If speaking with humans means me being tired and sick then maybe it’s animals, trees, rivers and rocks that I am called to work with instead. That’s what came to me yesterday. That’s where I’m at right now. Wondering what will come next.
And if it is animals, how does that equate to ‘working’? is the first question that arises. While the immediate reply is, as it always does… through what-is presenting itself now and every moment as a draw to pay attention in a particular way. So I wait.
With action-ready stance and heavy-headed heart, I stand at the foot of now, hopeful, breached by what will come-to-pass.
Contribution Regret, I think I’ll call it, or maybe Participation Rue. Any way I describe its headline there’s a remorse at having opened my mouth for some community gathering or another and it pains me not to be able to erase myself from the map of all that is… and yet, I’m completely at home with that.
I’m not sure I want to fix that feeling of regret. Nor do I feel to change anything at all or seek out what needs healing in all that. Nope, I’m pretty okay with just having the feeling, ‘I feel stupid, please erase me from your memory and start again’.
Is that strange? I don’t know. All I can say for sure is that being the exception to the rule or the fly in the ointment (as I described myself on this particular call this morning^) is a pretty normal experience for me. If that’s meant to be something to heal or a problem to fix, I’m unaware of that and, more importantly, so not interested in pursuing it down that unhelpful, raggedy rabbit hole.
It is what it is until it’s not.
^via Zoom a la Ram Dass’s 21-Day Cookbook for a Sacred Life Course
Somehow I feel like if I have it all written down then it will make more sense and may even have a bigger impact on my everyday life. But even when I do get part of the process done there’s too much to remember in one go or too much to be able to recall everything I think I need to know in any one moment.
In any one moment, I may only need to recall the name of an author or a specific term from an academic paper. But even that seems beyond me, at times. At times, I can go from nothing in my way to absolute zero recollection and the only thing that appears to change is the people around me.
Of course, it can’t be that. It can’t be the people who are causing the lack of recall. They have no power over me or my memory function so there must be something else going on. What is it? What is it that happens or what is it that changes between the times I can remember what I need to know in any one moment (in order to answer the question being asked) and the times I go blank (in conversation about the very thing I know I have in my memory store)?
That’s as far as I get with the logical, linear approach to math; that is, to knowledge and wisdom and analysis. After that it gets weird. Or should I say it gets less W.E.I.R.D. — Western Educated Independent Rich & Democratic — and more elemental… More my mind and less the mindset of rich white male thinking (white-thinking, for short).
White-Thinking: Everything logical and linear that passes through past-present-future contexts and requires a means to an end, can live here. Anything that has the quality of distinction between concrete items, events and agents, makes sense here. So my thoughts versus your choices versus this exchange versus the outcome. Both the subject and the noun are concrete. The action, the actor and the network constructed to bind them, epistemologically and directly, are all real here, in white-thinking.
Elemental Landscape: Experiences or sensations are portionally visual in nature and cannot be expressed accurately with labels such as good, fine, happy or melancholy. They cannot be contained by pointing to words such as cold, inside, thinking or negative. Experiences are felt as whole being moments and can be expressed in imagery such as busy cityscape for loud moments, and grey sunken objects for distance-from sensations.
As you can see, the switch from logical-linear to elemental is quite dramatic. Except that it’s not. It’s the most natural thing ever that happens all on its own. One minute I’m following the thought, ‘What is it that happens or what is it that changes between the times I can remember what I need to know in any one moment (in order to answer the question being asked) and the times I go blank (in conversation about the very thing I know I have in my memory store)?‘ and the very next moment I have fallen down the rabbit hole.
A picture arises. A sense of its proportion pans out to reveal a larger scope. There is birdsong and the echo of old voices repeating significant phrases. I am reminded of something that seems unconnected and before I have the chance to arrange it all in any logical-linear way, I am given a sensation. It envelops me in itself and there is nothing else going on. I become real to it. We travel together down the road and up the mountain towards its peak. Eventually, I forget altogether what it was like to be me without this sensation and I am consumed by it.
