply:

- Nobody is immune from saying things without sense,

the problem is when you do it with solemnity- .

(Anthony de Mello)

It was six o’clock in the morning when I finally heard the first voices, after an enormous effort to descend that endless, dark tunnel, at the extremity of which burnt a light so bright that I was forced to close my eyes to protect them.

- It is a boy, madam, a beautiful boy! He must weigh at least three kilos… After so many girls, it was time for a boy to brighten up the group… What are you going to call him? - said the petulant obstetrician, a short, plump, middle-aged woman whose eyes sparkled with vivacity.

I started so the lively great torment of my life, just with the choice of an appropriate name. I had, in previous lives, many fine-sounding names, hideous and he talked others, borrowed from family circumstances of my occasional parents. In previous lives? Well, you. Among the few certainties of the first life hours, existential continuity through repeated reincarnation was dominant. A certainty that I was not in doubt, given the reiteration of the happy event of my return in our paradise, as mere mortals. On the other hand, everything that had followed my birth fully will confirm this certainty.

Still soaked in amniotic liquid, eyes wide open, I tried to understand where I had ended up this time, in which family, with which parents. That large woman, who held me firmly in a cloth, rubbing me violently, could not be my mother. There were no males in sight, banned from the birth in that era as it was considered a question for women only. The other two female figures, who were very young, seemed too terrified by the event that they had witnessed to be taken seriously.

- What are you going to call our little brother, mummy? - asked the two girls who turned out to be my older sisters.

My mother was too exhausted to focus her attention on a name for her seventh child; her main concern was trying to get her strength back as soon as possible.

- We will think about that later… - she said in a whisper.

Meanwhile, wrapped in a towel, I too tried to contribute to the choice of name, to avoid being lumbered with a sad or insignificant one for the rest of my life. However, all I managed was the classic - ueh- of babies, which, of course, got me nowhere.

- Don’t be ridiculous, they will not understand you if you continue to scream without articulating words. You have just been born and your phonatory organs have yet to develop, even then, you will have to learn their language before you can speak. Do not frighten them by accelerating the time allowed for growth. Calm down, relax and enjoy this magic moment and most of all do not worry about the name you will be given. It is merely a convention, without large influence into the course of your life… - said a little impertinent voice inside me.

At that magical moment of my birth, I did not realize that someone inside me was intervening in personal questions, nor did I dwell on the reasons behind certain phenomena.

I came from a dimension where the dialogue between people, between souls, took place in silence,without uttering a word. A dimension where everyone understands without having to change language.

I was still weighed down by the baggage of previous experiences that I carried with me, but, above all, I noticed that the curiosity about the new life adventure was superior to any other problem. On that occasion, was comfortable one partner with whom talking without speaking, would keep me company in early days of adaptation. It was a normal circumstance for my old soul back to incarnate in a child.

- I will be a discreet companion and I will intervene only when you ask me to. However, always remember who you are, do not try to identify yourself with a name or a profession, do not exalt more than is necessary your rational ego, which is merely a vain ephemeral power.

Therefore, it was how I discovered as for a teacher would accompany many of us, the return among ordinary mortals, a counselor, in the common condition could be called consciousness. I understood immediately that, even when not required, it would be assumed the right to intervene in the decisions, choices suggest, to criticize my life style, in short, to determine my future. A talking cricket, just like the one in Pinocchio, sometimes useful, but often impertinent, the Master did not like to show explicitly, was hidingin some kind of body meander. He argued that would be my secret partner, atrusted adviser, who would protect me from great dangers, but would not intervene until the physical pain if I misunderstood them eaning of new life. Just be cause he had not aspecific dimension, a physical or biological where to stay, becausehe felt superior to the reason, inside of my self I feel him as an alien, a person coming from a different world, speaking of transcendence, of what was beyond the limits of any rational knowledge.

