ABOUT WORMHOLES—AND BREADCRUMBS
By Barbara Smith Stoff
I am writing this today, July 25, 2013, upon the anniversary of what was termed in the hospital “ a massive stroke.” Now, I write my story which I have assembled from fleeting vignettes of memory from my hospital stay. Like gathering breadcrumbs in the great forest, one might say, as a necessary healing exercise for me. Each of these vignettes is, for me, truly iconic, perhaps like the small ivory cameo one might wear as a lapel pin. These memory cameos are fleeting because I was out of my body most of the time—often with a view from high up of the fields surrounding the hospital.
In the hospital, in my body, I remember, not his face, but just his hand holding mine, that constant hand of my husband who, I later am told, stayed with me around the clock the entire time I was there in the hospital—except for one night when my son asked to stay with me instead. I will try to describe briefly below some of these “cameos.”
Just after being admitted, I remember being handed a telephone with a call from Shel’s son on the east coast –a doctor and medical researcher—and I remember asking him to give me, from physics, the definition of a wormhole. He did that and I remember saying, “That makes sense.” Months later, I asked him if he remembered that conversation, and he said simply, “Yes.”
I remember opening my eyes in the middle of the night, and there sat my son, a deep-ocean researcher, reading Moby Dick aloud to me from his I-phone. I commented on the beauty of the words and he responded that perhaps the best way to read Moby Dick is to read it aloud.
These cameos from the hospital stand out as definitely luminous breadcrumbs. At home, difficult months followed. One day, a day when I so much needed encouragement, it happened that a message came to me on Facebook from Nicolya Christi. She told me of her illness and her recovery. Her message brought me hope and gave me a hand up from this deep well of discouragement.
And so now, almost exactly to date a year later, after days of looking for my page- magnifying reading glass, I suddenly find it marking a certain page in a book I had bought, but had not yet read. Page 67 of 2012: A Clarion Call by Nicolya Christi. In a bibliomancy way, my eye falls upon a certain paragraph:
“Ancient prophecies speak of a “star gate” opening in 2012. They tell us that there are thirteen of these gates in our galaxy. Star gates are often described as “wormholes” or “portals” and it is prophesied that a great enlightened being or a group of enlightened beings will emerge from one that will open on the winter solstice of 2012. The Maya refer to these openings as “serpent ropes” on which enlightened beings are said to “ride in.” These ropes are linked to the kundalini energy within the human body; which, when they are fully activated, via the heart/mind connection, they open up portals and wormholes within the human system, making it possible for ourselves, as the enlightened beings that we are, to “ride in,” fully anchoring our souls into our bodies and re-aligning our consciousness to elevate our vibration to an exalted state. The profound events of 2012 make it possible for us to turn our faces to the Sun and bathe in the golden dawn of a new age.” (from 2012 A Clarion Call: Your Soul’s Purpose in Conscious Evolution by Nicolya Christi)
I remember now—throughout those difficult months and recurring bouts of vertigo—the images of Yeats ---and ‘gyres’ coming up in my mind a lot, and remembering also my years of study of myth and cycles of the ages, as in Hesiod, for instance, so the idea of spiraling up again toward a golden age is not new to me. One day, back in the 1980s, William Irwin Thompson’s Time Falling Bodies Take to Light literally fell off the shelf into my hands as I browsed in a bookstore. And, of course, I am fairly familiar with the writings of Arguelles on the Mayan Calendar—and so on. And, as well, my psyche is fairly well furnished, in a Jungian sense, with images from the collective deep consciousness.
I have had loving help from the subtle realms. Upon hearing of my experience, I received telephone calls telling me about Jill Bolte Taylor
and Eban Alexander.
Then I saw them both being interviewed on television. I began to notice, also on television, reviews of new studies of brain function and repair, which I can now research, as I continue to look for more luminous breadcrumbs.
We kind of know what a breadcrumb can look like…but a wormhole?
In 1935, physicists Albert Einstein and Nathan Rosen used the theory of general relativity to propose the existence of "bridges" through space-time. These paths, called Einstein-Rosen bridges or wormholes, connect two different points in space-time, theoretically creating a shortcut that could reduce time and distance. /span>http://www.space.com/20881-wormholes.html>ri
And, a gyre? /i> http://www.yeatsvision.com/Geometry.html> See notes and images from the above link:
Although the double cone dominates the diagrams found in A Vision, the more important representation of the gyres in the Automatic Script was that which was called the ‘Diamond’ and ‘Hourglass’, which is effectively a doubled form of the double cone. The Instructors objected to the term ‘Diamond’, but Yeats retained it anyway.
In A Vision this form of representation is most important in the discussion of the Principles, the spiritual constituents of the human being, which come to the fore in the after-life. In this system the axes of the two shapes do not necessarily coincide, and they rotate about a common centre, within a sphere. The Diamond itself represents the original Principle of the Celestial Body, within which the Spirit moves as a single gyre. These together form the Solar element of the system of the Principles, while the Hourglass represents the Lunar element. Both the Passionate Body and the Husk move within this double gyre, one half representing life and the other half the after-life (see the Principles and the After-life).
The essay "'Everywhere that antinomy of the One and the Many': The Foundations of A Vision," by Neil Mann in the collection W. B. Yeats's "A Vision": Explications and Contexts, edited by Neil Mann, Matthew Gibson, and Claire Nally (Clemson University, 2012), provides useful further exploration of this subject.
This title is available for free download from Clemson University Digital Press.
Here is a poem which I wrote, sitting on the floor of my living room, one Sunday morning circa 1972:
THE BALANCE TURNS ON YES
My soul is balancing out there
and the balance turns on yes…
a light burning through black and white,
press printing new patterns
(this is only flat paper news)
I look down from the horrors
of the Sunday paper
to this cat
(who has become my teacher of late)
here on my lap
(warm ease and somehow here being)
with balance here
with balance here seeming
on a thin thin wire
silver spun from some center…
is pure? will hold?
the center holds
(even to that mountain in the distance there)
Trusting the morning hand
for some graceful knot,
I look up to bind…
up and out and level
(even to that distant mountain there)
and back to this flat paper news
whose power leaps quivering from points of pain
dangerously shaking the gossamer line.
Almost I hear the fearsome snap:
a heartpulse…and the line holds.
My soul comes home again
from rare space
and I stroke the cat
and we enjoy fragrant tea
with some serenity.
--Barbara Smith Stoff (circa 1972)
As I wrote, I was thinking of Yeats and the poem below:
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
By William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
(The Second Coming was written in 1919 in the aftermath
of the first World War)
I have thought of that poem a lot. I remember a conversation (circa 1992) about ‘the second coming’ with an old friend as we sat having lunch in a café in San Diego. I was telling him about my take on meaning in that poem…about how individuals, one by one, would undergo transfiguration, as in Lyall Watson’s “Hundredth Monkey Story” (“Lifetide” by Lyall Watson). He looked at me with surprise on his face and said, “You mean the whole world will become messianic?” I heard myself say, “Yes.” That friend now lies in a hospital in Tel Aviv, recovering from a stroke. He is 91 years old. I think of him and send him good wishes…as I continue my own efforts to navigate the straits of what Ervin Laszlo and ‘system scientists’ call the ‘chaos point.’ I watch the world news on television, and I also think of the writings of Hesiod and William Erwin Thompson…and listen for the chord that lifts us toward the next age of gold. –Barbara Smith Stoff