Everything seems real from within its grasp. So real in fact that I do not realise I am held in its grip. There is a flourish of struggle before we reach the tip. A sense of being overwhelmed by its universe. Of being wanton of something beyond its perspective. I am resistant. This becomes palpable and I feel it being expressed through me; through my tears, my pain, my exhaustion and believing it will never be any other way.
I am surrendered to it. And, as that occurs, there is another universe of hurt that opens up to me, to my experience of this sensation holding me in its grip. This new universe is adjacent to the old. It lives on a separate plane, on another mountaintop, not ready to be alone.
My surrender is cooking me from the inside. It makes the sensation all the more raw and I am forgotten. There is only this… pain, this… overwhelm. I become the pain. I am the overwhelm. These things are no longer happening to me, I am experiencing them directly. There is nothing to fight b/c I do not exist beyond their realm. So I just feel.
There is an entire adventure that unfolds in this space, on this mountain. Each time I go there it is different and since I cannot recall ever being there before, each time is a new experience and I am remade all over again. I live the lifetime of someone as this sensation. I exist there for as long as it takes, for as long as it needs for me to be there in this place of misery and heartbreak and joyless release. In complete abandon. I do not endure b/c there is nothing outside of what is transpiring. I simply experience.
Without realising where I am, eventually, at some magical point in the process, I find I have cascaded down the mountain. The dark, steely, slick, cold, wet, sheer edge reveals itself and reminds me of a far distant hope. I breathe. There is movement. I revisit the initial question, ‘What is it that happens or what is it that changes between the times I can remember what I need to know in any one moment (in order to answer the question being asked) and the times I go blank (in conversation about the very thing I know I have in my memory store)?‘ and find that I am nearing a black pool of water at the base of the mountain.
It’s difficult to trace my steps back to see how I got there. I can make out the entry point and some of my travelling but mostly it’s a shimmer. What remains is a sense that the answer to my query is the same as any other and it exists in the watery depths of the void. There is no other reason. There is no other explanation to be calculated. There is just this.
Even questions of why I needed to travel through such an all-encompassing sensation to get to the void, are the same. It is. There’s no story about how I’m integrating or explanation about moving from lower to higher expressions of energy. It’s an automatic process that begins when I ask a question and ends when I find that dark pool again. That’s it.
Sometimes I wish it was more complicated or at the very least that it was cocooned in a cool easy-to-package offering that I could sell on Kajabi, but it’s not. I am what I am and it is how it is.
On Days That I Don’t Feel I Have Anything To Offer
… I just have that feeling. I just keep going into and onto whatever else is showing up for me to keep going onto and into. It’s not some special trick to get to some special state of awareness or energy that suddenly lifts me out of it. It’s just what I do.
It’s true that at some point in the day I do feel differently and that at several points during the day I experience something else, something other than feeling I have nothing to offer — like when I was making the bed with my husband and he made me laugh, and when we were hanging out in the backyard enjoying the winter sun watching the cats be fooligans. But I don’t do those things to make myself feel better. I’m not reaching for something else when I move into those spaces and be in those scenes. Instead, I’m sitting in how I am and noticing how it wants me to be, allowing how I am to guide my very mode of existence. I’m always just following its lead like a leaf in the breeze.
That’s not a very acceptable mode of being – living like a leaf in the breeze – either with spiritual leaders or people with mystical understanding. At least not with the people I have encountered so far. They tend to react with aghast to my expressing the fact that that’s how I operate, telling me in no uncertain terms that I can’t simply roam about letting the now dictate where and who and how I should be. I need to have a goal, to be self-directed in some way and for whatever reason, I don’t argue with them. Engaging with that level of conversation has never felt like what I’m meant to do.
I’m more inclined to close up, to take to my own corner to sort through that on my own and to leave interaction for following their lead down the rabbit hole of whatever is coming up between us. That’s easier. It’s easier than trying to think on my feet and come up with all the reasons that make sense to them about why I do what I do. It’s easier, certainly, than blundering about in conflict with their way of being or worse still being compliant.
