A Study in Thought Forms

Self-created thought forms represent a dimension of human consciousness that is largely neglected and ignored by mainstream psychology and psychiatry. This is just one facet of human experience that demands acknowledgement, and here is an article to address this problem. A must read for all SRT practitioners and clients.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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One Reply to “A Study in Thought Forms”

  1. I don’t know if this is a comment or a post. It’s a bit large for a comment. I have been reading the material about thought forms at this forum, which ties into a lot of other teachings — Swedenborg on groups of similar spirits that act as one, for example, and most mystics on the idea that we are creating what we experience.

    I wonder how the experience described below would be understood within the thought-form system. My question about the experience is simply, did I invent that, or did I encounter spirits separate and distinct from myself? Seems to me the answer is “Yes.” Both are true. Check out the account below. What do you think?

    Yesterday (April 17, 2017), I and my wife took a day off, and drove round the island of Kauai where we live to Glass Beach in Ele’ele, and the Japanese cemetery that is situated above it. This peculiar beach is at a relatively steep angle, which produces a dangerous undertow and a lot of wave action. A load of glass bottles was dumped in the ocean over fifty years ago off this beach, and fragments of glass, rounded by being rattled back and forth by the waves, are mixed in with the beach sand. People have picked this beach for years for some of the lovely, soft, translucent art objects this has created, which can be made into jewelry. As a result, the beach is now just a vast spread of glass sand, with no larger bits to be found.

    We found the fragments of coral more interesting – my wife already has a small jar full of the larger glass pieces we used to be able to find there, each a beautiful bit of abstract art created by the ocean from a bottle fragment. So we didn’t really need any more. I took away with me three small, lovely pieces of coral that said they wanted to go with me and see something of the world. The others were quite clear that they wanted to stay on Glass Beach, and so I left them there.

    Above Glass Beach is an old cemetery, with burials going back into the 1800s. It is called “the Japanese cemetery” by the local people, and there is a Japanese section with Buddhist indicators carved on the gravestones. But there is also another section with Spanish, Portuguese and Filipino names, and Christian indicators carved on the gravestones. We drove up the ragged dirt road to this cemetery. We looked down on Glass Beach from above for a while – one of the finest views on the island – and then went into the cemetery.

    Why do people visit cemeteries when their own dead are not buried there? I don’t know, but I have always felt the pull of the past from these places. This time, I decided to push the envelope. About twenty feet in from the little entrance gate, I came upon the grave of Virginia Vales, whose dates indicated that she had died at the age of twenty-five. I reached into the grave area with my telepathic awareness, and I asked,

    “Virginia? Are you there?”

    I had a clear awareness, which at the same time was plainly seen by my visual cortex but not by my eyes, of a young adult woman in what looked like a long loose white gown, rising out of the neatly swept grave site. There was no sense of menace or fear. She understood I was asking if they were OK, if this way of being was not unpleasant for them, although I did not formulate the question, so much as to exude concerned curiosity. But her answer was quite straight-forward.

    The spirit of Virginia Vales told me that they were very happy. This, she explained, is one of the most beautiful places in the world. The energy is powerful and sweet. As she spoke, I realized there was a crowd of spirits around us, above all the graves, listening. They chimed in, that life here was truly wonderful. One wise-guy voice from the crowd threw in,

    “We don’t have to work!”

    Virginia explained that this is a place of great peace and restfulness, where their little community is at one with the great ocean, the lava beach below them with its tunnels through which the waves roar, its little beaches cupped in the black rocks, its tide pools and thunder-holes. They were deeply happy – and the community of spirits around her echoed, yes! We are very happy here. E komo mai! they cried. Come in and welcome. Enjoy the nourishment of the spirit our place of peace and rest will bring to you.

    Throughout the remainder of the walk I felt their presences all around me, although I did not again have direct contact with a particular spirit from a particular grave – until I was deep in the Japanese / Buddhist section of the cemetery. There I reached telepathically, as before, into a particular grave site, which had a fairly recent and well-kept structure of several shaped stones, carved with the names and dates of a whole series of people with the same last name. There must be a lot of this family buried under the one stone, I thought.

    And I was answered. A male voice blessed me in a formal manner, wishing me good fortune because I had come to them in this open state and heard their voices – because I had listened, and not just walked through. Because I had known them there, he blessed me with a deep blessing.

    Profoundly moved by what I had seen and heard, I went down to the oldest graves, along the lower edge of the cemetery where there is a view of the ocean across the dirt road up from Glass Beach. Many of these grave sites have no inscription at all, and they tend to use a raw piece of lava rock for a headstone. Sometimes one side of the stone has been smoothed for the carving of a Japanese inscription. Sometimes there is just the ancient stone.

    Spirits buried there told me that because they can see down to Glass Beach, they can connect with what the people in bodies are doing, what they are thinking, what is going on. They learn snippets of how the island has changed since they passed on, and they are the ones who bring news of the outer world to the spirits deeper in the cemetery, who hear less of the outside world unless someone like me approaches them with the intention of communicating. They are the old ones, first residents of this sweet and wonderful resting place.

    Rest and peace, peace and rest, these are the two themes the spirits returned to like the chorus of a song. It is a place of great peace, a place of deep and profound rest. I also found it restful, and I left the cemetery with my mind softened by that pervasive state, and yet bright still with the image of young Virginia Vales rising from her grave to welcome me and reassure me that the dead were happy here. I departed from the bottom of the cemetery, and hiked up the dirt road to my car. On the way past the gate where I had originally entered in, I was wondering if her name was pronounced “Val-ace” – and I heard her voice one last time.

    “No, it’s pronounced ‘Vales,’ ” she told me. “My family used to say it “Val-ace,” but I am just plain Virginia Vales.” And indeed, she it was who parted the veils for me, who opened the door when I knocked, so I could encounter that cemetery’s community of the peaceful dead in its fullness and its power. Thank you, Virginia, for your gift!

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    So that’s what happened in the Japanese cemetery. What do you think? Were these thought-forms, or were they independent spirits — or is that a non-question?

    Matt Miller

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