New Day Herald

Riding the Traveler’s Train

Article imageWhen you first stood up to share, I heard you say something about, “I have good s.e.’s, and I have mundane s.e.’s,” or something to that effect. That seemed to indicate that you were the one who was bringing about whatever phenomena took place in your awareness as you did s.e.’s. But, as a matter of fact, you really don’t have anything at all to do with it. It’s being done by the Traveler Consciousness, who does the s.e.’s for you according to your karma, not according to your thoughts or feelings.
For the first couple of years studying Soul Awareness Discourses, the Traveler is looking at your karmic field to see what is the best way for you to make the essential contact with yourself and then the Divinity, the Holy Spirit, God. The Traveler is like the train conductor, who punches your ticket and tells you where to get on and off and where to sit. Most people are really glad to have the conductor do that because if there’s a dispute, you can’t settle it with the other passengers because they have as much authority as you do, and they may be physically bigger than you and can make you do what they want. So you call the conductor, who has been given the authority by the almighty Railroad to say and do whatever he will say and do with some sort of impunity.
The conductor punches tickets, and he won’t go by you until you show him your ticket. So he puts you out, often by demanding that you show, that you do, and that you participate in the prescribed way to be on this train and occupy that seat. He also lets you know at which station you’re getting off and on, and you don’t have to do too much about it. He may come along and say, “This is your station. The train only stays here a few seconds, and you have to hurry off. So get your things ready and get them up here by the door. . . . Yes, I know the train is still moving; yes, I know all of that. Get your bags and get them up here. I’ll help you if you won’t do it. If you do do it, then you find out what the routine is on this train.”
Eventually the conductor comes in and says to you, “Good morning. How are you?”
You say, “Good morning, Mr. Morton, and how are you?”
He says, “Have you been having a good time? How’s the family?” and you say, “Well, I brought my husband and child with me. Let me introduce you to them.” So you introduce them to him, and he says, “Let me see your ticket.”
You may say, “God, that isn’t very friendly.” Well, he’s not there to be your friend. He’s there to conduct your body from one location to another. He’s friendly about it, but not necessarily is he required to come and sit down and talk about the day with you. And he’s someone that you look forward to. Thank God he has the authority to do these things, to assist all of us to move from this point, to this point, with order.
We can order things on the train, and they bring us lists that we can read. Some days, those lists aren’t too exciting, but, then, you’re going in a slightly different direction than usual. So you go on that route, and the conductor says, “Well, this isn’t the most exciting, scenic place, but somehow you had to come out here.”
You may say, “Well, my husband’s family lives here, and there’s family karma. . . . No, it’s family obligations.” (That’s karma.) “We had to come out here, and, God, this is the most dried-up, boring bit of spiritual exercises I’ve ever had in my whole damn life.”
The conductor looks at you and says, “You chose him. Didn’t you check out where he lived and what his family was like?” If you say, “No, I was feeling so bad for myself, I just took anything that walked by,” he may say, “Well, you’re a very nice-looking person. I’m sure you could dump him and get another one.”
You look at your husband and go, “I can’t. He’s the father of some of my children.”
“Well, there was another father for some of the others.”
“Does he know about this?”
“No, but if he looked closely, he could probably tell who the father was.”
“Oh, you mean you chose him and then you chose somebody else, also?”
“Shhhhhhh. Don’t say anything.”
“Oh, but you already did. If these children aren’t his, you have to pay double fare.”
You can hear the conductor say, “Here are the rules and regulations put out by the great God called Railroad. You fall under that one there, and that’s what you must follow, and everybody on the train must follow that.”
You think, “Well, next time I won’t tell him.” So the next time you come to get on the train, he shows this to you and says, “That’s not this train. I’m sorry. You bought a ticket to the wrong train. You weren’t paying attention. You can’t get on.” That’s like saying, “You lied, you’re denied.” And then you wonder, “Why is it like this?”
Try to be honest in your dealings. I say, “try,” because sometimes we come to a place where we’re not sure if it’s honest or not. You know, “Do I tell him? Or don’t I tell him? What do I do?” The quandary of your existence is upon you.
You tell what you want to come back to you, by way of the television, the newspapers, and whatever else. And what you don’t want to come back on you that way, you don’t say. You may wonder if it is a spiritual crime to withhold information. No. It’s a spiritual crime to knowingly withhold information that would assist the other person in their spiritual advancement. But you don’t have to go around and tell everybody on the train, “I’m going to the toilet, I’m going to the toilet, no withholds for me.” Most people say, “Can you just sort of do that without telling me about it?”
(And we won’t even discuss the particular aspect called the “shoulds,” which is just another word for manners. “You should do this, you should do that.” These are called, “Watch your manners, and do the things that are appropriate.” Manners—that’s all that “should” translates to.)
Then you’re standing out by the train, and you’ve seen your husband’s folks. The conductor is watching because he knows you’ve been out there. He knows what the train system is, he knows when the trains come and when they go, and he knows they stop by here only once every two or three weeks. He looked at you and figured with that husband, those kids, and their father out in this place, you won’t want to be here very long. So when the train gets close, he calls up the engineer and says, “Slow down. We got to pick up these passengers here. Their ticket is paid for. Jesus Christ bought it two thousand years ago. Their ticket is paid; I’ve just got to punch it, so they can get on the train to get going. So I’m stopping the train, opening the door.”
He gets off, puts you on the train, lifts your kids up, hauls your luggage up to you, and you say, “Nuts to you. Why didn’t you do more? Why didn’t you do this?”
And he says, “Off the train.” Why? You’re not honoring the God of the Railroad.
You think it has to stop for you. It does not. It stops because this conductor stops it and puts you on it and takes care of you and says, “Would you like some water? It’s been hot out there. Here’s a towel to freshen up. The restrooms on this train are two cars towards the back. There’s been a line-up back there, some sort of diarrhea or something. So if you’re feeling okay, fine. For this car, there’s another restroom three cars up front. Would you want to move closer to one or the other?”
You think, “Well with these choices, I don’t know if I want to go front, or do I want to go back?”
He says, “Check your bowels. Which way are you moving?”
You say, “Well, you better move me a little closer to one,” and he says, “Well, I’ll see what I can do. It is crowded, standing-room only. But for you? You had a seat here because I sold you a ticket, and I reserved your seat. All you have to do is look out the window, because it’s going to its destination, and it will take you there. Would you like to look at this brochure of pretty pictures of other things along the way?”
And you go, “Wow, thank you. You’re really kind.”
He says, “I am not kind. I am doing my job, and my job is to take care of everybody who comes to this train. You’re not special. You already have paid your price. You have rights, you have privileges, and if you don’t take them, that’s your business. And in three weeks, this train comes back out to this place again, if you want to return, called the law of reversibility.”
You say, “Nope.”
He says, “Well, okay,” and you’re finally delivered home.
You say, “Thank you for everything,” and he goes, “Think nothing of it. It’s my business to do this.”
It seems impersonal, except all along, you’ve been taken care of and looked for and watched for, and you’re saying, “Ah, nuts. I didn’t get a good picture to look at.” You’re on the train, and it’s moving. Relax, let go, and let the Railroad.
Baruch Bashan.

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