..........I knocked on the garden gate, then entered my inner, secret garden, drawing the bolt behind me. From a gazebo to my right emerged a lion who led me along a path towards a pale grey, Gothic-style archway or portal beyond which I could see nothing. We appeared to have risen a little above the garden, with everywhere around us immersed in a fog, or pale grey mist. Passing through the stone archway I saw that the mist had disappeared and that the archway gave access to a long, straight corridor sloping gently upwards and which seemed to consist of a whole set of Gothic archways generating a ribbed, almost organic, look to the corridor. We walked steadily upwards until it seemed that we were cut off from any other place. Finally we halted at the end of the corridor. There was nothing ahead except the reappearance of the foggy void. Momentarily, I felt a large paw in the small of my back as I was pushed unceremoniously into the fog.
I had expected to fall, yet found myself buoyed up by some unknown force, which gave the semblance of solidity beneath my feet. I then saw that immediately in front of me waited an old man, cloaked in black, who was holding aloft his lantern to light my way. We walked on for some while until I saw that we had entered a medieval town barely visible in the darkened, evening fog. The walls of the buildings seemed to approach and then recede with our passing as, finally, the cobbled road entered a more open area with lights shining dimly but warmly onto the road. To our left appeared a cheery inn with some shop-front windows and a large entrance space, but apparently without any doors. A little to the right of the inn front was a built-over arch leading to a courtyard, big enough for wagons-and-horses.
I approached the inn, but seeing that the hermit had not followed, turned back towards him. He indicated with a wave of his hand that I must enter the inn, and that he would not be accompanying me any further. Inside, the inn was as foggy, almost spectral, as the road outside. The innkeeper offered me a tumbler of greenish liquid, which I drank, before motioning me towards a nearby flight of stairs, leading upwards to a bedroom. There he unlocked the door and ushered me inside.
The room was small, but clean and comfortable with a well-sprung double bed. The nearside wall of the room consisted of planks of wood with large gaps between them, offering no privacy and little protection. The open window on the far side of the room looked out onto an inner courtyard lit by the light of a full moon. Nowhere was there any trace of mist or fog. There was also a rather puzzling image of a moon-like disc on the bedroom ceiling. Finding that I was already dressed in night-clothes, I crawled into bed, and lay watching the moon. At some stage I drifted into sleep..........
It had been clear to me that the path I trod in this psycho-spiritual exercise, led me to a place (or rather, a non-place) somewhere in the 'upper' reaches of my being. There I found myself as "the Sleeper." For some while I was content with that as a simple explanation, hoping that in the sleeping state some form of transfiguration might be taking place at a level beyond my consciousness. Yet as I meditated on the other aspects of this journey, I began to feel a certain unease.
I will not go into the many twists and turns that my thinking took me; it would seem to serve no useful purpose. It did appear to take an inordinately long time for me to understand how I needed to approach the way I have to deal with the very obvious Tarot images that arose, (and continue to do so) as well as the images relating to the Hebrew alphabet, both of which were present in my past studies of the mystical Qabalah. A total change in my approach is necessary, because I discovered, quite surreptitiously, that in truth the conscious 'I' has been lulled into a state of sleepiness from which it must be roused.
It would be difficult to overestimate the the dangers and pitfalls, the possibilities for making mistakes, that lie ahead of me; difficult to overestimate the strength of the apparently natural desire to allow consciousness to sleep and dream. Somehow, I must simultaneously both reject and embrace the many 'systems' with which I have made contact, in the hope of discovering the way to the country that lies beyond.
For the past few weeks, it has been extraordinarily difficult for me to rouse myself to action in the mornings. It's disconcerting because I'm the kind who normally jumps out of bed and shakes off the residue of slumber easily. My friends tell me it's merely the effect of the recovery from the break in the leg and the medication the doctors have given me. But I feel that it's more. My consciousness is being pulled into an unpleasant sleepy state. So I read your words with great interest, dear Tom. I have confidence that you will manage to avoid the dangers in your attempts to discover the way to the country that lies beyond. My recent engagement with my brew kettle has helped me somewhat. But I still have a journey ahead of me, I feel. This comforts me.
