Inside Ivy 2 (Overview)

When my daughter, Crystal, read Inside Ivy twenty one years later, she asked me if I had been on drugs.

Inside Ivy 2 (Overview)

When my daughter, Crystal, read Inside Ivy twenty one years later, she asked me if I had been on drugs. She remembered I had experimented with LSD and marihuana during this period in my life. I laughed and said, “No!” although I suppose a lot of people will wonder the same thing. If nothing else, this experience raises many questions. What caused my basic identity, the I Am of me, to flow out of my body like milk from a pitcher while my body remained leaning over the plant? How could my essence or perspective shrink to accommodate the smaller size of the rootlet? Also, how could the rootlet and I share one another’s thoughts and feelings without words as if they were our own? How could I move forward and backward through time at will to explore the rootlet’s past, present, and probable future experience? Finally, there was my imaginative flight of fancy inside the rootlet when I created a small human body and transformed the material of the rootlet into a powerful, computerized starship. How could I do that? Was I formless before I created a new body? How could I do any of these things unless my core self, the I Am of me, is essentially nonphysical, inherently creative, and capable of existing in multiple forms and multidimensional settings?

For example, in one experience in the late 1970s, I hovered above my body, patted it on the shoulder, and told it to “Relax, I’ll be back” before floating through my bedroom door, down the hallway, and through my daughter Crystal’s bedroom to help save the day in another reality. The experience began as a dream but soon became an out-of-body experience. In the dream, the members of my present family and I were on vacation at a lake similar to one from my early childhood a few miles east of Lewiston, Maine. As we sat around the Kitchen table enjoying breakfast and joking with one another, we began to hear a thrumming sound in the air and feel vibrations through the floor. Together we ran outdoors to see what was going on. As we stood in the street the thrumming and vibration became even more intense. At some point in this experience, concern for my family’s safety brought me fully awake in this alternate reality. Wanting to know what was happening; I jumped in our car and drove off to locate the source of these frightening phenomena.

About two miles from the house, as I circled the lake, I discovered a large open space protected by a chain link fence. Standing near a large cave entrance at the end of this open space was a small group of men in hardhats talking a great deal of excitement. It was obvious the sounds and vibrations were coming from the cave. I could actually see the air shimmer as it came out of the opening. Suddenly, I realized or remembered there was a nuclear power plant built inside the cave that used the lake water for coolant. Turning the car around, I raced back to warn the neighbors and drive my family to safety.

When I knew they were safe, I woke up in this reality. However, after a moment’s thought, I knew I had to go back; I couldn’t abandon these people in the face of potential disaster, even if they did live in different reality from my own. My desire to help them was so strong I easily rolled out of my physical body to start the out-of-body portion of this experience, which I’ll finish describing later.

In other dreams, I’ve experienced life in other forms. In one such dream, I was a rodent living in a cold, wintry climate. I had powerful hind legs and tunneled through the snow. It felt wonderful to use the power in my hind legs to push and kick myself forward through the snow. In yet another dream, I was an insect in an insect war standing on the carapace (back) of a large beetle. I had just killed it by running it through with my proboscis (long sword-like nose). While I reveled in my warrior prowess, another insect ran me through from behind. Badly injured, I crawled to the safety of a nearby sidewalk gutter opening to evaluate the extent of my wound. As I lay hidden by concrete debris I determined the injury was not fatal. Leaving my insect body I woke up in this reality. In another instance, I programmed my dreams to give me the experience of being a shark and a snake, two life forms I’ve been afraid of. Both dream experiences were vivid and revealing.

Experiences like these lead to even more questions. For example, what happens when our bodies lie asleep in bed at night, or when we close our eyes and have vivid flights of fancy? In these altered states of consciousness, how can we see, hear, feel, taste, and touch the things we do when our physical bodies and senses are inactive? In other words, what are dreams? What are imagination, intuition, telepathy, precognition, near-death-experience, and remote viewing? We all dream and use our ability to imagine or mentally picture events whether they appear later in our reality or not. In addition, many of us can recall moments when we knew something but didn’t know how we knew it. These intuitive flashes of insight, or moments of direct knowing, represent a process that is different from rational thinking. With rational thought we achieve knowing through logic or by following a known sequence of events to a logical conclusion. Like a rat running through a maze, it takes time to reach rational conclusions. With intuitive processes, however, knowing is direct and instantaneous. It operates outside of time as we know it.

Inside Ivy clearly demonstrates that it is possible for us to communicate with other life forms, which brings us to the following question. If we can “talk” to plants and animals through the use of our Inner Senses – why don’t we? Won’t we learn more about them by looking at the world from their perspective than by killing them and dissecting their bodies? Like studying other life forms, what’s to stop us from using our Inner Senses to experience what it’s like to be an organ or cell in our own body, or even an atom? The potential benefits of using direct or intuitive knowing to explore medical conditions are enormous.

