My mind is no longer my friend. I don't know when we reached this impasse but it seems to have stretched for an eternity. It is what comes between what is. It is not that there is any animosity towards it. It is , rather there occurs a delight in its absence. Alongside the most profound thought I can have, is the pettiest thought. With the most noble feeling is ride the smallest sense of me. Thought is mind.
Mind can be rampant if unchecked and seduced.
In the space between thoughts there is a stillness, a cherished space where nothing can touch the untouchable. A space of pure being - the natural state.
And yet what seems to have become a pattern is mind is running the show for longer stretches of time. Or maybe not even more spent in its tyrrany but rather more emotions arising in its presence. Mostly resistance - resistance to that over there arising in 'this world'.
Upon awaking in the morning, my son Tao and I head up to the dam where we do our sungazing and walk the dogs. Because we are in a mountain kingdom by the time the earth spins sufficiently for the sun to be visible it is already quite intense. It starts off as a strip of light around the mountain and gradually exposes its full beauty and majesty. The dam full for now due to winter rains, is either still beyond belief or raging with its own patterns.
At this point all is well in my world. There is peace, there is tranquility and there is silence.
Until I come home and turn this machine on. And link myself up to hell. My main attraction was to the people I have come to know and love on here, but I see and hear too little for them for the balm of love to heal. Instead I sit and cover myself in excrement. Like today for example Cameron and Sarkozy today declaring they are going to keep bombing Libya.
Like Prick Perry apparently being behind a bill to make the guardasil vaccine mandatory. 49
young women have already died for this and yet this industrial murdering machine allows it to continue. And even here in Africa big pharma is threatening to shut all us herbalists down. We won't even go into hackgate and how the entire met in London is free masons. Is there any wonder that justice had not been served for Daniel Morgan or Madeleine McCann.
And every day it just gets sicker. Every day I find the stench getting more unbearable.
This is the energy I am aligning myself to. This is where I put my attention. And does it help in any way - not a squat.
Can I stop myself from watching the cesspool. No.
Just go and look at WRH today. I don't think the page has ever looked worse. Every story is such a travesty. One wonders how on earth it got so bad. Like going to sleep with a mouth full of chewing gum. The damage done. On to the next one. My entire body closing down as the 57 trillion cells that I call me, sense the rest of its body's slaughter and heartache. I feel it to the core.
The village baker catches me on a walk the other day. She can just look at me and say a number up to 10. When she says 10 then I am somersaulting in delight, if one then I am almost under. She say 2 - and I go yeah.
My spiritual teacher tells me it is all just an appearance. And I just feel well this horror at the injustice might just be an appearance, yet, it is appearing. I am not separate from the child in a burn ward screaming, screaming, screaming. I am not separate from the mother hearing the screaming and her heart smashing open. And all she can do is hum softly.
In Iraq, In Afghanistan, In Gaza, and now in Libya. Like 57 trillion cells that make up this body/mind in the dream, are connected to every other 57 trillion cells that make up other body/minds. All one cell in humanity - human unity.
And then I listen to Jed McKenna and he says he looks upon burn wards and opening flowers with the same eye. And that too is true.
There are so many ways for this experiencing to manifest.
By grace, after several hours wrestling with the magnitude of this injustice - life calls me into the garden where I partake of a plant. And suddenly as the smoke rise, mind sinks. There are no burn wards, there are no heartbroken mothers, there are no corrupt cops. There is no injustice and stupidity. There is simply the sun, the uncurling leaves, the sweetest aromatic smells of spring. My amygdala dance in joy and delight. The malachite sunbird swoops in op die wilde dagga. The life has risen again. It is unfurling and I am experiencing it. Full on beauty. No concepts or stories.
Ahhhhhh- but there is that mind again that feels the need to be taken back to the scenes where so much is felt. And again the 57 trillion cells are kept away from the beauty and life and fed something different. Not meaning to pontificate in making a value judgement about one way being right and one way being wrong. And I would love to accept whatever appeared. But for that to happen, this individuated mind needs to lose itself. It is not even about choosing it. It happens, it unfolds. It appears to be part of the programming. How does one break away from the conditioned mind?
I find myself in the garden by some spiky cactus. I am told it is san pedro. growing right at the back, to the right of the vegetable garden. I have noticed how quickly it has grown. I also see that there are parts that have been cut and the ends placed on the earth to re root.
Tao comes over to me and we look at them bathed in the sunshine. Some mouse birds nearby in the loquat tree. The chickens foraging passionately around us. He looks at me and asks me if I want to try it. Why not - We prepare it - way too much of it. A long process. We drink it - way too much of it. And it tastes bad in addition to being slimy and gelatinous. An instant gagging process but I want a break from mind - i want to return to the natural state , nothing else calls me deeper.
And as the plant energy causes a change in consciousness, mind feels this absolute terror.
I breathe into it. I know it is too late to bail out. I have deliberately eliminated milk thistle from the environment - i want to lose my mind. And yet when the decoding starts I petition to the energy. Firstly I beg for gentleness. No smatterings. No aborted awakening landing one in a life time of shizoidism. I don't even want the beautiful visions and patterns. What my eyes hold in this paradigm is of beauty enough. I don't want anything that is not always present because then it will be lost. So plant, show me what you are and thus what I am.
And then I find myself with my true intention in taking that plant and that is to know love.
And suddenly the hallucination turns itself off.
The fire is burning beautifully and there are two candles on the table. There is a picture I have placed on the chair opposite me. Next to this image lies a cat. Every thing is as I know it - there is a great peace - there is a return to normalcy. Except that the picture on the couch is moving. The face is definitely moving. The eyes stretch into a smile and the cheeks move in and out as it breathes. I go to get the picture and bring it closer to me.
This body is so very light that it feels as if my arms hardly exist - and yet in this lightness they reach out to the frame. And the next thing I am looking at love. Pure love. Those eyes are these eyes. Not separate. Not two. For hours and hours the gaze continues. Tears flow river like. Bliss. This is Bliss.
Suddenly this reality changes. The plants have availed themselves to me effortlessly and with no cost. The journeys become increasingly frequent and are always solo.
A year ago I spoke of how Pieter wanted to move into the city and put the kids in schools etc. He journeyed with a shaman into the land of ayahuasca and he saw the light. He is wanting to bring the plants into his repertoire. The dream keeps changing.
A few nights ago I dreamt of enormous boas. Several meters long and bigger than my waist. We were in a tangle and I was absolutely helpless. I was being taken by the serpents. The next day we are offered a place in an ayahuasca ceremony in a village just over the mountain. One has to go around the mountain to get to it. Very different from here, much greener, much softer.
So once again the opportunity arises for the healing that happens in the absence of identification.
A ' teacher' says no action needs to be taken.
And of course he is right.
Once again mind sits in fear that it might just lose itself.
And still the dance is danced.
I enter this realm again with the intention of love.
Nothing more than love.
May it fill my very being till completion.
May this cell in the body of humanity catch some light.
Note : The face above, that of Ramana Maharshi. Meeting his teachings was an eye opener. For many years I had one book. And no photograph. And at that age I was prone to devotion. When we moved to this village, I met someone who had been to the ashram in India and who gave me a photograph. A few years later I went myself and the librarian took a shine to me and sent me boxes of books and photographs of Ramana. Suddenly we had these pictures and after the fire they were the only pictures we had. Slowly they found frames. A friend of mine, an over top extremely camp decorator used to walk in roll his eyes and say oh god the ole guy again. So this picture is always with me. Always.
And yet on this occasion it spoke.
It spoke the only language worth hearing.
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