cosmicomedy
by lavinia plonka

This is an example of resonance—when one object vibrating at the same natural frequency of a second object forces that second object into vibrational motion.
Tom Henderson - The Physics Classroom

HARMONIC CONVERGENCE

I’m having lunch with a colleague –an extremely erudite, educated woman who professes right living, mindfulness, and embracing love as the way of evolution.  We chat about the planet Mercury’s latest aberrations affecting our careers, about the current outbreak of crop circles in Northern Europe, and about fascinating esoteric ideas based on the ancient Hebrew teaching of the Kabbalah.  It’s very heady and very, very New Age.

Suddenly, my friend becomes extremely irritated.  The waitress has neglected to bring her the extra lemon wedge she requested for her ice tea three minutes before.  Not only that, but this waitress has walked past us several times, apparently oblivious to us and we can now see her chatting amiably with a few of her 20 something contemporaries on the other side of the restaurant. I watch my enlightened colleague crumble from the heights of lofty ideals to the depths of restaurant rage.  “What a stupid cow,” she mutters. 

Shocked, I gamely try to distract her. I mention the handsome author of the latest astrological best seller, whom she raved about in a recent conversation. She completely ignores me, staring daggers at the back of the waitress. Sweat beads her upper lip and she finally bursts out with a very petulant, “Excuse me, miss.” The waitress, a pouty girl with too much gel in her cropped hairstyle, turns, a vacant expression on her face.
“Have you forgotten something?”

I cringe.  The waitress looks at her, disdain covering her insecurity.
“My lemon.  I asked you for lemon 10 minutes ago, but I see you areobviously too busy to take care of your customers!”  By now my friend’s face is beet red. The waitress rolls her eyes.  “Sorry.” She turns for sympathetic stifled giggles from her friends.  She plops a plate of lemons on our table.  My friend turns to me.  “You know, I’m convinced that there are several different species on this planet that all call themselves human.  But as far as I’m concerned, that girl and I are NOT the same species.”

Dumbfounded, I ask her to clarify.  “Look, there are those of us who are evolving.  Who are connected with higher dimensions.  Who are searching for the key to the meaning of life.  Do you really think that we are the same as the people who eat at Burger King and watch Jerry Springer?”  I demur, muttering under my breath something vague about elitism and eugenics.
I find myself remembering a recent visit to San Francisco.  I wasattending a conference, staying with a dear old friend.  From the moment I arrived, he rapturized about his new spiritual teacher, a man who understood the music of the celestial spheres, who brought wisdom and insight from the stars.  My friend John informed me that we are all energy beings who have emigrated from the Pleiades and beyond in order to experience earthly existence and help save the planet.

The message was the same as I’ve read in many a new age bestseller. We are not what we think we are, but light from the stars made manifest. Love is the answer, the highest vibration.  From Buddha to Jesus, the message is the same, and I embrace it. It doesn’t really matter to me where we come from—it’s where we’re going that interests me.

Although…there is a remote tribe in the hills of Indonesia that has anannual festival quite unlike anything else on earth.  Each year, they commemorate the arrival from the stars of seven sisters who came to earth in order to create humanity.  When asked to point out thelocation of these seven sisters, they point to the Pleiades, which since ancient Greece has been also called The Seven Sisters. Coincidence? Random universe?  Or Implicate order?

My friend John convinces me to join him and his spiritual teacher for dinner.  There is a gang of us at the Nouvelle Mexican Cantina on the San Francisco wharf that night, and John arranges that I sit across from Steven so that I can get to know him.  After ordering my grilled calamari tacos with cilantro/jalapeño pesto, and a frozen top shelf watermelon margarita, Steven and I settle into pleasantries.

“You realize you are from the stars, right?” he dives into his guacamole in a very human fashion.

“Aren’t we all?” I answer lightly.  “We are starlight, we aremoonlight,” I sing in my best Joni Mitchell imitation, or was it Crosby, Stills and Nash?

“I don’t mean poetically.  I mean, you, personally, all of us, are entities from other star systems coming to planet Earth to further our education.”

“What’s your major?” I bite my lip—not good to get too flip with an avatar.   Technically, he’s right.  According to sources as august as Carl Sagan, every molecule, every atom that comprises a humanoriginated from the big bang, or stellar explosions.  Sagan went so far as to say we are the stuff that stars are made of..

