By Georgi Y. Johnson With the discovery of mirror neurons, it could be that a new neural network is opening for the contemplation of human interdependency, empathy and the deeper nature of consciousness, through the biological medium of the human…
By Georgi Y. Johnson With the discovery of mirror neurons, it could be that a new neural network is opening for the contemplation of human interdependency, empathy and the deeper nature of consciousness, through the biological medium of the human…
We are all one. We are all part of one interbeing. We all part of one collective consciousness. We are indivisible in pure awareness. We are forever, entangled. Even the physicists say so. In experience of working with people, such…
“The movement from mind to experience is the most critical shift in self-development. In that moment, we open the means to express who we authentically are, and who we need to be.” About the Spiritual Psychology Education at Chashymie Plato…
Can you imagine the body as a portal to other dimensions? Could being “here” be more awesome and mysterious than our habit-dulled mind tends to believe? Where is here? Could here simultaneously be somewhere else? When we look for the here, through physical sensation or mental…
The mother wound is the pain of being designated either as a woman or man as passed down through generations in patriarchal cultures. It includes the dysfunctional coping mechanisms that are used to process that pain. Contrary to the popular thought, the…
Here, I can catch you Broken in the pit of a bottomless place Where even loneliness loses its floor And dreams disappear in darkness Winding away the strings That the music of your life has used. Betrayed, in silence That allows…
Walking this way, towards that point, ahead of us in time and space, wanting to be “there” – a state of grace, Never good enough, never good, not yet there, quite, nearly, Oops, it’s gone again.
They’re blowing, these winds of rage, and heroes fall through chance, some, into miasmas of trance… where kings in castles of sand compose traumatic spells and scenery of hell.
Where will I find you, my friend? In an accusing forest of laws, tortured by stories repented yet never truly told?
Screech of sound, it’s music, they say, turn around and cash, a cart in the way a steely face, and eyes avert criminal record, accused, inert,