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Meditation on Christ

Richard Grossinger

Michelangelo's The Last Judgment
Michelangelo's The Last Judgement

"Meditation on Christ" is an excerpt from the forthcoming title 2013: Raising the Earth to the Next Vibration, to be published later in 2010 by North Atlantic Books.

This piece on Christ is my attempt to synopsize and explicate Ellias Lonsdale's unpublished manuscript The Christ Letters, which he channeled from his partner Theanna after her death. The quote at the beginning is something I made up.


“If so-called religious people have truly lost God, then the responsibility for finding him rests solely with atheists.”

The intelligence of the universe towers above this world, unscrolling a pale blue creation. By Gnostic lore we dwell several octaves below Christ, several more below Divine Intelligence.

The most basic thing about Christ as Jesus is that he must have traveled from a higher vibration, a superior dimension, and stoppered himself into this domain in order to embody a message to us. As he entered this corporeal vibration, he hit reality so hard that it could not contain his full communiqué or Christ being, yet he did the best he could—that is, the man Jesus did the best he could to saturate his own being with this high energy, to incarnate Christ consciousness here. He tapped into and individuated a celestial archetype in a human context.

The key facts about Christ’s life as Jesus are told mostly in unsanctioned documents: apocrypha, parables, Gospel of Thomas, hermetica, Nag Hammadi tablets—not even biblical subtext but meta-bibles and trans-biblical mysteria suggesting a whole other event.

At the Milky Way’s core where Christed worlds and cosmic councils teem, among evolved entities in other galaxies, the Son of God is known too, not as we have cast him on our rude proscenium but in his greater manifestation. He incarnates a radically penetrating divinity there that cannot be relativized, cannot be subordinated, as we have done on Earth through marketing schemes devised to assign him some other post and damp his omnipotent ray. He is a luminous being with luminous consequences.

Mortal Jesus apparently lived for thirty Gaian years, seeking his Christ nature before the higher-dimensional Christ glissaded down to live out its destiny on Earth. It was the time and it was the place.

Cosmic Christ chose that moment to incarnate because Satan was getting totally out of hand here, spreading mischief, murder, and dark habits throughout the Astral Plane. His handiwork was seeping into the planet; armies were on the march.

Upon arriving as a rune and coalescing in human blood, tissues, and our basic cell matrix, Christ channeled himself onto Earth’s Astral and, operating through human Jesus, sought to halt and then repair the damage.

Can you imagine things here, how bad they would have gotten by now without this intervention and house-clearing two thousand or so years ago? If Christ hadn’t come in the nick of time…? But then that’s the kind of guy he is.

Since the BC/AD zero point the struggle has been to establish Christ’s vibration on this plane. He tipped the local balance in its favor, but barely. Satan still has a formidable arsenal and a vast, proselytizing posse; many attractive and powerful lifestyles to offer; accomplices, spies, and provocateurs in legion.

The axis of evil is turned mainly by those who imagine that the name applies only to others, so the Church founded in Christ’s name has been, for the most part, on the Devil’s side. Witness the Crusades, the Inquisition, the rack, the vigilantism and arrogance of Manifest Destiny, to say nothing of forced proselytizations and genocides of indigenous “pagan” peoples everywhere on the planet. Smugness, self-righteousness, judgment, property rights, idle butchery, unexamined revelry, cruelty, worship of linear time, and subjugation of native species and cultures mark the Christian apostasy in Christ’s name.

That is the church of shame and guilt and mere compliance that we were already building before his brave journey, that we would then memorialize and continue to erect in his name.

In our commoditized sanctuary and vain belief system, we hang Christ’s picture (or that of some other demagogue or superstar) on the wall; and we do not feel the light-beings that actually exist or know that they exist.

There can’t in fact be an orthodox Christian church, for whatever Christ phase we seem to fathom, we move instantly beyond it into its unknown. The true Apocalyptic Christ-evolution is deeper and more foundational than anything we can practice, anything we planned for, foresaw, or know how to enact or depict. It is so deep inside that even its purported Apocalypse cannot be consigned to a mere Armageddon. The New Testament offers a banal and hollow revelation, a false prophecy and an empty future for the universe—a demonic parody of Christ’s actual oracle, a Luciferian version of his throne, readorned and reconsecrated.

By a diabolic ploy, sentient beings ended up using a distorted imprint of Christ’s sacred fire to oppose the fire. Christ’s words, intended to awaken and nurture and protect Christ Consciousness on Earth, were transmogrified into the central dogma that stands against the Christ. Those very states of being that he sought to purge by his divine light have been adopted in his name and manacled to his words—an ultimate profanation of the Holy Ghost’s pure transmission and ecstatic incarnation.

Western capitalism, consumerism, and individualism in particular stand against Christ’s vision, his generosity and compassion, his capacity to weep and arouse innate bliss. The Fundamentalist Churches of America have been established in precise opposition to Christ’s charity and heartfulness. They mean to impose joyless marching orders on all their flocks in an effort to prevent Christ Consciousness from breaking through their empire of material enhancement and aggrandizement.

This apostasy is no accident.

The Church in Christ’s Name would have you believe that his divinity exists in particular beliefs or good deeds or positive thoughts, in personal and pious flavors. They flatter Christ as “the helpful one,” “the considerate one,” “the righteous redeemer,” “the prince who sits atop situations and has all bases covered.” They turn him into a law-giver, a tactician, a deal-maker. This false Christ conducts a running dialogue that keeps us trivially hopeful and well-behaved. He muscles our energy field and exploits our resolution to succeed at his Christian brand.

Yet any political or social position or talisman that Christ might have seemed to adopt, like opposition to abortion or condemnation of homosexuality or enthusiasm for weapons of mass destruction wielded in his name, is blown to smithereens by the sheer transcendent power of his archetype. There are no such rules and no rules at all; he condones and permits everything, no matter how profane and sinful, as long as it matches the purity of his fire. He transforms sin into its alchemical seed.

The actual Christ vibration exists at the core of our world passion, where we meet the planet. There Christ is beyond hope—not hopeless but beyond the conditionality of our syndromes, our trance formulas for life and success and worship of the Deity. He can be hopeful and happy—that works sometimes—but he must first be naked, to pierce through our layers of soul comfort, smug satisfactions, and idle neuroses and peeves, to our true anguishes, to the level at which we can resonate with what it is that brought him into being in the first place.

To subvert Christ and his message into a hanging judge with officious judgments is to crucify his teaching. The only commensurate and appropriate response to Christ is to open oneself to Christ consciousness and be willing to be transformed by it. As his mission on this planet, Jesus incarnated our collective Christ center in such a way as to raise our vibration to resonate with the Divine Octave of Future Man and Woman.

Christ does not want our pallid commitment. He wants our heart to meet his own consummate organ of divine passion, which reverberates with the innermost heart of the Earth and the Galactic Center. He wants us to reject all theology, scriptures, churches, special contexts, even those that deify him and herald his reconnoiter. “I am not Christ the King,” he says. “Nor am I Christ the Monolith. I do not want to be your Tyrant of Glory. I want you to find your light in my light, your heart in my heartbeat, the beacon that shines through me to shine through you too and exalt your emotional simplicity and wayward innocence.”

This vibration is lost on mundane Christians untouched by the actual transmission as they comb the Bible and biblical propaganda for a set of clues and marching orders—the so-called Rapture patrol.


Christ by the way no longer plans on reincarnating on this planet. That phase of his work is done; he put on his show and taught the lesson. The rest of the work is ours. His innate high-ness allowed the subtlety of his incarnation to bypass his church and resonate through the centuries, to imbed its schema into the Earth’s planetary grid.

His blueprint is here to assemble, injected into Earth potentiation in soul-seeds, part of the planet’s molecular structure and DNA: Mary and Joseph, Peter and Paul, the blood of the Lamb, the magi, the virgin birth, even Judas and the anti-Christ are aspects of the Christ blueprint.

We can sow and fructify any and all of these in ourselves and the world, take them into our fabric and manifest some aspect of the Christ vibration: service, compassion, soul beauty, revelation, charity.

The real Kingdom is saying rapturously “yes” to every particle of our and his presence, in the forge and in the manifestation, in the chalice of our unbearable dilemma.

We are beginning to understand now that there is no way out. No heaven either. Like Christ, we must travel more intimately inside matter to discover it, to annul its spell, to end its suffering. This is the part of Christian augury that we tend to dismiss or overlook because it contains an excruciating paradox: Christ who came from so far away, dimensionally and galactically, was already in the substance of the world. In lifetime after lifetime we go through absurd adventures in order to liberate ourselves from our habitual conditionings and precedentual existences solely to bear our Christ seed into the future where he already dwells in us. It makes no sense, and it is the only thing that does make sense.

When the Heavenly City is discovered, it will be within the divine/cosmic materia of us, where God planted it long ago; outside time or space, where Christ embodied and embodies it for us. This is the site of the New Jerusalem. Once we locate it and recognize it for what it is, we will have no choice but to occupy it, no alternative but to be like him, no defense or postponement against what this actually means.

The Christ Within is not a wonderful extra, looking to give us a cosmic bonus—just the opposite; he is the single place where we have to go when we run out of other options, because there is literally nowhere else left to go and nothing left but the dregs of ruined and squandered existences.

Our future self knows Christ, even as our modern lives are arranged in tiers of dark self-images and negations of him, self-judgments and self-critiques guarding us against the supraconscious, supergalactic part of us that is already one with him.


Christ has nothing to do with getting the Earth to the next vibration, no matter how many channels and talking heads say so. We cannot raise our vibration sui generis or save the Earth from itself. The Earth collectivity cannot go anywhere until it has incarnated fully in this plane.

Christ’s promise is not to rapture us out of the Earth but to pull us deep inside the Earth Root, to restore an inheritance that we have spurned and wasted.

It is a long diaspora, as we seek Christ through our wills, through secular magic, through authorizing clerics and cults, through pushing sleek buttons attached to machines. We identify completely with what is overt and outside us and so forfeit our soul fragments—the Christ vibration for which and in whom Jesus died and lived.

For whatever reason, the condition of our incarnation deposited us in a will-being, who though strongly and fairly motivated, obeys the Earth’s temporal and fashionable currents and cultures, unknowing whence or why it lives and dies as it does. The beast in the field has prevailed, the Word and Symbol notwithstanding; it was once a wolf in a pack, a drone in a hive, a fish traveling in water; and now it is our glitter-dome of access roads, vestibules, and castles. The present glut of goods and services, surface sparkle and narcissized volition misses the Inner Creation, the Underworld connection, the subtle bodily sensations that are Christ’s altar. It wants only to gather gems and fruits, objects and their ceaseless metaphors. As it rejects its own luminosity, it seeks its projection everywhere else.

Our sentence is longer than our imaginable lifetime. Despairing and stuck and heart-sick, unable to live here, we are equally unable to die to here or to activate the carrier wave, the quantum leap of resurrection and salvation. We nail ourselves again and again to the Cross, without either Christ’s real suffering or the bliss for which his Crucifixion qualifies us.

Our anguish attunes us only to bottomless oceans of Piscean chaos in which we have swum unreckoning and unconscious for millennia; yet these are our sole guides to the Aquarian modulation where a mightier resonance, intact, radiant, and irie, awaits us.

Christ is the voice telling you that you can no longer retreat to the place where you pretend that it doesn’t matter if you live or die, if you even existed. Doesn’t matter to him or to you. When it is the only thing that does matter.


Spirit does not operate in any of the ways that the modern Piscean mind conceptualizes it or puts it on a pedestal. The light that Christ radiates is not a neon otherworldly beam; it is the gross radiance issuing from our collective karma, our rejected and cursed undersoul, bearing our killer instinct and chronic destructiveness that rages also as the vessel of our transformational fusion and evolutionary potential.

It is becoming time for us to molt into a world just beyond our grasp, just about forever, with the horror and the elation, the rapt witnessing that at last it is happening. The long tedium and negative judgment are near their end. Our doom within a reptilian, techno-robotic chronicle, the glamorous catacombs in which we have wrapped ourselves, has become almost finite. The shark’s diluvian prowl, the fox’s stalk across lifetimes, the starving deathless lion, their roles fated, inescapable, and assigned irretrievably, are about to dissolve in us, their bias fade. We behold the figments of our own bygone remembrance; we begin to experience what kind of world this really is. Until we drop into this living shrine, we cannot find the ember incarnated by Christ.

In this, our barest shadow light, Christ glows most brilliantly. Even as our will seeks another prophet to hook onto, another false Church of the deepening conspiracy of our collective fate; even as we tragically concede our original eternal nature and its authentic practice to gods who are not gods, authorities who reign as arbitrary and illusional specters of selves who were never us and never meant to be—Christ shines and calls and sends his love from beyond space and time.


Christ doesn’t hate evil nor does he want to go down as the “goodness and love” guy, dwelling eternally in sepulchral righteousness. Evil is essential to Christ, is grail for every pie he bakes, each alchemical transformation he must enact. Evil is where he must convoy to find the ticking heart of the universe, of humanity, and of this planet. It became his Passion and the ecstasy of his mortification. He got himself into the gritty core of Earth karma at the densest phase of our cellular structure. He sank into and merged with the gunk of the planet and humanity, something he could only do in the body of Christ Jesus.

In turpitude and in agony, Christ experienced the damned, the souls most weighted down by creation’s gravity, most beset by terrible compulsions and temptations. Christ-Jesus sought slums, torture chambers, brothels, and other wretched hangouts; he dwelled and dwells yet among drug addicts in abandoned buildings, prisoners in cells, near-cadavers tormented by disease and mutilation, those who have had everything they love taken away. His prime incarnative and reincarnative impulse was and is to convert each mode and variety of human degradation and God-betrayal into divine joy, literally; to give damaged and lacerated creature consciousness and creation a piece of soil to root in at last—its own depth, morsel by morsel, of itself.

Christ subtilized himself into the most sordid dungeons, most bottomless and wretched compulsions, most impaled, excruciating splinters of broken consciousness. He willingly placed himself inside our pain so that he could imbibe it and suck its exquisiteness and texture, so that he could witness and then transmute it by his Christ vibration. Only by standing in for us and revealing himself could he draw our attention to the mystery of who he was and who we are—can we begin now to feel the incipient nature of his love, can we bear back to him the humble gift of our tragedy and sorrow, to be absolved into its antipode.

He would not go there to seek us if we were not there to be found, and we would not be there to be found if it were not our authentic makeup and source code. He would not descend through so many prohibited spheres, past all sentries and embargos, at such immense personal cost if there were not something worth his journey and travail.

The sweet and horrendous pith of matter needs to be violated, exposed, and redeemed, for creation to move on and for beings on Earth to get to where they are headed. We need to drink our own serum, our etheric blood, to embrace our bleak rite and Kaddish as something more than a ceremony, more than just going through the motions generation after generation, waiting for the profane verdict to change. We must recover the dream of the Christian alchemist, that was sacrificed by science in its grasping after mere corpuscles and sward.

The Earth cannot evolve vibrationally until it stops believing profoundly in evil as evil—assuming evil’s existence, appeasing it, dramatizing its capacity, mythologizing its powers and manifestations, scapegoating it for everything that has gone wrong here.

Christ’s return signal, up from the Earth root, is to keep our homing vibration—through the pogroms and wars, apostasies and genocides and scourges—until New Man and New Woman emerge, until we die to Old Adam and Old Eve. His mission is to imagine, conceive, and embody a New Earth and a New Universe, the intrinsic Light of the Mundus and the Creation, to dream that emanation into being, for us and through us and as us.


In Crucifixion Christ not only “died for our sins”; he found the precise texture of the creation in his death throes, a pain and debasement so exquisite that he could sense, transmute, and transmit the essential meaning of existence itself—earthly existence. On the Cross he converted age-old pretenses of hedonistic obedience into their actual electrochemical pulse through the bodily being of God his father.

In dying as Christ Jesus, Christ entered the shadow of the Abyss; he put himself in the grip of Satan, experienced what death energy would be like if there were an actual cosmic magnetism obliterating souls, burying the Spirit in the Flesh, forever and ever. His trial and ministry on the Cross was to give us a new place to die from and by dying from it, to re-make death itself.

The Resurrection was his singular stunt, like some flying Wallenda or Houdini in chains, but far more stupendous than anything they would have dreamed to attempt. He didn’t mean just to walk the tightrope without a net or escape an underwater coffin; he intended an explicit impact with the reverberation at the core, to break the chains of matter itself, to drive the false Death Realms from our human karma and then heal their longstanding and festering wound, thereby making Sacred Death possible again. He didn’t just want to escape the life-and-death box; he wanted to ring the bell, smash the coin that bought the terms of our entrapment in the Death mindset, and thereby liberate us forever.


He died so to permit us to glimpse our birthright. He opened the portal to a great wind, a sword cutting ope our ultimate freedom.

To summarize: Christ’s transmission two thousand years ago was planted directly into the human life-stream—we were meant to be on this planet and to transform it into a paradisal beautiful place, beyond anything that the cosmos has thus far imagined or known. That was our mission, our oblation, and our living hermeticism. We were to be the alpha point, the seed organism, the bearer of an entirely different dimension of existence out of the Divine Ray of Infinite Creation. What we did here, what we experienced here of the deep nature of matter and energy, would spread psychically throughout the universe, drastically transforming life and existence everywhere, on every plane.

Christ sealed this message and its seeds of change into the structure of human mentality and habitation such that it has been missed and thought to be something else, many other things, for two thousand crushing, punishing years. His reflection of ourselves and the Creation was too radical and strong for us to integrate, too virginal for our gamy and decadent state. We were already into multiple phases of Sodom and Gomorrah. We intimated his summons; we saw the advantage of going with it, of paying lip service; but we could not actually fathom it. We felt drawn to his mystery realm but, in the process of engaging it, lost our inner self to other dirges and pleasure domes, to illusions and memories beyond time.

We shunned the actual sprig he planted in our hearts.

Why? Because we believed, in exactly the way that the caribou senses its own terror-death and dismemberment in the approaching wolf, that we would not be able to be here anymore, that we would no longer exist, that we would have to give up our egoisms, our idylls and diversions, our mischief and annihilations, our precious garden and paradise—that we would lose everything we know and cherish and locate ourselves by. Our calamity and grief were far more comforting and safe.

But our schism was rejected and it failed. In Christ’s Crucifixion, the Earth and the cosmos were overturned and transmuted. The Passion of Christ gave us an overtone to match and, while we resisted it and continue to resist it, its initiation into his mystery school remains on the frieze where it is unerasably written: “Ye are not creatures of death, ye embody eternal life: wherever ye go to sleep, wherever ye pass, thereso shall ye awake.”

Beyond the great Columns of Demise the heraldic Overtone sings its ghostbusting Om: “You can invade all the Hell Realms you want, go down into the deepest and darkest Kingdoms and most unremitting Shadows where the Lord of Death binds and torments souls in legends of immutable servitude. But when you match and manifest the integral Light of Christ, the Lord of Death, the hideous guardian of all that was, the King of Old Earth is confronted with an inevitability, a new cosmic reality—that neither the Earth nor the cosmos can be held back any longer by his spells and snares, his treacheries and false barriers, his scarecrows and decoys.” The universe will evolve—because the universe is love love love: love, transmission, metamorphosis, survival. “Sorry, Devil. All your hexes, your voodoos and traps are shattered, all spirits in bondage to you are set free.”

How does the Lord of Death operate? It is by allowing and matching each person’s picture of him, by the signal of each person’s Death Image rendered into a virtual reality. The fetid corpse, the gruesome rot and decay, the drear funeral parlor, the merciless pyre consuming all, the loss of a cherished being both by the being herself and by those who knew and loved her—these are all representations of the negative projection of Death. The Lord of Death incarnates the heavens and hells, paradises and nether worlds, liberators and tormentors that people imagine or cling to as their raft in a turbulent ocean without a shore or even remote semblance of anything like land. They would rather face eternal pain and damnation than excision of their tragic myth.

The Lord of Death is a collective projection or an oscillating series of many collective projections culminating in an overall negative—more than negative: horrific and terminally doleful—image of pain and obliteration, night followed by more night; or, conversely, a theme park so angelic, beautiful, and happy that it could not exist, could not sustain us or itself, could not advance beyond delusion and malign enchantment. To be trapped in paradise—in a light that casts no shadows, in a pleasure without texture or contrast or paradox—is likewise to be hooked in an excruciating negative state without the possibility of depth, substance, or creative transformation.

If a person thinks or wants Death to be eternal nothingness or annihilation, then he or she will lie in pretend non-existence for aeons, silently feigning not to exist anymore, denying their own psychic activity and pulse, until it becomes absolutely impossible to refute the obvious inherence and persistence of their own being, to respond to the fact that they are not not.

The Lord of Death is not any one form; it is the concurrent vibration of all forms separating the living from the dead, and life from death, by an absolute conditionality. It is the Death illusion through which the soul becomes a zombi or ghost, after which it must experience its real death—its transformation into another realm—and go on, even as it did here. The damned never do. They remain in thrall to the Lord of Death and Master of Illusion. That is their hell.

Christ’s intention and mission was to get to the Earth radix, the source and germ of our materiality and potential, and to rend us there. But his mission was also to overthrow the Lord of Death and pull the Earth root into the Cosmic root, align the souls of Earth with the Soul Existence of the universe itself. Hence, he died to death before those present at Golgotha’s hill— before the human race, before the cosmos, and before human history—and placed himself inside the awakening pattern. That and that alone is his Christ blueprint.

The drops of his blood, as they fell from his body on the Cross, instantly took his vibration into the collective DNA of the human race and transmuted the source code and inner vibration of the Earth. And there they quiesce until his blueprint is awakened, until we awaken. The real Crucifixion, the Passion of Christ was installed in every sinew and fiber, every mitochondrion and cell transmitter and cellular nucleus, in each one of us and our descendants till the end of time—to dissolve through our own passion and faith the excarnational death syndrome of the Dark One and exude our limitless love to the furthest galaxies where the blueprint also lies dormant everywhere, in every world, inhabitable now or not, bearing his Resurrection.

Now it begins.

Richard Grossinger graduated from Amherst College and has a PhD in anthropology from the University of Michigan. He is the co-founder and publisher of North Atlantic Books (with his wife, Lindy Hough). Books he has authored include: Planet Medicine; The Night Sky; Embryogenesis: Species, Gender, and Identity; Embryos, Galaxies, and Sentient Beings: How the Universe Makes Life; On the Integration of Nature; and The Bardo of Waking Life. He has studied t’ai chi ch’uan with Paul Pitchford, Martin Inn, and Peter Ralston and craniosacral therapy with Randy Cherner and John Upledger. He and Lindy Hough live alternately in Berkeley, California, and Manset, Maine; they have two children: Robin Grossinger, an environmental biologist with the San Francisco Estuary Institute, and Miranda July, a writer, film-maker, and performance artist.

Read more about Richard Grossinger

14 January 2010

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