For that matter, why don’t we use our Inner Senses to explore the far corners of the universe? Remote Viewers like Ingo Swann have already proven this is possible. In a 1973 experiment called the Jupiter Probe, conducted by the Stanford Research Institute (now SRI International), he projected his consciousness to the planet Jupiter and described what he saw there while NASA’s Pioneer 10 spacecraft was enroute but too far away to get any readings. Data collected by Pioneer 10 in 1973, Pioneer 11 in 1974, and the Voyager 1 and 2 probes in 1979 yielded information that virtually matched Ingo Swann’s findings as described in his notes and drawings. The 1973 Remote Viewing Probe of the Planet Jupiter. By developing skill in using our Inner Senses, there is the promise of new discoveries that will transform our lives in ways we have yet to imagine, and there is the promise that we will finally move beyond childhood’s end in terms of our spiritual evolution, reducing by far the pain and suffering we now create and endure.

Since my Ivy experience, I’ve often wondered why I ended up inside the rootlet as opposed to another part of the plant. Did the plant select the rootlet to be my host? Was the rootlet special in the hierarchy of the plant? Did the rootlet volunteer? Did I intuitively select the rootlet because I could sense its love and openness to me? Were the other plant entities, thinking of the leaves in particular, as pleasant and balanced as the rootlet? Do plants and their various parts exhibit values such as jealousy, competition, love, and hate between themselves like humans?

Even though I could see outside the rootlet, it felt almost as if I was restricted to it; that other parts of the plant were off limits to me. Did these parts of the plant object to my presence? Did they distrust me? Were these thoughts and feelings projections of my own consciousness? Alas, I’ll never know why I ended up inside the rootlet because the Ivy in this story is gone. When we moved to Santa Rosa, California in 1980, we were unable to duplicate the living conditions Ivy enjoyed in San Francisco. The best we could do was hang the pot from the ceiling and drape Ivy’s vines across the curtain rod above the patio door. She didn’t like this arrangement and died within a year.

In December 1999, Sandra agreed to man a Toys-for-Tots booth at the Coddingtown Shopping Mall in Santa Rosa for several hours. I agreed to go with her. During one of many lulls, I discovered we were sitting in front of a large concrete planter full of ivy. Sharing the pot with many other kinds of ivy was a silver-leafed philodendron like Ivy. As memories of my experience inside Ivy flooded back to mind, I stood up to get a better look at these magnificent plants. While admiring their outer beauty, part of my consciousness slipped into the underground world of their root systems. Exploring this dark world of dampness and life reminded me that we are all on a common journey of spiritual growth and self-realization. It doesn’t matter whether we express our being as atoms, plants, or humans, as spiritual entities each of us yearns to express our own greatest potential because, intuitively, we know life itself depends on that. How could we survive for one second if this was not the case? As I communed with these beautiful plants, I not only felt great love for them, I felt at one with them and All That Is. This is one time I’m glad I volunteered!

One final note: Like all matter, milk is composed of numerous tiny atoms clumped together to form molecules. At certain temperatures, milk is able to flow because of the loose associations between its individual molecules. What does the experience of pouring out of my body “like milk from a pitcher” imply? Is basic identity or consciousness itself made up of many tiny units that can scatter and flow like physical atoms and molecules? What else can explain the small amount of consciousness left behind to maintain the integrity of my standing body while the major portion of my identity resided inside the ivy plant? How else can we be aware of more than one stimulating thought at the same time? And why is it often so difficult for us to focus on only one thing at a time? Is all energy aware? What else but universal awareness can explain the exquisite design and detail evident in all things at all levels of being? What else but love and a sense of purpose can explain the cooperation evident in the support of all life and relationships? These are intriguing questions, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Through Your Eyes

Through Your Eyes

Compassion Exercise:

Look at the world through other people’s eyes.

After my experience with Ivy, I wanted to know what the world look like from other perspectives. One day while sitting in my bus at a stop in downtown Santa Rosa, I saw an interesting looking girl on the street and wondered what the world looked like through her eyes. Instantly, I began to see the world from her perspective like it was my own. I could look down and see her body and know what it looked like and how it felt. I could examine her life and know what she thought and felt about herself and life in general, what her attitudes and values were and how they were formed. How accurate were my perceptions of her? I don’t know. All I know is when I looked at the world through her eyes I was her and me at the same time. After returning to my own body, I recalled dreams in which I moved from one person’s perspective to another as each one spoke. Every one was a different me looking out at the world from a different perspective, each one defined by a different body, different experiences, different memories, and different beliefs.

Now when I catch myself making judgments about people, I stop and switch to their viewpoint. It reminds me how difficult and challenging it is to live life as a human being. Lost in our individual human experience it is easy to feel discouraged, unloved, and lonely. It is easy to feel hurt and be warped by our experience because physical and emotional pain is felt so exquisitely. Unlike Inner Reality where creation is painless, spontaneous, and instantaneous, creation in Outer Reality requires time and concentration of effort with painful consequences if we make poor choices. We are both One and Separate but it is easy to forget that when life in physical reality demands so much of our attention to stay in the game.

This exercise and dreams like The Ball of Light, a Dream about the Nature of Consciousness and Being, help me remember my oneness with everyone and everything, and it gives me a new respect for the role and value of individuality. From every perspective I’ve viewed, I see intelligence and awareness peeking out and trying to adjust to an ever changing world of thoughts, feelings, and events. I know my life as Roger Peterson is temporary but my being as a Point of View with personality seems to be eternal. When I look at the world through another person’s eyes, I see another me looking out at the world from a unique, individualized perspective. This exercise helps me remember our Oneness and feel compassion for others.

Copyright © 1998, Roger A. “Pete” Peterson.

We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience. – Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

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