What is transactional conscious streaming (TCS)?
It is the process whereby we can facilitate the flow and conversion of the ideas, emotions, feelings, impressions, imagination and those grey area contents of the mind, heart, spirit and soul that we all have and experience from time to time and then to channel it in to a form of communicating those personal issues with others. But this type of ‘streaming’ is not, and should not, be restricted to just conscious streaming; it also includes sub-conscious streaming and even un-conscious streaming.
Let’s for a moment discuss these different meanings and states of being.
Transactional is the definition of the conversion of something from one form or medium in to another; the transaction of an exchange or a generation of impressions, of empathy of a dream perhaps in to a readable story and thereby conveying a shared and perhaps ephemeral experience.
Consciousness is the living beings’ state of being awake, alert, aware of themselves and their surroundings, their environment and their situation.
Sub-consciousness is the living beings’ inner mental, emotional and ephemeral state, within which autonomous physical actions and interactions reside, of thought, feelings, impressions and imagination.
Un-consciousness is the living beings’ condition of not being conscious and of which there are very many levels of depth (perhaps hundreds) of being, which range from light sleeping to the very deepest of coma (being on the doorstep of death).
But let’s return to the subject of this article and discuss what TCS is, how we can use it, how to access its creation and where the beneficial effects lie.
Our awareness of ourselves is normally restricted to what is going on around us at any given moment. We may be able to explain to others in a verbal manner how we feel at any given point but those descriptions are generally just so shallow and restricted as to be almost, well, just giving a hint of an answer. It’s a different perspective if we try to convey what we are really feeling, the totality of it because rarely do we truly and fully understand ourselves. Modern life has made this awareness abstract and so we hardly ever give it any form or deep thought. To know is to be fully aware and life has a way of making this vague. When we sit down and truly consider this question we need to be become focussed and introspective. We should try to connect and experience the whole gamut of the very many multi-levels of emotions we are experiencing. To be sad is a singular emotion but there are associated and related emotions generally swirling around as well. Anxiety, worry, inner stress, fear, troublesome thoughts and negative mental conversations we have during these feelings, our physical senses of nausea, aches, pain, physical tensions, muscle spasms, twitching, etc. These are listed on one side of the divide and on the other we can have joy, happiness, exuberance, elation, freedom, laughter, relaxation (lack of tension), having those pleasant and positive mental conversations, having feelings of well-being, inner warmth, emotional comfort and feelings of safety, etc.
Human beings (for I can only speak with any certainty of our own species) are such complex forms of life that are bewildering in their complexities which can make it sometimes difficult to be able to intentionally (with real intent) form the concept of TCS and be able to communicate congruently to and with others.
The closest forms of TCS that I can list are music, art, creative writing and journaling. For the purpose of this article though, I will restrict myself to ‘creative writing’, which is what I do anyway. Let me give you a couple of ‘fro examples’.
Some time ago I was walking along a beach in Whitley bay where I used to live. Whitley Bay, for those of you who don’t know, is high on the northeast coast of England near the county of Northumberland. It’s a spectacular region full of the wilds of deserted sand-dune beaches, vast areas of open moorland, ancient woodlands, forests, clean cold rivers, wildlife up close, stone built quiet villages and enormous, vibrant, spectacular and colourful skies.
On one particular day, I was walking the beach during a storm, very strong gales howled off the cold North Sea. The surf on the beach was crashing noisily and churning the soft brown sands whilst the tall white painted column of St Marys Lighthouse stood resolute in the face of the incoming winds.
From where it came I truly, to this day, just do not know but, a single line ~ a phrase ~ appeared out of the ephemeral mists in my mind during one of those inner mental conversations we all have with ourselves. I was about a mile, maybe a little more, from my apartment but this particular line was so profound I did not want to forget it or lose it. It gave me such a feeling of need (to write it down and develop) that I started to repeat it over and over again and dismissing further lines of dialogue because I didn’t want to lose the base line. I said it to myself out loud trying to imprint it and also had it as a constant in my thoughts and all the while the line rolled and formed and extended itself as though having a life of its own just like the crashing, crushing waves which pounded and rushed towards me on that beach. From the line the first impression of a story formed in the background but as I said, all the while I knew I had to hold on to the forming line. I walked quickly, hands in pockets and rolling the small crystal globe around on my palm that I always carry around with me when out walking like this. Remember the line, remember the line ~ “Deaths Love Upon A Storm” ~ What happened then was nothing short of surprising. I had managed to get back home and sat myself down at my computer, my wet coat still around my shoulders. I typed the single line and then let the gates of my mind and emotions open and literally, some 10 minutes later, the below prose phrasing revealed itself on the computer screen. The sights, the sounds, the colours, the smells and even the salty taste remnants from the walk were included. I was breathless when I read it back to myself. This was an episode of illumination or intuition of empathy of revelation, an episode that leads to Transactional Conscious Streaming. Read the below and see if you too can connect, if you can feel and try to immerse yourself in the event.