ReplyDeleteIt is all too easy, I feel, to brush off this sense of sleeping, dreaming consciousness with quick excuses, and also reasons which appear to have validity. When all is said and done, if we continue to "feel that it is more", we must accept that there are powerful forces within us that will attempt to counter all our best efforts, and "pull us into an unpleasant sleepy state" which can paradoxically seem to be very right and pleasant. I wish you well with your efforts dear RW. Recovery and awakening is a lifelong journey.
DeleteHi Tom
ReplyDeleteI would hesitate to offer anything meaningful to this post, except by way of an attempt at composing this little poem to wish you well.
Can it be our own reflection, or a masters expectation
Hidden in the time of present, lonely in its own pure presence
Continued on, deep within us, calling forth, our own surrender
to seek the light filled ONE agenda
Form of travel backwards, mysteries of life’s sacred palaces
Conscious mind listens always, guided by a spirits a light
Comforted in earthly balm or jade, no earthly bounds can hide
what will shine, in good time, your ONE light filled agenda
Lindsay, thank you for this lovely poem. I suppose in all my inner wanderings of late I have felt alone. Such foolishness! I never was alone, but steadily guided towards a goal which, as I believe you are saying here, nothing earthly can deflect me. One-ness? I do wonder why it has been on my mind of late.
DeleteI feel that you are already 'on the way'. I have reached a stage where I work (underline work) at embracing all that comes towards me. Sometimes small adjustments can be made.
ReplyDeleteMaybe it's easier for 'single bed' people.
I don't enjoy making comments. Everything said becomes so final.
Now my thoughts turn around 'drawing the bolt behind us'. A not so final gesture when we make it. As long as we are alive we can draw it open again.
Now I need a large paw to click publish.
I know that you do not enjoy making comments, and that makes what you say all the more precious. Yet we must allow that what we say is not written on tablets of stone. That would carry a responsibility, a finality, too heavy to bear. Indeed, the drawing of the bolt on an inner experience is never a final gesture, just one more step on the way. So good to hear from you again.
DeleteI understand and share Ellena's optimism that you are on your way. I also share her dislike of the finality of the internet. I need to post, and I know how much some enjoy reading my posts because your absence Tom has been felt very much. Glad you have taken the risk of telling us some of what and why.
DeleteHalle; Very few blogs that I read (A Wayfarer's Notes being one exception) seem to develop dialogue. Yet it may be that coming back again with comment as often as is necessary may put a healthy dent in the finality of the internet. Of course, it must be borne in mind that people may not have the time for that indulgence. As far as Gwynt is concerned, I welcome all comment, and I promise not to hold anyone to ransom for their opinions, no matter if they do (and sometimes must) change.
DeleteThe images you describe of this "journey" are so vivid, and to me seem like a lovely dream with just a hint of something dark and mystic and mysterious. As an artist, I love those kind of visually vivid dreams, rare though they are for me.
ReplyDeleteI hope you will find what you are searching for, Tom.
Marja-Leena, thank you. There are similarities of course between the imagery of dreams and those of meditational path-working. I prefer the latter to dreams because I always feel that I'm in with a chance of understanding what is going on. And there is something else. Because the journey inwards is effectively a conversation between consciousness and that indefinable, but very real, beyond-conscious realm, there is always that sense of mystery that you allude to, and also a sense of mystical awe and joy, a coming together with a part of me that so longs for understanding and wisdom and that part that some have called divine.
DeleteI do believe I will find what I seek, and may find in the end that it was in front of me all the time, but too big to see it. The possibility that it could be otherwise would be unbearable.
