Anything is one of a million paths. Therefore, a warrior must always keep in mind that a path is only a path; if he feels that he should not follow it, he must not stay with it under any conditions. His decision to keep on that path or to leave it must be free of fear or ambition. He must look at every path closely and deliberately. There is a question that a warrior has to ask, mandatorily: ‘Does this path have a heart?’ ~ Carlos Castaneda Quotes from The Teachings of Don Juan
Life is too short. It seems like just yesterday that I was two, living in Maine, lying in the grass on a cool Fall’s day, intensely aware of the blue sky above me. Pale, green blades of grass streaked with gold rising above the fur of my hood, rustling gently, the sound of wind and the awareness that I was connected, that I was a part of something I could not define at such a tender age, but which I now recognize in remembrance as a physical abiding in Oneness. Pure BEing, essence, kenshō. Transcendence’s essence, there, at the very beginning.
Learning to be human, living a Military Brat’s life, moving every couple of years, learning to “fit in” as I could, always seeming to be different from even those were raised in the same world I was. Being malleable, changing personality traits depending upon the company and leaving ego at the crossroads, moving on as the souls left behind sift into memory like pages in a book fluttering faster and faster, ripped out by the gale-force winds of changing circumstances, environs, and people. Life is the same, everywhere. As are people.
Four years old in Novato and Hamilton AFB, California dreamin’. Repeated night visions of what seemed to me to be a ghost in the kitchen. The “dream” of dolls, chasing me with needles. My sister’s Raggedy Ann and Andy and Dressy Bessy dolls stand out. The cover-memory trembles at the edges, fleeting as gaping shadows ripping at the veneer of sanity.
Eight years old on the island of Crete, Greece and my first experiences of sleep paralysis. The weight on the chest, the sudden fear, the rhythmic-but-steady deadening of the limbs, the sensing of a presence nearby, the night-terror familiar to so many throughout the Ages. No idea what it was, but learning techniques to keep the paralysis at bay, beginning a lifetime’s journey into insomnia and alternate experiences of reality, marked as strange through no fault of my own, my night-time and inner journeys seemingly so different from all around me.
Twelve years old, lying in my bed at night, feeling an intense and almost undescribeable feeling of sacrifice, of being adrift in a sea of potentiality, feeling subsumed, permeated with infinite love, infinite giving, infinite possibility. Kenshō again. Blessed unity, Oneness, a realization of essential unity with the All.
Fifteen years old, finding Carlos Casteneda’s “The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge” sitting in the waiting room of an OBGYN at Fairchild AFB where I was a Red Cross Volunteen, looking across at Jenny Grey who was smiling and couldn’t stop staring at my big forehead. I didn’t wear afros long, after that. But the shock of the truths re-discovered then resonate still today.
Sixteen and my Bigmama’s death. Mama’s terrible cry in the back bedroom as Daddy and I worked on a Star Trek fold-up game I’d gotten, both of us staring into each other’s eyes at the sound and jumping up, running back there, knowing something life-altering had happened. Death became personal. As did grief.
Nineteen years old and in the Army, in the Zone and entering a cavernous space within during Morse code training, eight-hour work days spent immersed, connecting at a deeper level to signs and symbols that seemed so archetypal in nature, that became simplistic, mine to express in an instant, leaving all of my classmates far behind. It was as if I’d flexed a mental muscle, entered a hidden region of potentiality, accessed what I needed and then flexed that muscle again to return to normality, drained but excited beyond belief.
Twenty, my Bigdaddy’s passing. Being a Pallbearer for the first time, eyes shut in remembrance of our talks, him always asking me who the black people were in the bible, as if he hadn’t found it out himself decades before, but loving to talk, his shining soul pouring from his pale, blue eyes like fine wine from a decanter of pure crystal. The essence of him remaining, visions of him sitting, nodding, lost in contemplation.
Twenty-two years old and astral-projecting through sleep paralysis into a tropical sea, surround-perception and awareness of the intense coloration of the corals, the nearby fish that seemed to sense my presence yet felt no fear, drifting around me as if I were another outgrowth of brain coral, just a harmless obstacle to be navigated around.
