As spiritual understanding moves in an ever-expanding spiral and since this article is the 6th of a series already published, for your convenience, dear Reader, I would like to think that you are reading it in the order in which it has been written.
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“C.C., you do remember that we are looking at things
through our soul's eyes, ken? Yes?” Moriya asked without pausing. “Then,
although these things are here – now, right in front of us, the notion of
*eternity* means that everything has existed from time immemorial.”
When the
moment is karmically ripe, we become suddenly aware of the existence of certain
things, of certain thoughts and of certain symbols. Some call that a ‘ha-ha’ or
a eureka moment, but really, it is not as if these symbolic things have only
just now popped up out of nowhere. They have been there, right under our nose,
from the moment of our birth.
Burleigh
Heads - April 5 – 2008 [revised April, 2009]
The hoop pines on the esplanade, branches
turned up like fingers towards the darkened afternoon sky, sway slowly through
the sea wind.
The sounds I hear through the open windows
of this rented beachfront apartment are those of the rain pelting down; those
of the sea roaring in her pewter grey, pre-storm mode and those made by the
sluicing of car tyres seven floors below. A butcher bird, feet gripped around
the railing of the balcony, is all fluffed up. Beak lifted to the sky, she calls
out a vehement and repetitive two-tone high-pitched warble. What is this bird
saying? To whom is she calling out?
I do know that because of the black and
white of her feathers, this bird is a messenger intended to remind me that, for
what remains of this day and beyond - while my darling and I are holidaying in
this beach resort - I need to make balance a priority. Beyond this, I will never get to know what
else this little butcher bird was calling out.
Well, actually, this is not quite true.
Seven floors above the esplanade = the
elevated position of the 7th Chakra - looking from soul's eyes
A butcher bird = butcher = a person who
sells meat - to kill = the need to curb my/our lower *animalistic* desires of
the flesh
What is this bird saying? = “overcome your
base instincts.”
To whom is she calling out? = to me, of
course, as spiritual messages are always intended for the one who perceives
them. This message, like all others, will be repeated, albeit differently, more
loudly, more painfully until I find a way to act on it.
The bottom line is that while I enjoy our
long walks on the beach, a glass of chilled pinot
gris at our favorite beach cafe and contemplate the pattern of waves
rolling in,
I must also remember the priorities of one
on The Path.
Not long ago, I wrote something to
Moriya about a sunflower on our patio and how beautiful it was with its large
open face fringed by bright yellow petals.
“So much more interesting to me than a rose
all curled up on herself, even if her enduring glam status dates back to
millions of years B.C.”
“C.C., you have to be aware every
minute of every day. Yes, the sunflower is beautiful,” Moriya replied by return
mail, “but you forget the symbolism of this flower.
Keep observing to catch each of her messages. Don’t fall back
into sleep-walking mode. Take your diary with you on the vacation and write
your thoughts, your emotions and experiences.
Bring back all that you notice and we will have a look at it
together. Be awake.”
v
The big deal is that all the
messages, signs or symbols we do not see, little blind
mice
that we are, amount to so many arrows pointing to the “Yellow Brick Road” we
need to be on.
They are the emergency light
pinpoints that line the central aisle of an airplane, the ones intended to
guide us in the advent of a catastrophe.
The spiritual signs of the sort we
are going to explore in this file are as recognizable as the Nazca lines
scarred into the Pampa Colorada of Peru. Assumed to be at least 1500 years old,
they remain an enigma that can only be deconstructed from the air, which is
symbolic of the *elevated* spiritual position our soul aspires for us to reach
… one day.
v
When we are blind to the world of
messages around us, we talk about coincidences, good luck or bad luck, good
days and bad days and we scratch our head wondering why and how we have ended
up in any one particular situation. Maybe we cry,
maybe we shrug, maybe laugh but, as
sure as the moon never sets, we eventually move on and further into something akin to tunnel vision or selective
blindness.
v
We do not see for looking.
We do not SEE the many flags waved at
us and, sure enough, we soon get another opportunity to say, “What the ...” for
it is only by looking through our soul’s eyes – from an elevated position -
that we can create meaning out of our life’s landscape.
v
If the choice is between getting some
sort of understanding as to why things *happen* to us as they do - even in the
absence of total proof - or relying on holy water, crystals and tumble stones,
Feng Shui water fountains, reciting of mantras while driving to work or having
faith in our favorite talisman, pet rock, neighbourhood healer, hermit or quack
- I have made my choice.
v
Messages - in the form of signs and
symbols, names and thousands of words and images - swirl around each and every
one of us, all of the time, in our wakeful moments and in our sleep.
