The skaterboy leaped onto the 
tightrope and balanced, outstretched arms waiving, as the vibrations stilled. Then he performed for us, stepping forward, turning in place, standing on one foot leg with arms outstretched. Finally, he tried to dismount, slipped, and created a classic America’s Funniest Videos moment. There were groans of sympathy, giggles, and laughs, and then a young woman stepped up to take her turn.
It was the day before orientation at Northern Arizona University, and hundreds of parents were dropping off thousands of kids to begin their life away from home. This included Debbie’s elder daughter, Amanda, and Debbie and I were there to see her settled.
Debbie and I had gone for a walk around the campus, and stopped in a large grassy courtyard outside Amanda’s dorm to wait for Amanda to come down. The courtya
rd included two short basketball courts and a volleyball court. A couple pickup games were in progress, Frisbees flew about, and a two young women had stretched a tightrope between two sturdy trees – just above waist high. We marveled at the mix of kids casually playing together, so different from our experience, and watched the balancing.
As one young person dismounted or fell off, another would step up. The technique of the young women suggested some kind of physical training in an activity that used slow, elegant movement. The technique of the young men suggested more informal experience in activities that used quick, rapid movements. The women displayed. The men showed off.
All drew on purely physical skills, without aligning with or invoking the overshadowing energy of Harmony that produces balance in the form. They would need that energy in their lives, now was the right time in their life to learn about it, but there and then I was not in a position to do much about it.
As Debbie sat 
on a bench enjoying the show, I contemplated what I could and should do about the lack of alignment. I was a brief visitor, witnessing a condition that very few would recognize. There was no subjective call for me to step up to the tightrope myself (something I would be able to do only with an aligned group), but there was a call for me to perform the alignment for them.
I focused in the heart, and aligned upward through the top of the head with the energy of Harmony that produces balance. Then I aligned outward, from the heart, with the auras of the group around the tightrope. From the group, I aligned directly upward, to the energy of Harmony.
I held that alignment for some time, until the young women took down the rope and went on their way. Then Amanda called, and Debbie and I went up to see her.
Namaste,
Glen
My cell vibrated, and I leaned a bit to the right as I grabbed it from my pocket and flipped it open.
“Glen, this is Betty, are you OK?”
I was seated in an overstuffed chair in our air conditioned living room, with a cool bottle of water close at hand. Debbie would be home in two hours and 16 minutes, and in the meantime I was working on my various projects via my inner alignment and my notebook. “I’m fine.” I replied. “What’s up?”
“You’re not in Warwickshire, England, you haven’t been mugged, and it’s not you who is requesting assistance on Fastbook?”
“Um… No. I haven’t been to England since ’89.”
“Then someone has hijacked your account. They’re using IMs to beg for money in your name and I’m talking with them now. You need to log in, check my IMs and see for yourself, and then report it to Fastbook.”
I thanked Betty, logged on to Fastbook, and went looking for the instant mail feature. When I found it, I discovered that not only was Betty being asked for money “by me,” but that the same scam was being run on the account of one of my friends, Jerry, in her name. Then I was kicked out of Fastbook.
I sent an email to Jerry warning her of the hijacking. Then I took a deep breath, focused in the heart, and logged back in to Fastbook. Once there, I went to customer service, and looked for the proper site to notify them of the problem. I found a form for reporting that my account had been hijacked, but it required information that I did not have (such as the email address that had hijacked my account). I was kicked out again.
Realizing that I was battling the intruder for control of the account, from the heart I aligned upward with Divine Will, and outward with this situation. Holding that alignment, I logged back in to Fastbook, went to the account editing feature, and changed my password.
Then I went to the message feature, and sent all my Fastbook friends a note explaining what was happening and warning them to be on the alert.
Namaste,
Glen
The brownie reached into the muck at the bottom of the pan, and plucked out a tiny grain of gold.
Most cities have a limited number of interesting, educational places to take young children. In the Phoenix area, one of those is the Arizona Museum of Natural History. Many of the displays are interactive, and perhaps the most interesting of those is the gold panning fountain.
We’d begun at the science section, with its interactive Martian displays, and moved on through the dinosaur, local geology and Indian tribes, into the section on early settlers. The last included a sample mine that led outside to a gold panning fountain.
Designed in rough imitation of a mountain stream, the fountain flowed into elevated pools that were filled with warm water and lined with glittering sand. Children between the ages of seven and eleven toyed with shallow plastic bowls, while their parents either watched or impatiently snatched the bowl and tried to show them how.