From childhood I was inundated with the transcendental without knowing the real meaning of the term; very early on I was told about the existence of a soul, a spirit, a personality, an Ego, external, invisible presences, conscience, to indicate something which is different, neither material, nor biological. Instead, it belongs to a mysterious sphere of our existence, that fine distinction which makes us superior to animals. What a mess!

From the very first months of life, my mother, as many other parents spoke to me about the soul in a religious sense, maintaining that after death it goes to heaven to be united with God. Thus, the transcendental theme is simplified by attributing it to a religious creed not to be questioned, but accepted as a mystery of a professed faith. Not long afterwards, I also heard about spirits, presences that do not have a biological body, which are blessed with great powers, capable of producing visual effects typical of our human lives, offering us a transcendental dimension very close to the physical one. In this way, I discovered that the Catholic Church itself acknowledged the existence of these forces and the destructive energy released by certain evil spirits, against which the Church’s weapon was exorcism.

At I was aware that for us, children, at the return to the life similar arguments were discounted, no mystery, but not in terms of the parents education, before and school later tried to explain. My Master, in our continuing transcending dialogue during the first life months repeated almost obsessively:

- It is not permissible for a child to face this very sensitive issue, although its purity could provide the key to the most appropriate. Children know all about transcendence, coming from that world, but do not know how to communicate with adults. They do so only with the reassuring smile, looking on, but nobody can really understand them. Then they too grow and inevitably lose those certainties. The rule of reason during the biological life is still very strong, is capable of ridicule speech from some fundamental topics coming from past memories...

As the months passed, I realized a slow and continuous change. The curiosity about the new world, the discovery of verbal communication meaning, overwhelmed inexorably throughout the body of knowledge that I brought below, slowly erasing the memory.

However, in many other circumstances, the education I received forced me to dwell upon the conscience, upon that ethical-moral ambit which imposes behavioral rules, thus suggesting the attitudes to assume and answers to give. My parents bombarded me with phrases such as Lay your hand on your heart or Sooner or later, you will have to come to terms with your conscience, to the point that they became part of my daily language, suggesting an acceptance of a transcendental ambit, which accompanies us along the path of our biological lives.

Finally, in yet other educational and cultural contexts, another figure emerges which is not strictly related to our physical sphere: our Ego, our most intimate personality.

I am tempted to ask myself:

- How many people live inside me, in my body and how much do they influence my choices in life?

I was thus obliged to make a classification, a distinction to qualify the different transcendental categories, which accompany us in order to satisfy the questions, which burned inside me.

I learned to talk about soul, instinctively associating the word with the ambit of our religious creed. This obliges us to accept blindly its existence and thus our union with it during life and its separation from the body after death, in order to reach an undefined place. A place enlightened by wisdom and spirituality, where things are blessed with immortality and embraced by our God. I accepted the existence of the soul that fed on transcendence, for which the dominant theme was the divine religious veneration.

However, this mystical presence opposed to rational, social and collective needs, to define my behaviors consistently with dominant ethic that compelled me to adapt the way my think to a sort of common coding to fight evil, understood as deteriorating aspect of relations between individuals.

I felt that the manager of everyday life was the Ego, mind, expressing the contours of the personality, which affected my creative and intellectual capacity. The Ego spoke a language practice, arguing rationally about things, whatever their religious beliefs, slip into all aspects of social participation in the choices and affect my decisions. Instead of the soul, the Ego seemed to have need of my body, of the input from the senses. I was sure that without the mind the body could not speak, would not have been able to go beyond the vital functions, in creative activities. I was convinced that the Ego also had the gift of immortality and life continuity, beyond the biological. It appeared as guardian of my memory growth. Intimately I had assigned the custodian job of my secrets, my emotions and aspirations. I associates it with the classical consciousness, my ability awareness; I assigned him the Master role of my choices.

I was frequently surrounded in the mist of my doubts, absorbed by the desire to know, to understand, when after many years of silence the master voice, like the first my life days, heard again, with peremptory and menacing tone.