Because these signs are not dramatic
signs such as apparitions or strange
manifestations;
because we, as a civilization, have lost the ability to recognize them, they
remain unnoticed.
v
Our brain recognizes spectacular,
hi-glam, hi-visibility meaningful moments, but our brain simply does not
interpret the mundane and the minute signs embedded in the continuous string of moments that make up our days and our nights -
year after year after year – from birth to death. Yet, like rain drops hanging
precariously off our clothes line side by side, they are connected to each
other; they are tangible and they carry meaning.
v
It is unhelpful to
One evening on my way home, I
was tested on my ability to unconditionally accept what was and I failed the test miserably. Since life is school and
not a vacation club, as Moriya likes to remind me, I understood that I would be
tested again and again until I passed that particular one. The event I am about
to recount happened over six months ago, and I am still being tested on the
same topic; that of unconditional acceptance.
For the record, it is
important to remember that unconditional love [which I now prefer to call unconditional acceptance of What IS since, in our culture, love
often implies some sort of contact and giving of something material] does not
require us to pat or cuddle anyone or to give money. Nor does it require us to
do anything physical for anyone – in any shape or form.
v
Though we usually always
drive into town, on that particular evening, my darling, Myahr, and I decided
to go green and hop on a city train and so we found ourselves in a crowded
compartment.
With me leading the way, we settled on the only two spare seats, not
taking any notice of who was already seated directly across from us until *he*
came into my line of vision.
The man seated by the window
seemed to be in his 50s. He appeared tall and toothpick-thin with a mop of
matted white, very white hair. His
complexion was blotchy pale. His eyes,
though pale blue, were blood shot and rimmed in red.
What initially struck me
about this man were the dingy white shirt, the black suit and the pockets that
bulged with crumpled paper tissues – how
weird, I thought.
What struck me next was how
the man facing me looked like a *fallen* gentleman in his dignified but stained
clothes. Sitting placidly, he reminded me of a dishevelled bohemian aristocrat.
Very quickly, my nostrils
picked up the sweet stench of stale urine. A couple of offended nose twitches
later, I knew the smell emanated from the man.
As is typical of people
seated facing each other in rush-hour train compartments, our knees touched and,
wedged between the window and Myahr, I had no room to move.
I glanced at my partner.
Seating placidly near the aisle, she was looking straight ahead, but I sensed
she was deliberately not returning my look.
Glancing around, I noticed
the various passengers who, lips tight, shook their heads in silent disapproval
of the man - clearly empathising with my predicament.
I didn’t curse that man. I
did not wish him ill. But I certainly wanted to move away from him. I worried
about lice and what weird rashes probably covered his unwashed body. I worried
about what other germs we might be inhaling through such close proximity.
Fair enough, you might think,
but the bottom line is that I did not feel anything near an unconditional
acceptance of him. I tried
to look past the man’s finely chiselled face and the white stubble on his chin.
The
person next to him stood up with a mutter.
I tried to focus on what Moriya had told me earlier about
‘soil garments’.
Such garments on anyone, in this material life, should be
understood as a throw back to my
soul’s past incarnations for she - as that of anyone financially comfortable in
this lifetime - would have been hosted at one time or other by incarnations who
wore the soiled rags of the beggar, the stench of the destitute. Hence the need
to accept the poor and the filthy with a heart that is truly accepting. There
is no need to *embrace* - all that is required of us is an honest,
non-judgemental, peaceful acceptance.
And so I tried to activate some heart chakra energy, but I
simply could not get past the smell. Then again, how can one generate nice
heart energy when one is in a state of stress?
As Oogway says in Kung Fu Panda, "There are no
accidents."
As truly nothing happens gratuitously, instead of being
hypnotized by this man’s physicality, all I had to do was ask myself why I had
been magnetized to that particular spot on the train.
All I had to do was observe this man as my teacher and accept the message he was giving me. Instead, I tried holding my breath for as long as I could.
After fifteen minutes of a thirty
minute journey, I just could not take it any longer. I signalled Myahr and we
went to stand by the doors. Someone muttered something about how homeless folks
should not be allowed on trains and someone else added that such a thing should
not be happening in our city. “Having
to put up with this here! I mean
really!”
v
Strange how this man’s face
and the sweet stench stayed with me for days!
I ended up relating the incident to Moriya who helped me deconstruct
this very symbolic moment.
“Your life is your play, CC, and you have
already written about that,” Moriya began, “So what is the role of this
homeless man in your play?
