This post is archived on the page, The Grieving Time.
As Uranus/Pluto continues this week’s rev up, I find that I am enjoying startling discoveries. Last night, for example.
It happened during my usual insomniac two-hour period in the early morning. I did what I don’t think I’ve ever done, at least not so obviously and directly. I asked for help. I asked to contact whoever are the interdimensional beings that I can sense are “out there.” Damn, I thought to myself, and basically demanded. “Take me to your leader!”
Well, not really. Actually, I asked to be taken to see/visit, commune with an off-world ally, friend, mentor. Whoever! I thought about the eagerly awaited, ill-fated “Neptune” trip, of February, 2012 — my god, was it only seven months ago? It feels like light-years.
I thought about my recently deceased Dad (d. August 27th), and how I feel him gone, gone, gone, light years away, finally freed up from that decrepit body and vice-grip dogmatic Roman Catholic belief system that had held him imprisoned all his life, and able to fly, to soar, to voyage into the beyond.
And here I am, stuck, here, in my body, on my bed, at night, as usual, alone with my puppy Shadow. Enough! I want contact!
With this thought I settled into meditation. Lying on my back, I worked my head and neck into a comfortable position on the pillow, pushed the button and went for it.
Wow! Now that I look back, I realize I did something I’ve never done before. How to describe it?
Whereas before, I’ve traveled (in my imagination? in reality? if so, what kind?) out to the Sun, and then beyond to the Galactic Center (which, BTW: is conjunct my natal Sun at 27° Sagittarius), each time I seemed to successfully make these leaps — gut-wrenching, heart-stopping, and increasingly abstract — I’d feel exhausted with the effort, and could rarely “hold” the new, larger location and awareness for more than a minute or two.
This time, instead of trying to go out, instead of being determined to lift up, out of body into space, I just settled in — and within moments found myself, my awareness, descending, not into the earth, but into the core of my being. Into, one might say, the tiny point in infinite, interdimensional oneness that “I” occupy. That “singularity,” the singular “point of view” that is only mine. The one infinitesimal point that potentiates how “I” see and interact with the infinity around me, with other “points” in space, and so on.
I penetrated my own core, I moved into the space that opens when the point is breached. And what I found, I can only describe now, when words fail me, is that I was in another world, one which interpenetrated with this one, or maybe I should say I was simultaneously in multiple worlds, all converging, overlapping, interpenetrating, kaleidoscoping . . . And I could feel beings all around me, healing beings, busy, moving energy in my body in new ways, removing blocks, easing the flow of currents through all the chakras . . . busy busy busy. A point in my upper left breast all of a sudden hurt, hurt big! I moved awareness there, and gradually, it dissolved. Then a point on the left upper side of my head, hurt, hurt big! I moved awareness there, and gradually, it too, dissolved. Over and over, various places in this 3D body seemed to be clearing as other-dimensional beings, with my full permission and awareness, moved their hands(?), like magic wands, over and under and through me.
And all the while, I could feel me in 3D, and me in other dimensions as well; I could go up or down the elevator, shoot through the wormhole, into various realities, all of them interpenetrating, being here, now, inside and outside the “me,” that is, the locus in dense 3D space/time that I “apparently” occupy on 3D planet Earth.
Wow! I thought later. So all that time I thought I had to lift off when all I had to do was let go and relax. Wow!
All these years, I’ve been in training to shoot out into space, the way I used to as a kid, in the backyard, in my sleeping bag under the stars. The way I did that one time, in my 20s, on LSD with my lover Tracy, lying there on my back on the beach in Manomet, Massachusetts, ecstatic with joy as he lay beside me, on his stomach, nauseated every time he tried to turn over and look up.
Or the time a few months later when I enjoyed/endured an unexpected, and I read later, classic OOB (out-of-body experience), starting in the hypnogognic state with the sudden, surprising sense of a tiny trap door opening in the middle of my brain, and strong electricity suddenly filling the skull and then shooting through my entire body, and then OH Oh Oh! out, out, out “I,” my consciousness, my awareness, flew, shot through the crown chakra into the dark night, up through the window, up above the roof and trees, the Charles River, above Boston, out into the black black night between the winking stars until I thought, suddenly afraid, I’m dead, I must be dead, or this wouldn’t be happening to me. Which fear, of course, made the experience stop, reverse course, and “I,” my awareness, flew back in, in through the trees, into the window, circled the body on the bed, and then back in through the top of the head. The entire experience felt so startling that I lay there paralyzed, for the next hour. And lonely. Oh, so lonely! I would have given anything for the touch of another’s hand.
The next morning, I told my children, then three and five, about my experience, and the five-year-old, already enculturated, responded, “Oh Mom, you can’t fly!”
All this time, all these decades later, I’ve thought it was cool that I could fly, at least at certain points in my life, and I wanted to learn how to do it at will. Wanted to learn how so that at the moment of my death, a moment I intend to be of my own choosing, I could, simply go. The way the certain monks go, when they decide their time in this life is up. When their usefulness to others has ended. They tell others “today’s the day,” and then just let go in meditation. Hours later, their empty bodies are found, still sitting in the lotus position.
I still want to learn how to do that. How to let go of this life without going through the agony of being terminally ill inside the bowels of the insane western industrial medical system. And without “committing suicide” either.
A very different process. Not in despair, but in joy and exaltation. Not with any mechanical or other means, but naturally, fully, the way animals go into the woods when it is their time to die. Or the way Eskimos walk out into the cold and the snow.
One thing I know I do not want: and that is to die the way my father did, after a protracted battle with his body, and with losing the masterly “control” that he had been famous for all of his life, up until the moment when he consented to take that miniscule portion of morphine under his tongue that allowed his lungs and brain to begin to relax. Up until that letting go, all his life, every single time he was present in a room, he filled it, he made it his. Not that he meant to. He had no idea he was so dominant. But he was, the atmosphere frozen within his constricted view of the world.
The way my Dad died? Yech. Not for me!
I intend to let go in a very different way.
So last night, that’s what I did. I thought I was going to remember how to fly, I so much wanted to meet “beings” who I know are here, just on the other side of what I can see, feel, taste, hear, touch. And I found it is so simple. So damned simple. All I need do is relax, go down, deep, within myself, and keep on going. It’s all right here. Here! and Now!
Funny how we think the grass is greener elsewhere.