Living out loud is great once I know what I think and who I am and I don’t have any qualms with that but otherwise, it’s best to be silent, to go my own way and not raise too much fuss. That way I can slip under the radar and I don’t have to deal with two worlds; one of uncertainty and one of not-knowing. The second of which I can deal with just fine as long as nobody hassles me in the first. If I have to fend off discord in the first, in the world of other people’s way of being looking down on me, then the whole thing collapses into a bloody mess. If I can avoid raising any flags then I can manoeuvre about in the world of not-knowing through thick and thin totally invisible and completely unnoticed. That’s where I’d like to stay; out of sight. Of course, that’s not what happens.
Inevitably, I am drawn into the drama of everyday life where money and egos live. I have to fend for my way of being and that of my family. Our unconventionality. Our lack of social mores. Our energetic sufficiency. Our acceptance and integration of what’s new and now.
Just to be clear, I am aware there is only one world; the world of already now. My experience of getting hassled is part of that. I am being looked down upon as part of that. Money is included. Mediation between the conscious and unconscious is an aspect of the one world. The two worlds are being expressed by people in interaction — real estate agents, at job interviews, over the Internet, with family, on the street, in neighbourly conversation. I’m raising flags in their feedback and watching life collapse into a bloody mess through their assumptions. That’s not how I’m seeing it in the moment. It’s what I’m being told is happening by actual people in my life.
It’s also the story being told about me. It’s just not the story I’m telling. The story I’m telling has nothing to do with other people. Not even the ones who believe what I believe. It’s not about consensus. It’s not about convincing anyone of my worth or of my truth, especially my version of the truth of what’s really going on. Instead, it has another agenda in mind. I have no idea what that is. Most of the time I’m following blindly whatever instructions I’m being given and completely trusting those to go where they need to go. However it pans out, I’m all in. Always have been. Even on days when I feel like I have nothing to offer. Even then I’m just following the instructions and doing what I’m told. Even then.
There is a circle of /doubt/ that occurs sometime after a speaking of my truths. Usually lasting between ten minutes and twenty-three hours and, in that time, I AM “integrating dissonance” as Kenneth may say, or “triggered to be the source of my coordinate energy or energies,” as Ronda might explain it. My language is a little different.
My reality is a little different, too; but the context of my experience is often un.welcome within those two spaces – Divine Navigation and the Resonance Institute. They have their thing. They know their stuff. Comparashooting in with my story gets me thrown off the pottery wheel and flung into/onto my own version of mastery and resonance, respectively.
Which is fine. I’m not claiming a problematic dynamic. I’m talking about how this is perfect. I’m sharing, in words, in my own language, how this is all part of my process of being / alive.
With Kenneth, the call happens. The chastise happens. The excitement of being able to speak into my own truths happens. The circle of doubt happens. Coming full circle into the nature of all-that-is happens.
Or, at least, these things appear to happen. I’m unconvinced they actually happen. I’m inclined to believe that they seem to be what’s going on. For me, what’s really going on cannot be put into words or understood in terms of events and people and their ideas and actions. Put simply, what’s going on is what’s going on.
Anyway, the fruit for me is also in being able to establish my connection with another version of the story; Kenneth’s version, say, where the call happens, his advice happens, my call to resonance happens, my dissonance and integration process happens, and a new level of integrated resonance is experienced.
Broken down into stages, it looks like this:
Kenneth: Teaching. Integration. Resonance.
Ronda: Training. Triggers. Mastery.
Me: Following instructions (which includes – Listening. Sensing. Allowing. Recognition.).
Reception. That’s the biggest portion of my experience. Receptive expression. Receptive listening. Receptive sensation. Receptive allowing. Receptive recognition. Except I’m not consciously aware of choosing these things, I’m doing them automagically, and have been since I was born (and before!).
Image 4PQRM3rHh1I by Natalia Sobolivska | Unsplash
It’s so funny thinking about it… in “the world”.
For instance, Integrated Resonance is the definition of my North coordinate and it’s also the goal or activity of focus for Kenneth’s Resonance Institute.