Deaths Love Upon a Storm
I walked wind bent across that shocking rocky beach
Daring a violent, savage and lonely stormy night
As a full sea crashed and broke with such a thunderous roar
Heaving and spewing on that sharp boulder strewn headland
Dark clouds overhead rushed under a screaming banshee gale
Unleashing their laden and freezing barbs of ice and water
A saturating rain poured down in wave-sheets of tumultuous pelts
Wind caught turning them in to micro stinging flesh-cutting whips
Lightening screeched through dense cloud and starlit clearness
The thundering storm reverberated with explosions of tympanic rolls
This whirling dervish of a storm unleashed
From the very bowels of the Demons anger somewhere
Cold, cold was it that buffeting lonesome night
A profound and cacophonous darkness filled with such awesome might
The storm punched, pounded and hounded me as I dared even to walk by
Attempting to tear me to shreds and to fling me sky high
It was then that I heard it
a ghostly spectral lilting upon that noisome rushing wind
A song, a singing ~ of such a pure sweet haunting melodious tune
A ‘Sirens’ voice ~ calling me, enticing me, seeking harbour my mind
Drawing me then closer with such sensuousness unfelt
There, there I spied her, as a beauty my eyes never before to see
Her body enraptured of writhing fluid sexuousness so filled to overflowing
Those eyes that drew me and promised me so much
Those pursing, singing lips, so enduring ~ her breath pulled me down and in
There we touched and met, on that beach as her arms to me surround
Wet naked bodies stripped of all clothing and tumbled around
And as she looked deep in to my soul with a gasp I penetrated her there
All sound so diminishing as our frantic lovemaking was all that I was aware
We spun and we tumbled, we rolled clutching with each inward rushing wave
She impaled upon my body, our purpose never curtailed
Such encompassing passion, such violence,
heightened on each outbound wave
This death defying intercourse embarked upon as my final fling in life I knew
Her sharp tearing fingers clawed at me
as we hit barnacle covered sharpened rocks
But so intense was our communion
that my blood was never felt as it flowed from me
Flowing, draining my life mixed with the so cold sea-salt a merest sting felt
Her loving harmonious song overwhelming ~ deeply pervading the whole of me
My life unbeknownst draining, fading, lungs filling with freezing cold brine
My purpose yet clears, in haste I desperately needed to make her mine
Gripping bodies so tightly we frantically, in a final gut wrenching spurt
Live as our wondrous orgasm explodes
yet heard by none on that storm swept empty shore
Then seeming, shockingly, in calmness, we melt relaxed and drifting apart
Death really does become her as she softly takes my heart
My life story unreadable but forever written
upon those waves soundless now above
As all my fear lost I seem to smile
sinking to lie somnambulant upon the soft sea bed
At daybreak, storm passed,
a walker espies the battered naked and broken man
Lying cast as a damaged doll upon
rocks now deserted by those harsh and stormy seas
But the face on the man wears a gentling mask of peace,
where all fear of life had been lifted
Hark, can you hear it? Listen…
as the walker hears a sad lullaby, drifting distantly on the breeze
Okay, having read the above ask yourself some questions but know that there are no right or wrong answers, no demands for connection of yourself with what is written. What I will ask you for however is for you to try to feel, to sense, to recognise and analyse your emotions and connectivity with the piece. If there is no connection or you don’t like it then that’s fine too but after having shown it to friends and others around the world, I have had surprising results and feedback.
Some readers will connect with the prose and in different ways. Some will have seen / imagined the beach, the lighthouse and some will draw on feeling high winds and wind driven rain and ice. Some will even have heard the doleful wail of the siren described. The important aspect of this exercise is in the creation of an empathic connection with personal emotions, the prevailing descriptor conditions and the ‘meaning’ of the prose. The ‘meaning’ of the prose can be different for different people but for me, it was a very clear and singular meaning. All these connections can serve within a TCS episode because it facilitates the reader to draw on past experience, thoughts and physical feelings. If it has caused you to think and feel and sense your inner machinations then TCS has worked.
Transactional conscious streaming is that ‘opening of the secret door’ when an out-flowing of expression, of creation, of experiences, thoughts, emotions and anything else, in to a form whereby another reader can enter that original world and share in the glories of emotion and expression.