The three of us observed for a few moments, then stepped up to an empty pool with two unused panning bowls. Debbie gave one of the bowls to her daughter, Susie, and I accepted the other. “I almost remember how to do this,” I said, as Susie and I scooped sand into our bowls.
I began swirling water into the bowl, but soon realized that I’d filled it with to much sand. I dumped some of the sand, and dumped more until it felt right. Then I focused on swirling the water, just right, so that the lighter sand was carried away while the heavier remained.
While Susie plucked tiny glittering grains from the surface of the sand, and Debbie placed them in a little plastic baggie, I continued on. I focused in the heart, aligned with patience and purification, and radiated that outward to the children and the adults as I worked.
The waters swirled around and around and around, and the mound of gray sand slowly grew smaller and smaller, until suddenly, the last sand swirled away, revealing a glittering streak of gold dust. More, by far, than any of the children had plucked from the water.
I repeated the process twice more, giving all the gold to Susie, who thanked me for helping her collect it.
His belly hung over his belt and peeked out from beneath his t-shirt. Sitting in the shade, I watched him descend the winding trail in growing concern.
Debbie and I had left Phoenix the morning before, headed for the mountains to the north-east. We’d gotten a room in Peyson, on the edge of the Tanto National Forest, and spent the afternoon and evening exploring the region and the community.
It was at least twenty degrees cooler there, and during our visit never got above the low 90s. It even rained the first evening, catching us outside walking and drenching us with a cascade of huge drops. We took shelter, watched the lightning, and continued on when it had stopped.
The next day we drove northwest, up to the top of the Mogollon Rim, looking for a hiking trail. We stumbled across Tonto Natural Bridge State Park, which we’d heard about in Peyson, and decided to try that. 
The sign at the trail head warned that the trail was strenuous, undeveloped over most of its length, involved rock-hopping along the stream bed at the foot of the canyon, and should not be attempted by anyone with a medical condition. Although we are both in adequate physical shape, as noted in a previous blog (Leaping the Stream), I am not as experienced in rock hopping as I once was. Nevertheless, we decided to make the descent. We could always turn back if conditions were too difficult.
The scenery was wonderful, with two spectacular waterfalls – one from the mouths of travertine caves, and another from the top of a huge natural bridge over the stream. We managed the entire hike, with only one scrape, passing beneath the bridge and continuing up the canyon rim on the far side.
While paused in the shade of a tree midway up the canyon, we were passed by an overweight, severely out-of-shape man following his two teenage sons toward the bottom. It was late morning, the temperature was climbing into the 90s, and he was already red-faced and winded.
Observing the potential for a heart attack, I focused in my heart and aligned outward, from the heart, to the heart and cardio vascular system of the hiker. Then I aligned upward, from the hiker, with the overshadowing angel of healing, and invoked the Light of Healing – not just for his heart, but for his self, and his resulting mental, emotional, and physical condition.
Once rested, we drank the last of our water and continued on our way.
Namaste,
Glen
I turned right off of Greenway onto 39th, striding along at a good pace despite the unrelenting heat. Two young men exited the house on that corner, and one of them called out cheerfully. I stopped, on the sidewalk, in the driveway, to see what they wanted.
It was the evening of a hot summer day in Phoenix—which means a very hot day indeed. I’d gone for a walk despite the heat, and was circling back when Marcus and Yay called out to me.
They were very young (twenty), wore their caps at odd angles, and towered over me. Marcus had short hair and Yay had slender dreadlocks that hung toward his shoulders. They radiated a friendly cheerfulness and a simple desire for conversation.
After introductions and a brief opening conversation, I asked them what they were up to besides hanging out. Both replied that they were trying to discover who they were.
The words were said with simple sincerity, with feeling rather than intellect, as a search for awareness rather than a quest for knowledge. They spoke of God as being everywhere and in everything, of the various religions as simply holding no interest for them, and of their quest to find God as the basis for their lives.
They were two quite ordinary young men, indistinguishable in their dress, behavior or activities from others of their generation. They expressed no interest in finding any sort of “spiritual” path or discipline, and did not seem to categorize their daily lives those terms. And yet, there I was, called upon by them as I was passing by.