A great danger I have to avoid is my own tendency to explain and simplify inner experiences of profound depth. Most of the time I'm just happy to be here, to awake every morning and be grateful that nothing hurts, that everyone I care for is well - or at least reasonably so. I meditate in the early morning with my first cup of coffee in hand (it's so nice to have a dear husband who carries it in) and I meditate and pray every night until impending sleep sends me to bed. Is it enough? No, probably not, but I hope that by living simply and with attention will be enough to see me through the journey yet to come.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad to see you've written again, Tom. Your thoughts and descriptions of your visions are one of my own touchstones of grace and beauty in the world.
It seems to me, Susan, that we can only ever attempt to do our best with what we experience. The greater commitment we have to doing that often appears to me to put one in a position where we all too readily negatively criticise our best efforts, even though we know that such criticism is not reflected back from our deepest and holiest selves. For some of us, our best will never be enough, and we may well part this world thinking we should have done more. If we loved and cared less, our apparent failures would cause us less concern, but that is no longer an option is it?
DeleteI would love to say something about the final part of your comment, but the right words just will not come. "Thank you" seems to be far too little in response to what I feel. (And bless your husband for simply being.)
I suspect there is part of us, not strictly conscious, that must keep moving. Whether confounded at crossroads or befuddled in fog, it gathers tolerance, consents to direction because standing still requires more strength than we possess. It moves, it rests, it wakes and continues its journey.
ReplyDeleteI think you are correct, Geo. What often puzzles me is why "it moves, it rests, it wakes and continues its journey" in the way that it does. It does seem clear, now that you raise the point, that there may well be a necessary reason for the manner in which it lives its life, a reason that is hidden from consciousness. It may simply be that the beyond-conscious aspect of our being is wiser, more knowing, and more fitted to fulfil its task - whatever that might be - than our conscious egos. Thank you for your thoughts.
DeleteI liked the clear and vivid imagery in your pathworking. Like a well-told fairy-tale, or especially a shamanic journey, with the lion as your power animal.
ReplyDeleteThough less clear to the outside reader, your analysis or commentary is even more striking, in showing how the journey has spoken to parts of you beyond normal consciousness, and pointed out a perilous way, a Pilgrim's Progress of the spirit.
It made me think it's important to allow the unconscious to gain free access to consciousness, with strict instructions to any gatekeeper or private secretary within the mind to put calls through and not delay or block them.
And in my life yesterday, after a sudden unexpected bitter argument with my beloved about some triviality, I walked through the park later when suddenly a thought flew into my head from nowhere, that I must allow myself to be a “tortured soul” sometimes, i.e. give respect & attention to the scabs and unhealed wounds that life has inflicted over its long course, & not mask them with stage make-up.
Is this the same kind of thing, do you think?
Vincent, I agree that it is important to allow free passage between the conscious and the unconscious parts of our being. It is interesting that you raise this particular point as it is an aspect of my recent experiences that I would like to develop over the coming days or weeks.
DeleteSuch arguments as has been your recent sad experience, always seem to come unexpectedly. One moment we are slipping through life under sunny, blue skies; the next we are buffeted by storms that seem to get steadily and inexplicably worse. It is painful and exhausting. You are not alone in this experience.
It is said that time is a great healer. Oh what nonsense! We do need to take care because life's wounds do not heal that easily. Your point about not masking them with stage make-up is well made.
Appropriate pain cannot be successfully avoided. All that happens is that we experience inappropriate pain that is usually far worse. Therefore, it is necessary to face that which we would like to avoid, or as you put it, allow oneself to experience what it is like to be a tortured soul. We need to experience it to understand it, and gain wisdom from it. I am uncertain as to whether "this is the same thing". I only know that when it comes it needs to be accepted with love.
Have you read The Wee Free Men? The heroine is reminded that the point is not to dream, but to wake up.
ReplyDeleteHi Zhoen; No I haven't read that book, but the point that was made to the heroine is one that I have, if somewhat belatedly, come to myself.
Delete