The two seem to tie together in the strangest of ways. Plus their tie to me, just as strange, has to do with surrender and allowing things to be which are also concepts explored through the structures of the Resonance Institute AND my divine coordinates as expressed through an identification session with a Divine Navigation coach.
Why I say strange
Strange to think I’m identified as the experience of allowing in my approach to life (the South coordinate is about how you approach the world), and that I operate by way of surrender as a cosmological centre (surrender is the key to embodiment and integration as a practice of the first three stages of consciousness), and yet neither allowing nor surrender fully encapsulates what I go through in my approach or practice. And, stranger still, neither allowing nor surrender are accepted as modes of operation within the dominant structures of either the Resonance Institute or Divine Navigation.
It’s as if you can be you as long as you don’t poo-poo on the rug of constitutional functionality.
To be clear, I am not poo-pooing the practices. My instructions have led me to them for a reason and I find them incredibly useful prompts within my own allowing. Nor am I poo-pooing the people, Kenneth and Ronda, who I admire deeply and feel supported by in many complex ways including directly as teachers. What I am doing is allowing what comes in, what comes up for me, in the moment where I live/exist as whatever I AM, to flow into conversation with Kenneth and into practice with Ronda and noticing my instructional data on how my presence is received.
I am allowing what appears to happen. What appears to happen is what I say out loud on the live call with Kenneth. What appears to happen is how I operate with the practices of Divine Navigation Mastery. What appears to happen is what I hear Kenneth say in response to my sharing. What appears to happen is what I bring back into the circle with Ronda on the group coaching calls. And so on. Whatever is appearing to happen, I am allowing.
Allowing is everything. It’s the cascade truths, it’s the natural surrender state, it’s inclination and intuition and more than. Everything starts here — from allowing.
Allowing Divine Navigation Mastery
Hope. Essence. Allowing. Divine Connection. This is the proper order of people who normally engage with their coordinates. I’m no different in many ways. I fill with possibility, expanded by my unique luminescence, accepting the fluidic expression of my experience in divine connection, in order to blossom in sacred space. The only exception is how I come to those energies and how those energies communicate through me.
Divine Navigation is based on wounds and healing through coherence and alignment, ultimately leading to mastery. The ideas dominant in my approach of allowing, don’t identify wounds or healing. They focus upon what-is as perfect. They let what-is lead. They leave out the story of Why (the cause) and leave off before a conclusive benefit (the outcome). They don’t need either a cause or a benefit to operate. They trust what-is implicitly.
I can’t rate Despondency as a lower energy than Hope.
I don’t need a divine motivation “outcome” to engage with the practices.
My instructions are not about finding something better.
My insight is unconcerned with labelling in duality.
When I hear the Divine Navigation story of how the world is heading toward a planet populated by people who are aligned with their divine coordinates and that’s what makes our experience one of heaven on Earth… I get the equivalent of a blank stare from my insight voice. It goes quiet and gets still. It doesn’t move me in any particular direction and doesn’t have anything to say. Its only reflection feels like, “Well, you know, that is what it is, I guess”. Not very convincing either way.
The same happens when I’m told lifting to the higher resonant frequencies of my divine coordinate spectrum energies will take me into an experience of my divine coordinate itself, my soul’s ultimate calling, and propel me into my true divine life purpose. There’s no kick for me. No hook. No incentive to strive and reach any higher-level outcome or bigger purpose-driven existence. Anything beyond this moment in these instructions is of no consequence. In fact, it falls on deaf ears; silent and unmoved.
Allowing the Resonance Institute Stages of Consciousness
Stages one through four. This is the proper delineation normally expressed in a person’s discovery of the stages of consciousness. Again, I am no different in many ways. I experience disempowered and unintegrated (one), empowered and unintegrated (two), whole and unintegrated (three), and union (four) consciousness. The only exception is how I come to those stages and how those stages communicate through me.