Immersing myself in the world of experience. Forming a conscious vet’s perspective by flirting with death and dissolution, seeking solace in the arms of others, the spirits of plants manifest through drugs and alcohol, not needing validation, trying to lose myself, self-hate or seeking to fill some interpersonal hole, but experiencing for the sake of the experience itself, because I could, and was there, and was living.
These early lifetime experiences forming the basis for later explorations at all levels. The continuing educational journey through HS, college and Grad School, culminating in my present circumstances which encompass all that has come before and from which point I am manifesting all that is within me fully, in sublime celebration of the eternal spirit and infinite possibility. Because I am a writer, an artist, a musician, scientist and scholar, a synthesis of all of these interests might allow me to create something unique, from a perspective not expressed widely.
Don Juan’s wisdom is transformatory. The Path of the Warrior brooks no wavering. It requires clarity. Decisiveness. Making decisions and following them with no looking back, no regrets, no vascillation. Shambhala’s warrior-ship of compassion is the same, as is Gurdjieff’s Fourth Way, as are all true paths taught by all true teachers in the tradition of the Buddha and the Christ. Life is too short to spend it in the Past or Future when the Present holds all the promise that exists in Creation and beyond.
The difficulty of doing so is known to us all by direct experience. Our perception of the world is constantly trying to distract us from the Now through the workings of our minds; our Egos, inordinately concerned with regrets about the Past and worries about the Future, obscuring the moment. As within, so without. Slicing through those illusory concerns leaves us Awakened.
But being Awake provokes despair. Fear, again, in a last gasp of defiance, tells us, “This is the world as it really is, and it has both a beautiful and an ugly face, filled with wonder and horror, and the deck really is stacked against you. You traverse blood-thirsty brambles and dark canyons of malice, and chasms open up around you at every turn, threatening you with failure, with despair. Self-hatred works in opposition to your visions of Perfection and you wonder what it’s all for, what it’s all worth, in the End that you cannot see, cannot understand and, really, cannot even conceive of beyond some surface level understanding of theoretical spaces beyond vision that lie somewhere beyond the sky, and within the confines of the earth. Who do you think you are? G-d?”
A million paths become one. Our lives lead us inexorably toward Death, who waits, patiently, until our prescribed time arrives, at which point he ushers us dutifully toward the biggest change of state that we will ever experience in life. There is no room for fear when our eyes are wide open.
Everything becomes a matter of urgency, a matter of the utmost importance, a matter of foremost importance to the cult of I. From what we eat every day, to the words we say when we’re speaking to others. From the decisions we make about what to buy or not, to the path we decide to take home from work on any given day. Everything becomes meaningful. Filled with the potential for Love, and for direct manifestion of the soul’s urges, which are human and world-centered, yet Divinely otherworldly in aspect and degree.
Forty years old, and my Grandma Dororthy left this plane of existence. The graveyard in Paducah, Texas, is one of the most beautiful places on earth, to me. Big skies and red dirt, a dying town and dozens of cousins whom I haven’t seen in years, gathered around, kindly attentive despite my absence from family gatherings over the years, and circumstances which have left us in different worlds that rarely converge. A biting wind rolling over the funeral, the tent pavilion whipping frantically as stinging particles of red dirt assail us coming from the West. Daddy said later that it was Grandma Dorothy wanted us to get out of there – as ever, not wanting to cause a fuss – because she knew the drama that was coming after. I knew it broke her heart to see it.
Forty-three years old in a DC state of mind, working with my sister and spending my off-time at the Shambhala meditation center, hanging out with Capoeira students, walking the streets of the nation’s capital, unafraid. At 6’4, then 270 pounds, I seemed to be the one people were afraid of. Learning Lojong and Tonglen, implementing the meditations diligently, resulting in a transformatory heart opening. The result is multiple bouts of unexpected tears while walking to work, repeated instances of spontaneous compassion and the resultant bliss gated by grief, wondering if my emotions would ever stabilize again.
