Hanging Ten over the Apocalypse with Belief in Our Essence

Sol Luckman

I believe … a most curious phrase. We’ve heard about the biology, but what is the etymology of belief?

Belief stems from Old English and once meant trust in God. This made belief a close bedfellow of faith.

But at the approach of the spiritual-materialist split known as the Enlightenment, where soul and body were declared by Church and State to have parted ways, we in the West gradually lost our faith as belief was coming to mean merely whatever is believed.

In the process belief got a bum rap, as in the phrase blind belief. Believers—in whatever—were lampooned by the “enlightened” as playing a foolish, perhaps dangerous game of blind man’s bluff with God and Nature.

“Show me the proof” became the order of the day as the scientific method turned into the only method of apprehending so-called reality. That is, until quantum mechanics, bursting on the scene, burst reality’s bubble.

Some, going further, have attempted to deconstruct belief itself, pointing to the potential tyranny of belief as a reason not to believe anything.

Yet try as the Controllers of Religious Thought, the High Priests of Materialism and the Rebels without a Clue resisting them both might to co-opt, subvert and eradicate belief, respectively, it stubbornly persists.

Belief hangs around because it’s basic. Ultimately, we humans aren’t built to make-believe; more fundamentally, we’re made to believe. When all is said and done, it’s through belief that we construct the good, the bad and the ugly of our “reality.”

Apparently, we’re capable of being made to believe anything—even that we should believe in nothing. We can be brainwashed, bamboozled, lobotomized by a simple commercial on TV, a political debate, an alternative news story.

We can also harness the immense power of belief. Belief in the self-healing nature of our biology, as mentioned. Belief that have we ourselves, like Gandhi or Peace Pilgrim, have the power to make the world better. Belief in the ability of our consciousness to alter reality, for better or worse.

Blind belief may well lead to destruction, but belief with eyes (and heart) wide open is the engine of creativity.

“I think, therefore I am,” stated Descartes. Wrong. We are, therefore we think.

We’ve been told our mind is our brain, but our mind is really all around us.

Philosopher Teilhard de Chardin called humanity’s collective mind the Noosphere. Biologist Rupert Sheldrake prefers Morphic Field. Author David Wilcock writes about the Source Field. This writer sometimes uses the Sound Domain.

These are just descriptive phrases. They point to an essence, an integral part of ourselves, yet fail to capture it because it can’t be captured.

The unmeasurable is maddening to the rationalist, the realist. The ineffable is, if you inhabit Baudrillard’s desert of the real, “like a splinter in your mind,” as Morpheus would say, “driving you mad.”

That which can’t be weighed and measured must be eradicated. And if that fails, it must be violently denied.

Essence—that field of creative potential from which we spring and to which we return—cannot be seen, tasted, felt, touched or heard. Nevertheless, it’s like belief: essential to our humanity.

We can’t exist without our essence, just as we can’t live without something to believe in—for better or worse.

I believe in signs. I believe guidance is always there for the following, if only we’re willing to listen to our essence, which communicates to us through symbols. I refer to this guidance as the Language of the Spirit.

For the past couple months, I’d been feeling down about the state of the world, wondering if there’s any reason to hope for a brighter future, when I decided to go for a beach walk a few days ago.

There are many things in nature that inspire me: canyons, mountains, deserts, trees. But the ocean has the deepest place in my heart and I turn to it when all else fails to buoy me up.

I told myself I wanted a sign that things would start to improve soon, that the evil planetary controllers known to those of us in the Conscious Resistance as the Cabal would be disempowered and brought to justice and the world would, at long last, begin to change before our eyes.

Just then, while I waded in the shallow surf, a starfish washed up over my toes. It seemed perfectly formed—yet when I held it in my palm and examined it more closely, I saw that three of its limbs had regrown from what must have been a gruesome dismemberment.

“Gruesome dismemberment” could describe many of my losses over the years—from my health (since recovered via energy medicine) when I was in my twenties, to my mother to cancer when I was in my thirties.

I thought of all the Chiron in my astrological chart, how for years I was the epitome of the Wounded Healer. Then I extrapolated this notion to the Earth and all her children striving for a healthier, happier way forward … and floundering along without much to show for it.

Maybe we’re like this starfish, I thought. We’ve allowed the Elites to cut our legs off. We couldn’t stand on our feet if our lives depended on it—which they do, by the way. Through our indoctrinated beliefs in our limitations, we’ve forgotten that within us exists the power to regenerate ourselves, individually and collectively.

I took another walk along the shore today. It was cloudy and looked like rain—perfect for my mood that felt like rain on the inside. Rain did, in fact, come splattering down the instant I walked back in the door.

This suggested there had been some “divine timing” to my insightful excursion when I strolled through the lapping waves wondering how best to navigate this insane present where, judging by the stream of Cabal-based propaganda that passes for news bombarding us 24/7, Orwell was quite the oracle:

In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.

Just as I reached the turning point of my walk, I found myself thinking about the Cabal/ISIS-spearheaded farces that are Syria and Ukraine, the NWO-sponsored demonization of Russia and Putin, the latest Illuminati playbook terrorist shootings in Paris complete with on-cue passport-toting dead perpetrators (or patsies), the campaign for universal injection of deadly toxins into the population through vaccines that wiped out my health back in the day, contamination of the water supply through fracking …

You get the picture. I was back in a funk. Chiron was kicking my butt again.

Then a new thought came to me. Actually, it was an old thought, one that hadn’t occurred to me in a while.

The thought was to simply surf over these trying times like riding a big wave that would eventually run its course and deposit me safely back on the sand.

In that exact instant—no joke—a black object about the size of a notebook washed up out of the foam and knocked against feet. I picked it up. It was an old surfboard fin.

Beyond any doubt, my essence was speaking to me again through the Language of the Spirit.

Based on this synchronistic “evidence” and much more I’ve experienced like it, I believe we’re meant to strap on our wetsuits and hang ten over the Apocalypse until it’s revealed as merely a revelation of the beginning, not a declaration of the end.

Copyright © Sol Luckman. All Rights Reserved.