The Resonance Institute is based on tipping points, impetus, a glass ceiling, and gifts until those fall away to reveal one’s own divine connection. The cosmology of surrender that operates on me does not register stages of separation. It flows. It has weather patterns and landscapes. It encounters interests and empty rooms. It has moments of allowing exasperation and moments of allowing acceptance and it encounters them both as equal and essential.
The pull to be empowered just doesn’t exist for me. I feel slack on the reins and have no map toward which to point my path. When Kenneth offers to work with me on how to experience the gifts of stages one and two — divine love and divine presence — I get that same blank stare again. That deer in headlights, not moving, no further insight state of awareness-being.
I’m sure it would be fun! I’m certain it would be a powerful(ly) unlocking experience for me. There’s no reluctance or resistance to “change”. There’s no /challenge/ or fear. There’s just no impetus to act on that invitation, and it’s that impetus I’m divined by.
I follow my instructions. I am defined by its data, moment to moment. I have no other integrations to employ. Except for what’s going on, I’m useless, pointless, purposeless and defined(less).
“Called forth into the vacuum left by the movement of all-that-is rearranging itself,” is how I put it to Kenneth on the last Zoom call. His advice was to leave out the context of my sharing. That is, to stop speaking after I have elucidated my experience, and to omit any explanation of how my sense of what’s going on is differing from the Resonance Institute version.
I can do that. I can if I am called forth into the vacuum of that. Otherwise, it’s not really a genuine act, is it? It’s just me being obedient to the human perspective. That’s not gonna happen anytime soon! But that doesn’t mean I won’t be invited to do just that in any given moment yet to present itself. We’ll see.
My homework, from Kenneth’s teaching, is to explore individuated will and to stop following my instructions by whatever means necessary. The idea is percolating, dripping out through universal rays of conscious awareness, following the path of shooting stars, being led into dark rooms and left there to see what happens in some kind of una-vessel experiment.
I feel its presence in my dreamscape, in waking moments of inspiration to seek out Nietzsche’s Will to Power and my own Will to Empower. There’s more to it than I can articulate with any verbal clarity; only the sensation exists. A vital flurry flourishing to no end.
I’m sure this will all come to something for the other people involved — for Kenneth and Ronda and all the people on the calls. I have no doubt it will turn into a meaningful story for them complete from beginning to end. Just as I’m pretty comfortable with the idea that there is only ever the ongoing conversation of what-is, for me.
I knew that it would happen eventually. People would start talking in my language and I would either feel grateful to be alike or annoyed to be sharing the light-space. Right now, I’m feeling a bit of both and everything in between.
I could say that’s mostly b/c the people I’m hearing it from are those I’ve said it to in the past and, now, hearing my words echoed back to me, I’m wondering how they can’t recognise me in that. But that’s simply the door into something bigger to explore.
Feeling the rub and wondering where I am in the recognition is the beginning of a cascade truth. I tumble through the door via the feeling and head down a hallway of options, each one offering to explain what’s going on in terms of “the world” vs. me. Then it stops. I realise where I am, almost as if the hallway itself is beckoning me toward something else, something greater, somewhere foreign or hidden.
Without stepping out of that space at all, I fall. All the hallways coalesce into a single path beneath me. My senses are overcome. It feels real, for a time; and, in that time, my experience of what-is floats above and about things that are not really going on for me but that pass through me the way grief and joy come to inhabit a body so completely there is nothing else, no other space left to occupy.
That’s cogitation, in a way. Except, perhaps, that my expression of self-nigrescent does not occupy the contemplation mind. Instead, there is a full bōgaha occurring; one I call allowing. I am consumed.
— Is it real? Am I actually feeling slighted, feeling used and unseen?
The answer is never close by. The reply comes quickly, in successive bouts of feeling sensation. There is a flurry, then a pause. A moment to be consumed and another to breathe new life into what remains. That is how it happens for me.
I’ve created an online experience for clients and the platform goes through a complete upgrade leaving me to reformat over two years of full-time work. I’m in the middle of downloading a library and their server fails. I’m ordering food on the app and my phone dies. I’m introducing my cat to raw food and he loses his appetite after a day at the vet, poor baby.