Fourty-four and a transmission of grace during a vision from a Master on the astral plane. The Great Gathering and another experience of kenshō, this time recognized and understood for what it was. Exhorted toward further gains, fits and starts of growth and realization culminating in a steady-state resonation in the throes of personal transformation; coming to grips with what my life path has been all about and what Enlightenment really and truly means in the modern world. Also coming to the realization that all of the intellectualism I had cultivated for so many years in the area of spiritual development was for naught. I knew the truth when I was two years old.
The present, and Death still threatens comfort and complacency, as always. Life is too short. Those we love won’t be with us for long. Every decision we make counts. It’s never too late to say you’re sorry. Relationships are what much of life is all about, and when those people we love are gone, we won’t be able to hold them, to kiss them, to tell them that we love them, and to confess the deepest truths of our hearts and souls – and to bear witness to the confession of theirs – to the ones who love us and have loved us and will love us till the End of Forever draws close.
Those recognized moments of Oneness still happen – more and more these days – and the thought of those moments, events, snapshots of Life that led directly to this instant juxapose in meaning, providing an underlying and resonant vibration of Purpose to the clarity of the Now. They are accessible if I need them, but I rarely do anymore. The aftermath of kenshō is qualitatively different from what comes before and the acceptance and re-training of ego is a gradual process within which many pitfalls lurk. Direct experience assures progress as certain knowledge dispels ignorance and continued inner-work clarifies discernment and logos resonation within both the physical and ethereal realms.
My life experience is a composite of all of our experiences. There is nothing I have been through that you cannot go through and there is much I have been through that you have also. We are One within this bio-energetic reality and that means our experience in this lifetime along with all others binds us experientially as spiritual and material family. The family of humanity and the greater family of pure consciousness.
Pain and heartache are certain, while desire remains. Laughter and peace are as well. But between all lies the middle path of acceptance, of openness, of being intensely aware of what, where and who we are, and accepting all that comes to us with a giving and loving heart that knows no boundaries of possibility, seeking resonance and reflection in each other and the world and cosmos that hold us each close, whispering sweet lullabys of yearning and transcendence, soothing our souls as we rush headlong into the Abyss.
The Enlightenment Series
Practical Enlightenment: The aftermath of Kenshō
The End of Forever
Practical Enlightenment: Living in the World
Practical Enlightenment: Processing the emotions of other people
Practical Enlightenment: The vale of tears
I’ve been considering ending it. “I” can’t take anymore. The life I’m living is unsustainable. For too long, “I” have lived beneath my potential, content to wile the days away, knowing that “I” haven’t been doing all that “I” have been capable of doing, living the life “I” am capable of living.
Do you think that I’m talking about actual, physical death? That “I” am suicidal? That “I” am over here contemplating jumping off of a building, or a chair with a rope around my neck? “I” am not. “I” am talking about the death of “Me”. “Me”, and “I”, being the sum of who “You” see. The death of Rahkyt. The death of personality. The death of ego complex as the sum of Being and expression of Self.
Over the past few decades, I’ve come to a sort of peace with a certain part of me that I’ve been a little concerned about. It’s the part of me that knows all of the details of the above, that watches the news to catch the lies and reads the net and continues to delve into the intricacies of power politics, supermoney and the depradations of the global elite.
I love the sweet-science and martial arts, the perfect kick or punch delivered in the heat of competition causes my heart to pound and muscles to twitch in resonation with those of the puglists and warriors. Although I don’t partake in sports or watch them regularly the heart of competition, of martial fervor still flames deep inside of me, to be brought to the fore in those moments and occasions that are familiar to us all, when certain buttons are pressed, triggers released. The deep, calming breath of movement that suppresses fight or flight, allowing the mind and spirit to bear upon the matter circumscribes the internal movement of energy, controlling it, often repressing it until its usage is truly necessary. The ability to make that decision rather than being controlled by the emotions is a skillset developed consciously, over a lifetime.