For many, TCS is a painting on a canvass, the playing of music (especially interpretational and innovation) or even a simple letter written in which and through which emotions and other worldly things are or can be conveyed or transferred.
It must be realised though that true connections with another’s experience is often because of the phrasing of the writer or creator. I often say to people that there is more information is the spaces between the words than in the words themselves when there is a streaming relationship. The gap between one word and the next can be defined as an invisible tone, a harmonic, and a vibration that creates an emphasis on the following word. It is in these unwritten elements that ‘real’ and congruent connections are often made between the writer and the reader ~ a connection and merging of psyches. Let me give you another example that is another true story.
I have been to the edge
Time … time is defined as a measurement of the passage of events. It is ephemeral in nature, untouchable, invisible and unreachable. Mathematicians and physicists tell us that time within this dimension, is fixed, definite, never wavering and yet …?
I would argue however that time is variable in length. Our perceptions of time can differ between one human being standing right next to another human being. Time can alter it’s value dramatically through given circumstance, environment, mental and thought stability and, our emotional state.
Time can appear slow ~ when clock watching or nervously waiting for something for example … and it can be rapid and invisibly dissolving ~ when driving a car whilst in contemplation, thinking about things, worrying or singing along in your head. Time can appear to have been be so fast and sometimes feels lost to us ~ as when we look back through the years, back, back to our younger days, our youth and childhood.
And time can become so slow that even reality reverts to very slow motion ~ within the developing reality of say a car accident or some other very intense event when we can appear separate from the event altogether. Time … is what we all have, what we all use and inevitably, what we all spend and almost always waste. Time, as a commodity, is THE most expensive and valuable asset we will EVER own or spend because, we can never recoup, realise or gain from its expenditure except … perhaps when we watch and see our children grow, when we see those proud fruits of our labours in their blooming and flourish or when we achieve a desired goal.
So why am I discussing time when the subject title appears to be ‘I have been to the edge’?
What do I actually mean by the term ‘edge’? And why does this relate to time? Let me tell you a true and short story.
As a police Officer working as a Detective I was on duty one evening with my partner when we intercepted a radio message that alerted us that an armed robbery was taking place at a supermarket quite near to where we were working. Like many enthusiastic young Officers off we set and arrived first on the scene. Typically, in these situations, Officers split up to cover exits and escape routes and this time was no different.
Arriving on the scene we split up and I ran down a darkened alleyway to cover the front of the property and the main entrance. Turning a blind corner at a pace I was brought to an immediate halt as the double barrels of a sawn-off shotgun were jabbed very hard on to my forehead. The words ‘on your fuckin knees’ were barked out loud and very clear. At that precise moment it was as though, at the click of your fingers, time slowed almost to a standstill and reality took on such a strange clarity.
Sensation and perception assumed bizarre values. The trickle of blood from the wound above my eyes on my forehead seemed to burn as it flowed thick and glutinous and ran down over my skin past my eyes on to my cheek and dripped off my chin. Intense pain stabbed in my knees as I knelt on small, sharp limestone chippings and yet I was definitely not wanting to shift or even move. My hands were clasped tightly behind my head, feeling my fingers grip and then start to slide with sweat. My eyes, trying to focus and in my peripheral vision psychedelic shapes with coloured lights and a strange beating rhythm set in time with my fast and pulsing heart. Focusing … trying to focus, looking at two bright metallic circles with a darkness, a thick morbid blackness their infill. Focusing … focusing and seeing the shiny gunmetal metallic surface of the barrels stretching away in to the distance, away from my eyes. The glint of gunmetal grey leading back, back towards a black hand gripping a dark wooden stock of the shotgun and then seeing, feeling, the double shapes of the trigger hammers already lifted and hovering, being prevented from falling on the cartridges by springs controlled by these black fingers.
Knowing, understanding and recognising the situation but sensing in that time that time was slowing, was so slow. Time had slowed to such a crawling pace as to be almost … still … a stillness that penetrated everything. Even now, when I think and look back, I can still hear and sense my heart … thrump, thrumpity thrump, thrump, thrumpity thrump.
Looking up along the shaft of bright metal clearly seeing the hands, the fingers and then … the hooded head with those detached black and careless eyes looking in to mine. Knowing they are smiling, the face … smiling … tempting, taunting. Knowing that those eyes know, they really know. Then a blink, a flicker as they danced over the trigger hammers, both rising, lifting, easing, slowly, oh so slowly, leaning backwards like a preying mantis just before its strike … hovering over its prey. Time … time in that moment extended, became stretched, fluid and distorted but it also became … so very still and silent.