He smiles like an indulgent grandfather patting a five year old who asked why the sky was blue.  “We’re all here to learn different things.  I of course, have completed my training and am here to help people like yourself to remember your mission.”

“My mission?”  We former Catholic school girls have issues with anything that smacks of missionaries.  Steve orders his third watermelon margarita.  I’ve finished half of my first.

“I can tell from looking at you that you are one of us.”

“One of whom?”

“You are a higher being.  You have done much work on yourself.  You are definitely not Pleiadian.”

“No, I’m from New Jersey.”  He sighs with impatience.  

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.  Where do you think I’m from?”

“Hard to say.”

I’ll say!

“There are many evolved species that come here from beyond the Pleiades, even from dimensions other than our own.  But you can always recognize them by their more refined tastes, their sensitivity.”  Was it divine intervention that caused green salsa to squirt out the side of his mouth as he bit his taco that moment?  “Look at those people at the bar.”  I looked over at the crowd, drinking their Coronas, munching on chips.  “Those are obviously Pleiadians.” He sniffs his nose in disdain.

“How can you tell?” I ask.  It might be a useful skill someday to ferret out the Pleidians in the crowd.  “Oh, it’s easy. They’re the yuppie riff raff. Caught in the material world.  They drive Saabs, watch Roseanne, drink beer.  Not like us.”  He orders anothermargarita.  “We are the realized beings.”  

I gulp.  If this is realized, I’m going home to watch David Letterman.  

“And, um, where do you get this information?”

“I channel it.  From a higher being.”

“A higher being.”

“Yes, he lived in Atlantis and is now evolved beyond incarnate form.”

“I see. He speaks English, does he?”

“Oh, no.  I don’t understand anything that comes through me.  He speaks Atlantean.”

My voice cracks.  “Atlantean?  Well, then, how do you know whathe/she/it’s saying?”

“Oh, my wife translates.”

“She speaks Atlantean? They teach that over at San Francisco State?”
His wife turns to me.  “I just understand what they say.  It’s very clear.”

I gulp.  “Look, Steve, I really appreciate your sincerity.  But I gotta tell you.  I’m having a hard time believing any of it.  It sounds to me like you get yourself into some self-induced hypnotic state, start muttering gibberish and your wife, who is probably a talented writer, puts together new age words of wisdom and intolerance."

Steven turns red and explodes, “That’s what I hate about you East Coasters!  Especially New Jersey!”

“Wha….?” I am taken aback.

“I go all over the country, channel for large groups of people, conduct healings, have huge workshops and everybody believes me.  Except people from New Jersey!  Do you know that the last time I was in New Jersey I was actually accused of not really channeling?”

Now it’s my turn for the indulgent smile. “Really?”

I sit here now, inwardly passing judgment on my colleague who’s passing judgment on the waitress. This is a re-run of my encounter with Steven, where we parted company, each self-righteously thinking the other is an idiot. I have to admit that I’ve occasionally muttered invectives at checkout clerks, or cursed the semi-comatose driver in front of me, or berated my cleaning lady for putting my shoes in the kindling basket. Of course, more often than not, shortly after I’ve passed judgment on another’s idiocy, I manage to lock my keys in mycar, or forget an appointment, or say something incredibly insensitive.  

I am just like Steven, or my colleague, or the waitress.I start thinking about music.  If you hit a note on a string, corresponding vibrations are set up in all the strings of the same key.

In fact, if you hit a piano key in a piano store, all the pianos will vibrate in sympathy with that note.  We’ve all experienced thephenomenon of echo, where the vibration of the voice resonates with the walls of the canyon, sending our words back to us. Sound is slower than light, faster than matter, but it’s all vibration. We avoid places that have “bad vibes”, we are attracted to people who put out “good vibes.”

What if events and emotional reactions not only happen as the result of vibrations, but create sympathetic vibrations that resonate over and over in one’s experience? I decide to say nothing to my colleague about her intolerance.  She suddenly apologizes for her tantrum. She explains that when treated like a non-entity, she gets high and mighty. I think I pass judgment on others because I’m afraid others are passing judgment on me.  Like a piano, I can’t help vibrating on the same note that is struck by another.  Our emotions echo back and forth, repeating in encounterafter encounter. Unless of course I learn to change my tune. As we leave the restaurant, the muzac plays, “All You Need Is Love.”

When not struggling to master Atlantean, Lavinia channels her stellar energies into teaching The Feldenkrais Method®, an elegant approach to moving and feeling better while living in this solar system.