I’ve come to the conclusion that my ‘soldier’s heart’ is an expression of the core of me. Who I am. A protector. I’ve always taken up for those smaller than me, spoken out for like-minded groups and those who could not speak out for themselves, even before I knew that this was an unpopular mode of Being. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I had no one to stick up for me when i was younger and being bullied, but since I’ve been this way since before that time period I rather think that it predates that time of my life. I’m the kind of guy that runs toward the gunshots not away. Who’ll reach out to help someone get up, rather than walk on by them. Who feels the tug and the involuntary twitch of a hand moving toward a pocket or wallet when someone asks me for spare change. Who smiles at anybody’s baby and feels an almost irrestistable urge to volunteer for something if nobody else does.
If you are my ‘old friend’, that means that, out of the thousands of people that I have known, that we have been brought back together across time and space and have, against all odds, reawakened a connection that was real at one time and that is real now in the sense of hearts reconnected, lives once again lived in tandem, even if we don’t see each other or are half a world apart. If you are my ‘new friend’, that means that, out of the billions of people in the world, we have been brought together across time and space and have, against all odds, awakened a connection that is real in the sense of hearts connected, lives lived in tandem, even if we don’t see each other or are half a world apart.
Give me your love and I will give you mine. Let me be a part of your life and you will be a part of mine. There are no accidents, which means that you and I are meant to be. Our friendship, our connection is real, no matter how deep or how shallow. Your perusal of this blog, your casual messages saying hello are Letters to the Void, eternal communications between you and I that speak to our deeper connection, our agreement before life to engage upon this path and interact for a certain time in a certain place for a certain reason.
Moral Relativity: In philosophy, moral relativism is the position that moral or ethical propositions do not reflect objective and/or universal moral truths, but instead make claims relative to social, cultural, historical or personal circumstances. Moral relativists hold that no universal standard exists by which to assess an ethical proposition’s truth; it is the opposite of moral absolutism. Relativistic positions often see moral values as applicable only within certain cultural boundaries or in the context of individual preferences.
How is the jump made, from bad to evil? Usually without us being consciously aware of it. From understanding that different people have different goals, different lifestyles have different outcomes, different nations have different ways of life, to believing that another person, lifestyle or nation is bad is part and parcel of the human condition, of prejudices held against those we perceive as different from us, be it cultural, ethnic, racial or, as is more prevalent, the entire trifecta. Human xenophobia is based upon fear of difference and such a basic human response is easily exacerbated by power-brokers seeking to divide populations for their own purposes.
The gift of language has been a boon and a burden for Humanity. In Jewish, Christian and Islamic theology, when humans built the Tower of Babel that reached unto the sky and threatened the Heavens, their punishment was the destruction of the tower and the imposition of multiple languages. G-d segregated humankind so that they could never again challenge His supremacy. Through language, humanity has been able to split the atom and write peace treaties, express love, hate, write amazing literature and sing heart-rending songs. The very essence of life is revealed through shared experience that is passed from person to person in writing or through the spoken word. The separation of the material from the spiritual, of necessity, results in a failure to communicate clearly. An impossibility of communicating clearly, without the effects of cultural biases coming into play, as well as the individual ability to interpret information, words, according to her or his own personal knowledge base. Interpreting these words in the context of their usage becomes paramount. Who is using the term? Who or what are they applying it to? Are they speaking to greater spiritual concerns, or the outcome of worldly power plays? Do the personal or collective characteristics of those claiming to be on the side of Good correspond to the generally accepted ideals of what is good? Or are they of a different, and more base sort:
I think that, by the time that, in the Star Wars Prequel ending,Revenge of the Sith, Anakin Skywalker murdered his wife, Padme, and faced his old Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, he was well aware that his good intentions had fallen by the wayside long before. The results of his actions did not correspond to the beauty and lawfulness of his words. Rhetoric serves well until the resultant actions bear visible and undeniable fruit. Simplicity then, in such instances, is the result of complex forces brought to bear through all aspects of creation at the micro and macro scale. It is in the analysis, though, that this complexity must be interpreted through a spiritual lens and the resultant interpretation made.
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