- Do not continue to escape as you are usually. I tried to talk but you not listen. What good are my suggestions if you think can find yourself all explanations? You seem rather confused, but you reject suggestions ... Maybe it is time to stop, to listen the silence ... Yes, the silence ... It's always more loquacious of the words...

- How to listen to the silence? What does it mean?

- Do not talk... Sss ... Do not think … Do not look with your eyes ... Do not touch nothing ... listen ... with your ears... Enter into the Void, into absolute vacuum...

After many years of silence or lousy listening on my part, the friendly voice of my life first days, that fellow who had offered to teach me the life secret, suddenly re-emerged to begin a dialogue with arguments and reflections series, soliciting memories of recent past events that had assumed a clear message: I am here too! I finally, I had to take note of the request, and in an attempt to assign a sounding pompous name to my partner, he suggested a simple title, but appropriate Mister O, as mystery. The teacher began to talk about their arrival on Earth, about the origin place of men primitive world, the contribution offered to cultural humanity growth and purpose. He order me the way to communicate, to write, the topics addressed the cadence. The story that follows is a kind of diary chronologically consistent with its imperative action. The items contained in the expressions do not belong to my language. I carry-over with highest possible fidelity. He forced me, first, to produce breaking rational constraints and thought liberation.

Lucid Dreams

A disciple said to a newcomer

at the monastery: - I have to warn you

that you will not understand a single word

of what the master says

if you are not in the right frame of mind- .

- And what is the right frame of mind?-

- That of a student

eager to learn a foreign language.

The words the master says

have a familiar sound, but do not be deceived:

they mean something completely different-.

(Anthony de Mello)

It all began very stealthily, almost without my knowing, at night, with images of modest intensity, at the usual hour: four o’clock in the morning. Master communicated with messages, not well structured, but with captivating contents, repeatedly evoking the idea of planning. I called them lucid dreams because they seemed to belong to that category of dreamlike visions, with only one difference: they remained perfectly impressed in my memory and I could remember them as if they were scenes from a film I had just seen.

In the last years, the frequency of these lucid dreams had become insistent, demanding more and more attention, although in some circumstances this was not always clear. They came to me unfailingly at the same time, at four o’clock in the morning. Even when extreme tiredness plunged me into a deep sleep, the time of the encounter was merely put off for a quarter of an hour, or, at most, half an hour.

I searched for a logical explanation in my frequent trips abroad, to Indonesia, in the seven-hour time difference, but the answer did not convince me, it seemed weak. Four o’clock in the morning. Even at a young age, was the moment when a logical explanation materialized for all the serious problems I could not resolve whilst awake, including those of trigonometry, a subject that I found decidedly irksome. At four o’clock in the morning, as if by magic, as if someone had prompted me, the solution became clear. I listened to the suggestion, got up and wrote down the answer. In this way, I learned an efficient method: when I felt tormented by problems seemingly without a solution, I went to sleep, knowing that I would find the right answer. I naturally attributed the result to the famous saying night-time brings advice, as if the night could liberate us from our daily ties and the brain reached the height of its analytical capacity.

Over the years, the time of four o’clock in the morning produced different effects: in my lucid dreams, there were no particular problems to resolve, anxiety to eliminate or suffocating worries, merely ideas of plans formulated with excessive productivity. I was continually in contact with people who communicated with me in a simple, easy to understand. They tell their stories, talking about things that did not belong to our common daily life. Upon awakening, however, I did not remember details of our conversations.Until one night, as if bewitched, I heard Master’s voice inside me, loud and clear, which was speaking to me. At first I thought that my body, my mind, was about to degenerate into a schizophrenic state; I looked around as if searching for the person who had spoken. I thought that ghosts haunted my old house. I looked around, out of the corner of my eye, every nerve alert. The voice I heard was firm, but persuasive: