What does it mean to die a Martyr?

[a dream by   ~burning woman~   ]

In the midst of all my writing activity… I fell asleep outside at my back yard computer “desk” while listening to Ana Vidovic playing “Recuerdos de la Alhambra” by Francisco Tarrega.  I had a dream, almost a lucid dream. 

In this timeless dream I stood  in an old Middle Eastern or Turkish city square – the ground surface was of beige stone, as were the houses and walls surrounding this square.  There were many people around but deathly silence.  I was a tall blonde woman wearing a long white cotton robe draped from the shoulders down to my ankles with the neck carefully and deliberately exposed.  I wore long blonde hair down to my waist and I had large, bright blue eyes.  What had I been before this ordeal?  A captured royal princess?  A slave?  

My wrists were tied with ropes at my back.  Two swarthy men stood at each side of me and in front was an execution scaffold with a depression for a human neck.  A very large bald headed man holding an over-sized scimitar stood by the bench, looking down, waiting.  All so well staged, I would have smiled had it been a play. 

I looked over the crowd and they were all staring at me.  The overall impression I was getting was, I was trying very hard to decide how my situation should make me feel.  Frightened?  Angry?  Desperate?  Hopeless?  Distant?  I wanted a feeling to hang on to but each feeling flitted across my mind and none would stick.  Should I again try to beg for my life, to argue my innocence?  But I already knew it had nothing to do with justice, or innocence, but with religion and politics; with machinations I could not begin to understand.  I wasn’t a human being, I was a tool, perhaps a weapon of state craft.  My death was necessary to make a point.  To whom?  I had no idea.  It occurred to me then that I did not understand the language being spoken, and no one had ever translated anything for me.  But could they understand me? 

I would not beg; I would not speak a word.  I could not speak. 

I realized then I was already dead, so prepared for this inevitability that I had gone past my physical body and was looking at myself from the other side of the ordeal.  I could already see my head on the ground and the blood gushing out of my severed neck, over the ground and what had been a pristine white dress and in my mind it was all over.  That’s death, I thought. 

What does it mean, then, to die like that?  I thought about it as I walked slowly to the place of execution, and as I knelt down to put my neck in the curved mold.  It means to be utterly alone; it means being just yourself for the first time since the day of birth.  It means a new birth, however frightening, however painful, however devastatingly stripped of everything that your life, your beauty, your dreams or everything else that ever meant anything to you or anyone.  This is it.  One life’s, however brief, final crossroads.  Did I see a friend, a lover, a possible “knight in shining armour” to save me in the crowd?  Honestly it would not have mattered, I no longer desired to be known, loved, or saved.  I no longer belonged here.  My feelings were dead. 


28 thoughts on “What does it mean to die a Martyr?

  1. We come from dreams ~

    None of us belong “here”. “This” is not our home.
    ………………………and this story is so flawlessly true!

    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      The concept of “home” is another of these Earth things I could never comprehend. What is home? I suppose it’s a destination, or the drive to complete a purpose. Home: a becoming? We live/exist within in infinite living cosmos and I could call that home. Otherwise everything is transient. Even the world I’m purposefully aiming for, Altaria, isn’t home. No one living there considers it home, no more than you’d think of university as home. Our little cubbyholes, some with backyards are the equivalents of tents in a park. We own nothing even though we pay of it all our lives. We pay for the right to park in a piece of surface for as long as we can: home? Home should be a place of permanence, assured security and total physical comfort. You don’t pay for home, you don’t need to defend home. Interesting piece of flossophy… 🙂

      1. We come from dreams ~

        May I suggest you grab a bag of popcorn and sit back for a bit? Before I weave my reply, I must tell you a very curious story about my experience with demons. I don’t claim to be an expert on them; and to me, Trump, Clinton, Obama, Bush et al embody far more real evil than any so-called fiend.

        When I met my last mortal girlfriend in 1991, it was with the knowledge that she had deep rifts and divides in her personhood. The Psychiatric Priesthood had declared her schizophrenic; but then as now, I knew that they were spouting words which meant little. As time passed, I met a good number of the spirits in her invisible entourage. She saw them as “evil;” I saw them as angry and hurt. There was one, however, who put on a demonic display periodically, and I came to the conclusion that, by golly, this bloke is the real thing – an evil spirit. He didn’t like me; but as the years passed, I realized that he was the remains of a human who had imploded under the burden of his or her own evil. He was also rather stupid.

        My last encounter with him was on this wise. If he was going to put in an appearance, it would be at 3:30 AM, precisely. Well; on this night, Sara and I took ecstasy with her, and had a marvelous evening. I thought nothing of it, when, at 3:25 AM, she got up and went outside. Sara Jane noticed, and when we got outside, he was running her show. Her hand raised and her finger pointed at Sirius. His voice came out and said, “That,” as if there were some great tragedy somewhere. I knew it was him, not my girl, and asked, “What about – THAT?” “My home. Can’t get there.” I almost felt sorry for him, what with his elementary sense of the melodramatic, but I pressed him: “No. The only home we have is our body – and you don’t have one without stealing hers.” This brought on a small convulsion, and I tossed my glass of water on her form. Turns out they don’t like getting wet by surprise any more than we do.

      2. Sha'Tara Post author

        I’m still pondering this one, in between other responses and the contract job here in Nanaimo. My blogging time is limited, so a response to this comment is on hold and pending. I’m not moving it from my “Hold” folder until I’ve replied to you guys. Stay tuned, maybe a day or two…

      3. Sha'Tara Post author

        Very interesting anecdote. Are there evil spirits? Spirits at all? Or just minds, some lost, some shattered, broken, lost; some benevolent and working with incarnate minds to bring some order out of the chaos? Well, everything is real, so whatever they’re called they exist. Only brain-dead idiots like Richard Dawkins and of course, psychiatry, called “The science of lies” and their believers will insist there are no such things, they’re just delusions. I’ve encountered them, and heard their lies, and of course I know about the others, the helpers, guides, healers, teachers. It’s up to us as individuals to choose who we listen too and would emulate; or we can choose to remain in the default Earthian mind condition of denial of everything the Status Quo says doesn’t exist.
        As for what constitutes home, that is totally dependent on the individual’s understanding and acceptance of the concept. If you think home is a 1500 foot square box with a roof and a hole underneath called a basement, then that’s home. If you think it’s your body, then that’s your home. If you think it’s the cosmos (my awareness of home) then the Cosmos is your home.
        The philosophy of infinity declares that everything exists, and everything is true. For example, because lies exist, they are therefore true, as lies, not by meaning.
        A trapped entity points at Sirius and says, “That’s home and I can’t get to it” then somewhere in that system it has a home but like most of us, it’s trapped here, in this prison planet. Because it is a victim and exists in fear it cannot evolve itself by itself so it seeks to attach itself to a living body to suck life from it. If such entities can be made to see their problem, they theoretically could turn into benevolent energies, exchanging their fear for compassion and join in the healing of others. I do not know if that can be done, but the fact that I can think it brings it into the realm of the possible.
        Thank you for your story, and comment. Food for thought.

  2. The Grateful Dead

    I’m pretty sure I had commented…what you write about…your visions and dreams… do you think they are real? As in past or future life? I have always had real uncanny experiences that I’ve never shared because no one would understand. Like you wrote somewhere about finding something in your house which you’re pretty sure wasn’t there before? I’ve had limited time period access to some stuff I have desperately wanted…I don’t understand all this but feel like I must…to move on…
    I like this piece. There is a lot of honesty.

    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      The question is about the nature of reality. What is real? My Teacher YLea explained reality this way: If you can imagine it, dream it, write it, think it, say it, do it or otherwise symbolize it then “it” by definition is now and forever real. It has been created (by you) and it only has one place to manifest in, either to just sit there, or to grow and evolve and that’s in the cosmos. It can never be retracted, ever.

      It doesn’t matter that the consensus mocks it, rejects it, refuses to acknowledge it: from inception as a thought, dream or other symbol, it exists. There is nothing any power can do to eradicate the reality of a dream or a thought. Power can force the dreamer, or thinker, to reject, or forget, its thought, but the thought itself is indestructible.

      Take man’s history, as unearthed by archaeologists, or as remembered and written: is it “real” in the sense that later interpretations got it exactly the way it happened? It does NOT matter: it is real as it impinged upon creation “then” and it is real now as it is interpreted by those extracting their brand of truth. Remember the silly movie, “True Lies”? Lies are true in themselves, they are true lies, hence there really are no lies in reality, only in legalistic interpretation.

      1. The Grateful Dead

        thought provoking…that’s why watch what you think? what if i were to consciously go into a “coma” kinds…or meditative state…it would ideally mean no mental/physical activity…so for that amount of time, would i cease to exist? if yes, then where would i have gone in those moments, and when i came back would i remember my travels? how do you remember being from Altaria or coming here again or anything?

      2. We come from dreams ~

        Sha’Tara, we are marveling at this discussion. And a hello to you, The Grateful Dead! We are Roy, Sara Jane and Ceannt of We come from dreams.

      3. Sha'Tara Post author

        You do ask incisive questions which do not lend themselves to quick answers.

        To the “coma” question, for me it’s very simple – no different than sleeping and dreaming. Most people don’t remember their dreams yet they dream. Why? Because in certain states the mind can detach from the body and do it’s own thing. When it’s over, the consciousness (mind/brain/body reality) may not remember what took place outside the brain’s control – or MAY NOT WANT TO REMEMBER OR TO KNOW because of programming. The body greatly fears that the mind may decide it doesn’t need a body and leave it… happens a lot, especially when young babies or children “die” for no apparent reason. The mind realizes it made a mistake in incarnating then, or here, and simply leaves. Children and certain individuals are not so attached to a body and can easily leave it without looking back.

        I need to explain something here. The human entity is made up of a trinity of spirit-mind-body. These three must work together perfectly for a human to be… human! Just because someone looks “human” doesn’t make them human, in fact the Teachers told me that most Earth people (Earthians) are just pseudo human, not spiritually or mind-evolved enough to be human. First clue? A true human never kills in self-defense, does not shed blood, not even to eat. Bang! When a choice needs to be made, the true human will give up its own life for another. A true human is innately aware that a body can be had any time, so letting one go is of little consequence. When the spirit and mind are removed it’s no longer murder, or killing. It’s no difference than driving a car somewhere, and abandoning it.

        On remembering: How do you remember your first love? How do you remember what your mom, or dad, or a sibling, look like? How do you remember anything? What stops people from remembering past lives or even future lives? Where they have been when not living on this planet, and what plans they made? Fear. Fear of uncertainty; of being ridiculed; of being “different” and having to explain. That’s really funny for me because billions of people believe in invisible sky wizards they call gods; believe these gods are benevolent despite ALL evidence to the contrary; believe without a shred of proof because… IT’S POPULAR and it’s legitimized by the status quo and soul programming. And so the foolishness of murderous religious thought continues to plague the planet… and it’s OK because how can billions be wrong, right? Sorry, but that’s consensus thinking, blind faith, dis-empowering and very dangerous as we’ve all seen and read in our histories. So, how do I know about Altaria? Not because it’s my home world, I have no home world, I’m a free cosmic being. I exist, that’s it, and I’m learning to make that existence mean something in it’s shrunken planetary mode. Altaria is a teaching world, kind of special in that it’s located outside any known universe, in a “non-place” we call the Nexus, thus free from outside destructive influences. Avatars are trained here and then go out into the cosmos seeking places that need re-balancing, to teach, or to bring together forces that can help worlds regain their freedom, or avoid extinction from black holes and other dangers. We are skilled in many aspects of material/physical reality. Some of us are engineers. Some of us are way-showers. Some of us are representatives of compassion – that being my developing specialty and my deepest choice and purpose. For the next thousand earth years I’m going to work at becoming an avatar of compassion. That’s where Altaria comes in for me: I’ll be shown what it really means to be compassionate – and how little I know of it yet. I actually expect to meet the Buddha there and take lessons from that wonderful energy source.

        The first thing I must ask myself as a self-empowered, independent, free thinking individual is, does my thinking harm anyone, or anything? Do my subsequent actions cause harm to anyone or anything? Would my words, for example, cause weak people to put their trust and faith in me and follow me to their destruction, or at least to their financial loss? I.e., am I using what I know to suck money (life energy) from other individuals or try to control their lives in some way? These are the questions of a true human. The prime directive: you shall cause no harm to come to any other, but particularly never in order to personally benefit from such activity.

        That is why, whenever I answer questions, I try to remember to close with this qualifier: These answers are only true if YOU CHOOSE to accept them for yourself as true. Until you can do that freely, they remain only valid for me.

      4. Sha'Tara Post author

        Take care of your baby… and reply if, or when, you find the time. Blogging is my very bottom priority and should never be a cause of stress for anyone, just the opposite. I’m happy you’re here and I get to share thoughts with you.

  3. We come from dreams ~

    Sha’Tara, this is in reply about “home.” And like Paul Harvey, here’s the rrrest of the story. “He” or it never forgave me for that. I saw less and less of “my girl” over the next month and a half. If I took her with me in the sweeper, she (powered by “he”) would try to jump out of the window whule I was driving. If I left her at the warehouse I lived in, she would break things – bottles, musical equipment, the furniture. I came home one morning and she was unconscious; somehow she’d gotten her hands on a bottle of Scotch and drank the whole thing; she was laying in a puddle of her own piss. Sara and I agreed that she had to go. I was working 15 – 18 hour shifts at the time. Luckily, I had off that night. When I woke up she had cleaned herself up and asked me if I could take her to see a friend who lived some 45 miles away, and I did. I never saw her again, except……

    In 2007, Sara and I were out in the sweeper and I idly thought of her. I felt a flood of warmth and heard her voice saying,”I’m okay.” I knew she was gone and I cried my eyes out. Turns out she had died from an overdose – but then came back (for the third time). The person in her body was no longer her – it was him.

    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      I marvel… I feel hopelessly beyond any depth of some sort of adequate feeling, and response at the stories I hear from different people. I read your story (stories) here and I compare to my life and I shake my head wondering why it’s been so easy for me to go through the things I went through – nothing like yours, or others whose blogs and stories I follow. When I try to make sense of “us” I simply cannot. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to all the pain and suffering people endure… What a world this is, if only people would wake up and figure it out and just smarten up about it all. Thanks for this story; for activating more of my empathetic template. I said in my “about” on my blog that I like a challenge. Holding your pain inside “me” is a challenge… a good one, don’t get me wrong. You’re pushing me to become human and that’ some gift.

      1. We come from dreams ~

        According to Christian legend, the first Saint Anthony – Anthony the Coenobite – was living alone in the desert far outside of his native Alexandria in Egypt. The Devil made it a habit to come and tempt Anthony with wine, women and song. When that didn;t work, Scratch took to scaring the bejesus out of him. One night, old Anthony turned on his tormentor and asked, “What? What is the reason for terrifying me so?” And Satan replied: “There is no reason.”

        Have no doubt – you’re pushing us as well.

  4. sherazade

    Credo di avere capito la profondità del tuo sogno che è la paura non della morte ma della solitudine in cui diamo destinati.
    Shera ciao 😚

    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      Thank you for your comment: “I think I understand the depth of your dream is not afraid of death but of the solitude in which we intended .” Or perhaps, to which we are destined? You never know about computerized translators!

      Yes, that utter separation from everything that mattered to that point. Execution death is different than other death, when pain makes one want to die, or your mind is gone and you don’t know what’s going on, or an accident is so sudden one does not have the time to think about it. To come face to face with your time of death, especially when you are in the prime of your physical life, that is a place beyond the language of Earth.

  5. Dr. Rex

    On another note … Hey!! Thanks for stopping by “It Is What It Is” … and the follow. Hope you enjoy your visits there!! Hugs … Peace!!’ __/l\__

    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      Nanaimo… the Dungeness crab? I thought that was in Vancouver. I don’t do much city peeking in Nanaimo, just go there to work. This time my daughter took me for a nice walk in some park along the seashore. I should post some of those pictures… thanks for asking.

      1. Joel F

        I was in Nanaimo few years way back, just touring around and visited a friend. I saw it and had a photo of it in Matteo Sutton Park. Anyways, Thanks for giving me the link.

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