Rubbing sleep from my eyes, then drifting in and out of waking consciousness—pulled back to a dream. Three human forms lingered just out of focus, they are presenting hearts; these hearts are pulsing with such a deep state of being, a mix of grief, joy, despair, and compassion. One pulses blue, the other red. I am filled with these emotions, a feeling of being heart struck by the overload. I then notice a small golden-red heart off in the distance, it is light and floating free. Falling into a reverie, allowing for the dream to reveal its teaching.
A sense of expansiveness, clouds drift past and fractals of different colors come into inner view. It’s peaceful in this place, a sense of nothingness yet full.
Eventually thoughts take form, the electrical dynamic of red and blue, male and female intimately entwined, a pulsing fiery heart calling forth from this unity something above, beyond, within and without. Attention is pulled to the smallest heart, the most significant yet missed in this great tumultuous sea of creation, for it is free, humble, and in peace.
I told a friend the other day when we were sharing that there is a part of me that loves the mind, the one within that sees and is able to participate in what is revealed. He often postures the nothingness, the knower who is non-existent, to which I counter with the fact that the one in front of me via his words is indeed existent, an objective reality having a subjective experience. It is both—and. It comes to me that by mind first one begins the intrepid journey, for once inquiry—real, honest introspection—when one seeks truth, new paradigms and possibilities present. The trick, if you can call it that, is to remain upright in posture, not being swayed by the upheaval, neither by the personal nor by the outer stage. In this moment, there is only one course open and the light that shines the way is Love.
The veil to the underworld has been torn open; those who say they are people, but are not, are spewing hatred, death and destruction non-stop. Even my tempered heart has encountered moments that try the soul. Some who read my words will know without explanation of what I speak, others are faltering, not knowing how to confront so much division and hatred. Too often they turn to the TV screen and only hear the relentless propaganda, the one voice coming through in lock-step with the agenda of the dark ones. It occurred to me that because they all speak the same narrative non-stop too many people lose their own minds.
This famous quote from Malcom X astutely sums up how this loss of mind is executed:
"The press is so powerful in its image-making role, it can make the criminal look like he's the victim and make the victim look like he's the criminal. This is the press, an irresponsible press. It will make the criminal look like he's the victim and make the victim look like he's the criminal. If you aren't careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed and loving the people who are doing the oppressing."
On the other hand those of us who have spent years delving beneath the surface of lie upon lie are inundated with information, so much so that we find it difficult, if not impossible, to find a unifying field. Incessant bickering divides us into increasingly divisive camps, scatters us like the Autumn leaves on the wind. Confronting this formidable enemy requires confronting one’s inner enemy. Question everything is indeed inclusive of questioning oneself; for me this self questioning is so well established that it is part of my being. Only on the rarest of occasions do I succumb to real doubt, and if I do the requirement is to sit with this discomfort until lucidity returns, for self condemnation is the most debilitating of all. How do we incorporate an acceptance of divergent perspectives and opinions from those who would otherwise be our brothers and sisters?
Full stop.
On further examination, this scattering is not in the hands of the dark ones, it is within each of us. There is a need to suss out into the aware consciousness all prejudices, old beliefs, and the constraining need to be right, thereby banishing the shadows of condemnation. I am not saying that we should take our eyes off the evil perpetrators nor cease calling them out but oh! how difficult to not let hate creep in and tarnish one’s heart. In many ways we all know that this time was near, we always knew that we were called into this realm to be of service for these days. Take a deep breath, dear ones, exhale slowly, and continuously return to the eminence of the light within.
There is an immensity of grief pouring through the war-torn human psyche right now; it seeps off the screen and attaches itself to the heart. I allow this, in some ways even seek it out, for somewhere inside I know that bearing witness and shining light unto the suffering is a key to transmutation. While the brutal physicality of seeing bodies torn apart by bombs dropped from the skies, where evil appears to have free rein to ravage the innocent, there is another realm just beside this one. In this realm Spirit is supreme, it is wordless but not without song—in brief moments I can hear the Angels sing. My imaginary self sees so many souls going home, welcomed into the soft caress of wings that bring all who enter comfort, where memories of horrors are banished into the silence of eternal grace. The Circumcision of the Heart shines through the suffering, the ultimate passage to the blossoming of Peace as this version of the world is left behind. The Way of the Sacred Heart.
Suspended, even momentarily before thought once again takes hold, comes the realization that we are so long unaccustomed to this lightness, to this vast sense of freedom that we barely recognize what is offered. This sense of Presence, of being in the world but not of it, often feels disorientating, for it doesn’t offer the accustomed ground that I walk upon. And yet, my heart trembles with gratitude for even the briefest of moment of this embrace.
Evermore are feelings of gratefulness for being permitted to enter the Mystics’ door where I often find the great Persian poet Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī waiting there for me. In this moment, there is only one course open and the name is Love.
Rumi as depicted by Iranian artist Hossein Behzad (1957)
Last night I learned how to be a lover of God,
To live in this world and call nothing my own.
I looked inward
And the beauty of my own emptiness
filled me till dawn.
It enveloped me like a mine of rubies.
Its hue clothed me like red silk.
Within the cavern of my soul
I heard the voice of lover crying,
“Drink now! Drink now !”
I took a sip and saw the vast ocean –
Wave upon wave caressed my soul.
The lovers of God dance around
And the circle of their steps
Becomes a ring of fire round my neck .
Heaven calls me with its rain and thunder-
a hundred thousand cries
yet I cannot hear…..
All I hear is the call of my Beloved.
Rumi
