I return to this dream frequently. While in a park with a copy of the American Book of the Dead*, sitting atop some piece of playground equipment a couple of very short Tibetan fellows approach me and say, “Oh so you know about the Bardos, eh? Follow us we have something to show you.” They led me down to an old subway platform that also resembled a cave. Suddenly it was as if they multiplied yet were still only two who rapidly before my astral eyes assembled reality structures, entire event/experiences that were demonstrated to be as a ride one took. Each reality structure event was complete onto itself, a unit, similar to a train car. The experiences were stunningly perfect in their composition. These were true evolutionary artists.
The flimsiness of these reality structures, which seemed to appear from air, made an impression. What profound power is present in our willingness to make real the world, we attach ourselves to that flimsiness, breathe it to life, and ride it for all its worth. When through attachment we are brought to our knees with the sweet pain this much ado about nothing gives us, we might then find ourselves ready to see the flimsy nature of reality once again. We are endless creators, conscious or not. When we can accept the eternity that comes with being an endless creator, we can have it.
In a Rumi poem there is a seeker who claims to be looking for someone who can be in the thick of anger and attachment yet internally free all at once. This description is in keeping with the way I’ve been directed to play certain parts of the Lord in the Creation Story Verbatim* play. She throws herself into emotional tirades of grand mal proportion out of sheer exuberance over human experience. Yet what could be more utterly open and accommodating with freedom than the Lord? The Ultimate Host/Hostess providing existence to all that is.
There is a yes and no required. One must be part of the general exchange to be able to expose oneself to the electrical imprints, radiations, and what-have-you needed for evolution, for the benefit of the Creator knowing itself. Gotta be willing to be fooled. Gotta be willing to not be fooled. Somewhere woven in there is a path, and there are such things as elegant rebirth stations along the way.
It seems that seeing the no in a yes and the yes in a no is part of the way. The repeated experience I’ve had with the Teacher has been that when I have been given denial, there was found to be a profound space of compassionate yes contained in that denial. Nothing audible, visible, tactile that I could point to – most like a fragrance.
There is a subtle perception that develops in this exchange with the Friend, which is what a true Teacher will represent. The beauty of the path is revealed through this perception. One wishes to share that beauty. At first many of my Yeses had to become No and vice versa. There were parts of me to be fiercely denied – but with a different, indirect sort of ferocity. Given time and the special conditions needed to create new synaptic connections, tendencies and habits changed in the direction of what serves voluntary evolution. Resistance is seen with some objectivity, not immersed. Not to say there is no more resistance – just the momentum changes toward the voluntary, which renders a different relationship to resistance.
The Way is yielding. Because of this and many imprints along the path, there can be hesitation to say no, to draw lines and make boundaries or make definitive statements. Given the changeability alone, the flimsiness of identity and reality structure witnessed, definitive movement doesn’t seem to work well for me. I might try it out every once in a while, but it’s a little like a dog chasing after a parked car. I ram right into hardness, leaving the open fluidity that is truest to what I am.
“I had nothing but myself with which to make the world, out of myself, the world was made,” God is quoted as having said. The ultimate form of hospitality is seen just in the fact of creation. So the emptier we get, the more yielding, the more like the Creator we are in one sense. The more we give room for what is to be. The greater our self knowledge the more room there is for compassion about another person’s journey. Typicality irritations aren’t quite so sharp and there is a lot of blurring away of boundary. Transcendence of one’s own type and its preferences will mean hanging out in an undefined state. This can feel quite vulnerable.
There is a piece of advice given in The Joy of Sacrifice*, to bow to the king in the outer world. More difficult it is to know the sovereign within, to know what to bow to in the noise of one’s life, all of the influences that want to take shape in the ever emptying platform of our being. Sometimes in the extreme wish to offer hospitality to others in our lives, we erode our very ability to do so. Sometimes in the extreme wish to offer hospitality to what we believe to be sovereign within, we eject ourselves out of presence. Yet the Way at times demands a hard stance, and doing that is the yielding. These experiences of mistaken identity are necessary to the growth of our discernment. Self knowledge is needed in order to determine what influences are at play. The depth of this self knowledge is ultimately fathomless. It can only be approached with the intelligence of the heart. How do we arrive at the intelligence of the heart, through all the mist of judgment that clouds that intelligence? How is that subtle intelligence applied in a cold hard world? What are good guidelines for keeping us inclined towards our voluntary evolution even through our mistaken identities?
There are other questions and impressions to share around the vital topic of right and compassionate action toward others and ourselves on the next Journey to the Heart show this Thursday, April 11 at 6pm PST on GorebaggTV. All are welcome!