In those moments, to me, a vision appeared … I was blinded, I felt like a dark hood was being drawn over my head. Initially the vision appeared ephemeral as in swirling mists with no colour or form but yet vibrant … so real in its capacity to engulf me, a presence. Then, a vision and a feeling, of standing on the edge of a black, dark, lightless abyss.
I was on the edge of a precipice that yawned before my feet. I knew by instinct that it was fathomless, bottomless … but dark; it was so dark to be more than blackness, so dark that it was as though it had form; a life of it’s own, thick, glutinous, and sticky.
My breathing had not stopped but … I was not breathing because within that moment time was stretched … eons long and unfathomably deep. I was encapsulated within a sigh you know the one that ‘pause’ between breaths, like being trapped in a vacuum.
My comprehension become vague, indistinct but accompanied with feelings, of a ‘knowing.’ I ‘knew’ that the abyss, which stretched before me was death, an oblivion but … I also knew that the abyss had eyes of its own which looked in to mine as I stared down, unbelieving. I heard whispers within my being, like the whispers you hear upon soft night breezes. “Not yet” … “oh no, not yet”.
Time had passed and the outside world had lived and progressed. The twin hammers hovering above the firing caps of the shotgun cartridges were still there, still hovering. The eyes and physical presence that stood before me and gazed in to my soul were even larger than ever. The smile on the eyes broader and yet invisible to everyone.
Time had lagged behind allowing me to see within another dimension and now, a rushing sound, just like a deluge of water rushing down a closed in valley with all the accompanying echoes, a roaring in my ears and then a WHOOSH … Then, in that fractal of shattered light, everything changed, in and for my life, for good.
On that night I found myself changed and then I found myself alone. No man standing over me. No metal pressing and cutting the skin on my forehead. No vision of twin circles of metallic light surrounding a deep and thick blackness.
As breathe returned to my lungs my brain exploded in to the lightness of the ‘now’. It was over.
Time had slowed and even ceased to be for an instant and then returned with a deafening crash.
The vision of the abyss that I saw, of what I felt, what I perceived will stay with me forever for I believe I have been to and have stood on the edge … the ledge of doom. I have seen and looked in to the abyss and it gazed and looked back at me. My life is forever changed. Perceptions and values forever altered. My experience adding another layer of light, another colour to my aura that only those other death seeing souls will ever recognise.
Both the above are true events. But they are not stories of course, they are true events, true happenings.
The prose that poured out of me on that stormy night in Whitley Bay happened and many such creative events have happened to me before and since this particular one.
The short and very true event of my meeting and hearing ‘death’. And when I reread this episode I almost sink back in to that quagmire, that sticky vacuumed blackness of the event all these years ago. I can still feel, sense and even taste the blood in my mouth where no blood runs.
I have shown this extract to others who have been affected by its strength on very many levels, spiritual, emotional and mindful (notice I didn’t say mental) and there are some who have experienced similar inner fears, tears and experiences within themselves and I have met other near- death experienced people.
In 2008 I went to Argentina and met a man at a social function there. He had been the Chief Police Officer in the San Rafael district of Mendoza. He understood and spoke NO English whatsoever. We were in group of ex-pat people who were English, American, Canadian, Italian and a German as well as some Argentines and we were all chatting and laughing and joking but all the while this man looked at me and kept smiling.
At the end of the evening he approached me with a mutual friend who could translate. This man, called Carlos, said to me “I see you have seen ‘it’ too?” I said I didn’t understand and asked him what he meant. Our mutual friend replied, “You too have been to the edge and have looked in to those eyes, yes?” I knew exactly what he meant and what he was referring to.
A shiver went down my back as a story was told to me through the translator of Carlos’ experience of having a gun held to his head some years ago when he too feared of being killed. I looked at Carlos as the story unfolded and I too saw something in his eyes I couldn’t describe in words in this article. I knew what he was saying. It was strange, so very strange. Leaving the party I said my farewells and Carlos and I hugged one another and both knew in that instant that we shared a rare experience, a rare empathy and had become almost “brothers in arms” through our experiences where half a world and so much time separated us.
All of this may provide TCS success for the actions and intentions of transactional conscious streaming if the emotions are shared or transferred to you, the reader. In both the examples above the memories and multi-level conscious experiences remain with the very fabric of my being, within every cell and atom of ‘me’ and will stay within my psyche, my aura. I hope that I have managed to build a bridge from my world in to your and that somewhere, somehow, within you the reader, an emotional empathy or ‘real’ shared experience has been felt.
TCS is far more profound than just writing or relating a story. It’s almost akin to the transfer of one persons’ consciousness and experience to another on such a deep level as to generate similar feelings, sensations and emotions.