So much of my life seems to be spent starting again, reinstituting, redesigning, re-orchestrating, relocating, renaming, revamping, rejuvenating and reinventing. I take it that’s my specialty – starting over. I’ve done it so many times I’m a natural. In fact, I’m not sure there’s a time it didn’t happen. Even my counselling degree was redesigned halfway through and I had to restart somewhere in the middle all over again!
Anyway, it’s not a big deal. That’s just how it is. And, truth be told, I do like starting. There’s so much oomph in it. I get a fresh page or a pile of pre-designed pages that now need to be sorted through and re-hashed. Finding new images, keeping track of downloads and uploads, text, formatting, hyperlinking, and branding. I could live there if you let me; in the starting of things.
Sorting is also one of my secret loves. As long as it’s not officially my full-time job, I’m all in. I don’t want to be somebody’s managing director responsible for all the crap they can’t figure out. Just let me play in the sorting of my world with my toys and my stuff. Folding, sorting, filing, organising, tying bows and making lists. Oh, what joy!
But then I know the thrill of finishing things too. Of printing out a published work and binding it by hand. Of completing an online experience and offering it for sale. Of setting up appointment types ready to be booked by the hour. Of reinventing a backyard for my furry purry drooly boys to enjoy. Of having prepared spreadsheets for tax time and hard drives for storage. Of coordinating month-long, annual, interactive exhibitions for multiple artmakers to connect with their community at large. All of which have their own ambient ring.
Being asked to choose between them is kind of like saying, “Which is your favourite month?” or “whose season do you like best?”. I’m not sure I can answer those questions with any real clarity. I like all of them for their own reasons; b/c each one is fantastic, each one is perfect, each one has its own beauty and splendour and romance. Doesn’t it?
Can one really prefer Winter over Spring? Or January over June? Isn’t every moment sacred, everywhere? Even the crappy, sappy, wish-you-weren’t-here ones? Or is that just me? Am I really the only one who prefers wherever, whenever, we are right now over some idea of later or before? Hmm.
Maybe it’s best for everyone (else) that I don’t participate in the live call or the group discussion.
Maybe it’s better when I don’t say what I have to say which is generally nothing at all to do with what everyone else is going through, and makes me out to be some kind of freakish know-it-already spooner cuddling up to the light while everyone else in the room is spreading out to find space. Anyway, that’s how it feels sometimes. Generally before the show.
Once I’m at the event, I don’t have any narratives going on. I just have what’s going on, going on. But I’m not at the show right now, am I? I’m here, at my desk, with the cats, downloading the group coaching call I missed at 2 AM and wondering about tomorrow’s 2 AM Deep Dive Zoom.
I’m wondering if it’s better for everyone else on the call if I just watch the replay rather than participate and if my wondering has anything to offer. If it has anything to say to me. A message, perhaps.
Just now, a man up Melinda Court starts yelling and swearing. It’s not unusual. Our street is peppered with violent outbursts. Violent angry screaming at wives and girlfriends and babies and dogs. It’s not unusual. It reminds me that anger has been on my mind lately. A theme running through my veins.
It came up with the last Divine Navigation Mastery group coaching call. Another replay. Something about sinus congestion being related to anger. Then, when I looked up more of my ‘conditions’ I found more anger. A little depression, deceit and rejection of the self, but mostly anger.
I was watching Vikings Valhalla, watching my ancestors getting slaughtered and corrupted in Jesus’ name, and that anger came back to me. I realised just how much my rejection and scepticism of biblical Christianity has to do with its onslaught against my bloodline. A bloodline I do not really associate with until it reaches as far back as the Druids, the Vikings, the Mongols, and Slavic “black-gypsies” or Roma.
Considering bloodlines are not the biggest influence on my heritage, it’s any wonder I’m only conjured by the strongest emotional-energetic and mystical of all. Plus they are the loudest. Probably b/c of the pain and devotion expressed in their being. An expression very loudly, an awareness, in anger, right now, for me.