This is the question and, once you admit
the true answer, such situations will disappear from your stage. For this one scene, your stage was a train
compartment and you already know that a train symbolizes the rise of kundalini
energy, the energy of life. The man’s
appearance with a suit and a white shirt represents the trappings of the mechanical
persona which society respects the most.
The man’s homelessness symbolizes what
spirituality is about - no emotional crutches, no attachment.
The stench is intended to attract your
attention to something that is wrong, not in harmony.
Suppose this man was a regular person with no
stench attached, you wouldn't pay so much attention to him? Of course not. And
yes, you were magnetized to sit right in front of him – not near the aisle like
Myahr. With no room to move, the intention was to force you to see and to feel.
Truthfully, CC, this homeless person gave you a
quality workshop experience that was free of charge. So what are you complaining about?”
Being homeless = symbolically means free from the material clutter
that weighs us down. The more we
possess, the more we want. If not, why aren’t a modest but comfortable home, a
ten year old car that runs well, and a job that covers our basic needs and a
bit more, not considered worth crowing about if we’re past the age of twenty?
Why are so many of us, already comfortable as middle-classers are, aspiring to
have more? Why do the rich keep wheeling-and-dealing to have more?
Why do those who do not own a diamond want one, however
small? Why do those who already have one want another one, and those who
already have a few want a few more? If
your kitchen pantry is as cluttered as mine, I rest my case!
Reality check: how much we own is proportionate to our fear
of losing it; the greater the cost to insure and the deeper the vault in which
we store it, the less we get to enjoy it because of our fear of losing it.
“It’s like for the Crown jewels, CC,” Moriya explained, “We parade fake ones, which in turn is symbolic of the fake love we give ourselves and each other. How can we not understand that unconditional love is the only wealth that we can flaunt and the only one that can never be stolen from us? It is also the only wealth that can keep us healthy.”
Being homeless, or even simply camping, symbolizes freedom
from the compulsion to indulge in ‘thinking’ about all the what-ifs that create
so much anxiety in our daily lives.
I truly believe that it is the myriad of what-ifs that drive
our existence. It is what drives our anxiety and our neuroses.
The pockets that bulged with crumpled
tissues = “CC, this symbolizes all the kish-kushim you carry inside you, like everyone, inside your mind.
It’s all useless and soiled and it needs to be thrown out and yet you hold on
to it as if it was precious to you.”
Yes, Teacher. Guilty as charged.
The symbol of the man’s pockets bulging with dirty tissues
should have acted as a reminder for me to cleanse from within, to make a bigger
dent in my physical and emotional clutter because, as Moriya added with her
usual straightforwardness, “it will start to stink
if you don’t. It will be just like the food left out in the heat.
Sooner or later, it will start to rot. When you
don't flow, when you are not in the moment, when your heart chakra is closed,
your energy is blocked and starts to smell not nice. I mean on the energetic
level, kamoovan.”
Of course.
“Really, when you clean with unclean object,
the dirt won't go away. Correct? So, it means that when you are afraid to open
your heart and do things with pure intentions, you need lessons to teach you
that you need to clean thoroughly before your kundalini can rise. Look at it
this way,” Moriya added. “In the visible world you saw a man wearing a suit
with a lot of dirty tissues in his pockets, ken?
From the limited understanding of your persona, you interpret it as if this man
is trying to look dignified in spite of his being homeless, ken? And you think it's a pity to see a
man like him in such a sad state. But
that’s all you feel.
In the invisible world and in a previous life, this man would have been a rich and dignified person, and he showed his wealth to the world by wearing the best suits of his time. The dirty tissues and his smell also create another message. It says: look, I was a rich man once but I did dirty deeds. Now, I’ve lost my wealth, even my most basic possessions in order to amend in this lifetime and cleanse myself.
He now has to stand naked and at nature's mercy, to amend
and return a little of what his previous incarnation took ruthlessly. But, CC,
as long as such a man stays ‘dirty’ on the inside, feeling sorry for himself,
dreaming of revenge against the god that put him in this situation or of wealth
that was not his to have in this lifetime, relying on alcohol to get through,
he will remain ‘dirty’ on the outside
because things can only shift from the inside
out.
v
Karma does not dump us or
push us into cold water so that we swallow a lot of salty water and suffocate. No, no! From
Soul with Love, karma only sends us what we each need to grow and thrive – what
we need to evolve - not necessarily what we want, or think we need,
which is why our ego-persona, like a child used to getting her way, is not very
fond of Master Karma – the absolute arbiter.
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Kish-kushim = rubbish/nonsense
Kamoovan = of course Ken = yes