Scurrying up the Mountain

On final analysis, in the turning the head back, the path suddenly looks easy and simple. Like the spot where I thought was a massive cliff overhanging where I gripped with my nails fearing for my very existence was only a small boulder. I simply had to walk up and over. Perhaps I am a little high now and lack appropriate memory, seriousness and fair judgement. Perhaps I am drunk on the beauty and all that came before can only seem small in comparison. It does not feel like an end more like a beginning. And I cannot claim what many have called awakening. I am simply in a place where I can see long distances and the vision isn’t easily interrupted.

I also know that had someone attempted to explain, as many did, this simplicity and ease I would not have and did not comprehend. I remember the agonies were some of the most beautiful part of the journey. At other places I am rolling on the floor inside my belly, as I recall myself clinging to the small boulder with the terror that this was my ultimate death.

And it has been said many times and as simply as it can be said. That what is seen external to the self is the mirror. That all the anger and the conflict and the wars and the pain and the separation are your inner space. That much of the self has been denied. There is an internal war of the many aspects attempting to regain territory with any means possible. An example of this may be when you are approaching something of juice perhaps a new lover and a thought moves through as quick as the wind spirits move through the trees. You cannot tell the direction from whence it came. And it says nay not you, you don’t have this or that and you feel yourself become small and contracted against the moment. And in that space a repressed aspect has had a victory and gained more ground. The conflict continues as you attempt to take that ground back.

It never occurs to one to perhaps make friends and recall the many aspects we refuse. It does not occur to you because as you look in the places where you have dumped these aspects you see only darkness, and badness and what some may even call evil kadevil. You see all the things that if you ever called them back no one would ever talk to you ever again ever ever. And so you rush towards the light, the light of what you know, and stay busy in what you know, and insist on it, and fight for it, and talk of beauty and light and goodness, all the while avoiding these places that hold the mystery the key to your being.

Until one day after the many journeys down the light paths, you turn forward, and say perhaps I forgot something in the places of darkness. Something vital, something that one must have to travel into the journey. And so you gather your courage and your candle, which immediately blows out as you enter and you stumble and crack against some edge that makes you bleed. Finally there is no turning back; perhaps you meet your death in these dark places; perhaps you remain forever lost wondering in the darkness but still you cannot go back.

In these places of darkness you meet the refused aspects and they have many guises. Often they are not pretty at first glance as you meet your long lost sexuality, your denied madness, your suppressed rage, your overlooked pain and the goddess so many eons refused. And I will not talk here how this place may appear, as this is your journey and cannot be shared much less repeated.

However, I can say that on the other side of through you will meet wholeness and inside of that the clamouring voices fall into silence that is not a hearing but a being. And you may look with accusation at this new space but it will simply meet your accusation with a raised eyebrow; I have been here all along.

Namaste
Shima