Recognizing that I was there to learn from them, as much as they were to learn from me, I focused in the heart. From the heart, I aligned upward, through the top of the head, with the consciousness of the one planetary life. Then I aligned outward, from the heart, to the consciousness of Marcus and Yay, and through them to that state of awareness they represented in their generation, and from that state of awareness, through the top of their generation’s collective heads, directly to the consciousness of the one life.
Concluding the conversation, I departed into the heat of the evening and made my way home.
Namaste,
Glen
The faun kicked feebly. Its neck hung boneless, and it sucked air in broken gasps.
The snow-capped peaks of the Rocky Mountain National Park surrounded us. Green pines flowed down their slopes, around the occasional brown blotches of bark-beetle kills, and stopped at the broad grassland at their foot.
Tourist SUVs slowed to stare, point, and photograph the elk grazing on our left, paying no attention to the forest that stopped on our right.
It was calving season, and the road stood between does and fauns emerging from the forest and an abundance of fresh spring grass.
Cheryl’s window stopped whirring down, and she called, “Do you need assistance?” to the ranger standing over the faun.
“No thanks!” he replied, “I think this one’s done for.”
His tone and stance conveyed sadness, compassion, and the emotional injury of repeated trauma. He had seen this many times before, and been helpless to be of assistance.
I focused in the heart, and aligned upward from there, through the top of the head, with the soul of the ranger. Once that connection was made, I identified as the soul of the ranger, and moved into his (now my) heart.
From the heart, I aligned upward, through the top of the head, with the overshadowing soul, and invoked its light and love downward, into the heart.
From the heart, I radiated that light and love outward to the internal emotional injuries caused by being helpless to aid another being. I held that light and love until those injuries began to relax, releasing that portion of awareness identified with and held within them.
With that release, I again aligned outward from the ranger’s heart, with the soul in the dying faun. As the ranger, I surrounded the faun with the light and love of soul, and aligned it upward with the light and love of its species, and the green spring grasses awaiting it on the other side.
Then I withdrew from the ranger, back into my own heart, and wiped the tears from my eyes.
Namaste,
Glen
June has been a very busy month, full of working seminars, presentations, family tragedy, and illness. However, I am recovering now, and am preparing to teach a new course, “How to Save Earth, Wielding the Law of Relationship.” This course will be of particular interest to the readers of this blog, as it shows how to perform the inner, transformative work described herein. I will be sending each of you a flyer describing this new course in the next few days.
Glen
I braked to a stop at the light, and turned my gaze from the fire truck to the fireman standing in the meridian. A red pump truck was parked at a gas station on the south-east corner of Beach and Imperial, while a ladder truck was parked on the north-west corner. One of the busiest intersections around, it was an excellent spot for panhandling but I’d seldom seen it used for that.
A handsome young fireman was standing in the middle of the street, dressed in a yellow, sleeveless jacket sporting reflector stripes, thrusting an empty boot at the drivers. Glancing around, I spotted two more working the commuters.
My first thought was that the government cutbacks had gotten so bad that the firemen had taken to the streets to beg for money to keep their stations going. Then I remembered a similar scene in Phoenix last month, and realized that they were probably collecting for charity. Muscular Dystrophy was a popular one, but I wasn’t close enough to see what was written on the rubber boots they were holding out.
I moved into my heart and pondered this situation – men who made their living rescuing lives at the risk of their own, standing amid traffic on a hot day to collect money for charity.
Smiling, I aligned upward with the Christ, outward through the firefighters to all firefighters everywhere, upward from them to St. Florian (their patron saint), and called on the Light.
Namaste,
Glen
tightrope and balanced, outstretched arms waiving, as the vibrations stilled. Then he performed for us, stepping forward, turning in place, standing on one foot leg with arms outstretched. Finally, he tried to dismount, slipped, and created a classic America’s Funniest Videos moment. There were groans of sympathy, giggles, and laughs, and then a young woman stepped up to take her turn.
rd included two short basketball courts and a volleyball court. A couple pickup games were in progress, Frisbees flew about, and a two young women had stretched a tightrope between two sturdy trees – just above waist high. We marveled at the mix of kids casually playing together, so different from our experience, and watched the balancing.
on a bench enjoying the show, I contemplated what I could and should do about the lack of alignment. I was a brief visitor, witnessing a condition that very few would recognize. There was no subjective call for me to step up to the tightrope myself (something I would be able to do only with an aligned group), but there was a call for me to perform the alignment for them.