Analysis won’t help. The only way through seeking to understand is by way of allowing. I must let the emotional state awash and overtake my now process. That may sound like a choice. The truth is closer to a shift between ignorance and alertness. Until I become conscious that anger is taking over, it continues to show up, in all manner of places; symbolically.
Symbolically, it turns up “internally” a la endo-consciously by way of absorbing-expansion-production related qualia and exo-consciously by way of releasing-relaxing-production related phenomena, as well as “externally” a la anthro-perceptually by way of allo*-coming-variation related events and endo*-psychic-impetus related artefacts and eco-perceptually by way of vision-speaking-communication related visitations.
This is to say it shows up in movies I’m asked to watch, book pages I’m told to read, and on web search results I’m instructed to visit. In dreamscapes, and visions. In oracle card readings and group coaching calls. As the presage of a storm, and the affection of a full moon. It shows up in more and more places as if asking to be invited in so it may do its work, so it may take up its rightful place and be fully at home with me at its centre.
At which point it begins to build sandcastles, that seem as real as any other construct, with mountains and nooks and places to hide, and proceeds to create a convincing reality within its fantasy. All the while, I am drawn into this reality, not always aware of what I am doing; at times, completely forlorn and absorbed in its drama, until near the very end when the sun comes out.
I can’t think of another way to describe it, other than metaphorically. The gloomy mountain and wicked storm are actually how it appears to me, in the moment. I don’t have stories running for the emotions I feel. There’s no human drama playing out. I actually see and feel the cold, wet, mountainside stone and harsh, howling, winds of descent into darkness as anger travels through me.
Anger is the message, in a way. It travels through me as this physical phenomenon and, having been through this space, I have its message. Rather than being a light at the end of a tunnel, my enlightenment is in the dark. There’s no dark night of the soul that reveals a better life. I am instigated to know this anger, specifically, not as a story or as a means to an end but instead as a valuable voice with intentional truths and important wisdoms to share. Most of which cannot be explained as sentiments of human cultural knowings. Indeed, they only make sense symbolically, in the alchemical imagination. And that’s another reason I wonder if it’s better that I don’t show up tomorrow to the Deep Dive Zoom.
All I have to say will end symbolically, in language that does not compute in the circle of those seeking to ameliorate their pain and transmute their knowing into peacefully integrated consciousness while I’m out here, on the edge, wondering how to welcome in the dark stormy night for its own sake, for its true beauty, as its willing subject. Sigh.
I sit at my desk in the wee hours and wonder if I should get out a big sheet of paper to organise out on the page all the disparate parts of my plan. I wonder if I need to figure out in some concrete predictable way how to fit together the domain names – so many domain names – and content – pages and pages in notebook after notebook both virtual and actual – and who knows what else, into some predetermined business goal centred project. Until I remember who I am – the crazy, living on the edge lady. Then I give up wondering if I’m being asked to live like anybody else and I go back to the art of role.
The art of role is the art of not having a specific thing to do; that is, not having an all-the-time goal or doing that determines my fate and gives me a sense of purpose. Instead, I have the moment. It gives me my role. It tells me my purpose. That’s why I say, I have no idea what I’m doing.
There’s no bigger plan for me to follow and bring about change around. No goals to set or wants to achieve that give my life actions a purpose and meaning. Beyond the now and all that encompasses, I have no direction whatsoever and that’s kind of scary sometimes; especially when I’m standing close to the edge between life and death (of the human kind) but I feel no pull to stay. I also feel no pull to go, although it’s awful tempting sometimes to just let it all go and be rid of this effortful plane; which is not the same as actually going, it’s more like wanting to melt into air.
Each day, I end up doing and being, somewhere and something, just not in the way that people understand. And certainly not in a way I can explain to anyone or build a business around. Sigh.
Which is not the goal so I’m not all that worried and yet I keep coming back to that point as if I’m being led to explore it more deeply… for other people? No, that doesn’t seem right. For conversation with other people, maybe? I don’t know. I can’t say. I just keep doing what I’m told and following my instructions and there I am, in the middle of it, being me, with no idea what I’m doing.
