Got a mind full of questions and a teacher in my soul

I have this idea fishing that I do each night when I go to sleep and I seem to have a huge catch of fish (ideas) but somehow when the net comes up ( I wake up) , most of the fish slip through the net. How many of us are in foxhole partnerships? We sit in the foxhole as the bombs go off a few hundred yards away clutching at the person with us and we derive meaning from the shared identity and security in their grasp, knowing that we can’t be hit by the German bullets like the innocent 18 year old’s in World War 2.  It is safer in the foxhole, it is also a paralyzing feeling.

How must the thousands of 17 and 18 year olds in Vietnam and in France, Germany in WW2 have felt as they ran into the crossfire?  Spilling their blood and guts, being blown to pieces for political plots of control and world domination, before many even had sex, or could buy porn.   I wonder if we could go into the realm of the souls that have passed on and speak to these boys and compile a list of all the last minute thoughts before they bled out, or as the bullet exited the back of their head, if these last minute realizations might have a common thread.  As in they saw that death was an illusion or that they were never really apart from anyone?  Or maybe regret flooded their essence for going to war?

I came from a void, I came from pure divine creative energy, so what I do, my life, is already a work of art.  It is just a matter of expressing it, funneling it out of you in some way or through one channel or medium or another. You don’t create art, you are art.

Sit quietly and go on an internal tour of your mind, no, more like a stationary tour where you just sit still and these rushing sensations, thoughts, old structures of ego and roles start to float and flurry and whizz by you.  What I am learning about my mind and its contents, is that I am a hoarder of epic proportions.  I stockpile old memories in my mind until I am unable to move and am suffocating, (mostly shameful ones) and I don’t want to let them go.  I want to pack them up in every last inch of my bedroom in my mind, so there is not even a foot to walk around.  Like the crazy cat lady who doesn’t leave the house.

But when I pass the threshold where I can see the sparks flying in a sitting meditation, which can take a very long time, I am aware of the fact that these once seemingly immovable memories are still static, they are still somehow fluid and changing, and subject to change.  The very fabric of old memories through my re-interpretation of them, is malleable every time I recall them.  So while in a deep meditation, is it that I am essentially traveling back to that time and healing that version of Peter? Sending him my love because I still carry the pain and the heart always remembers.  I cried the other day in a meditation and I had absolutely no clue why, was it a future version of me mourning the loss of a future relationship?  Were my spirit guides were sending down a warning flare? Or was it simply an old repressed painful memory from when I was a very young child and could not remember on any conscious level?  Or was it simply an expression of heartfelt love and gratitude bubbling up from the deep down in my heart?   I don’t know, I just know it feels good to cry, like it feels good to work out, or sweat out toxins in a sauna or get an endorphin rush in a long run, escaping the radioactive and volatile thought cauldron in my head.  Emotions need to be released and expressed, whatever they are, they are all equally beautiful.

It’s such a paradox isn’t it?  That the only way through the anxiety and restlessness of the mind, is through complete stillness and presence with the fireworks show that is your thoughts.  That only through full inhabitance of your body and presence with the tornado of anxious thoughts, can one get down to the still core essence.

It is such an ironic thing, if I have a profound or productive meditation session that goes one or two hours, I always think, this is like coming home after being separated and estranged from my heart and soul.  That I could spend a few hours in silent darkness and reach a level of such inner bliss and joy and see creative ideas forming in my mind, more than any party or sex, or companionship could reach.  It’s a different kind of companionship, to be in love and in full acceptance of your divine nature, nothing comes close to that kind of bliss.  Meditation is like polishing the mirror so I can see myself more clearly and shed all these imaginary roles and the emotions projected onto me by others that are insecure.  I shed more programming of Western Ideals every time I sit down.  These muscles of my consciousness get better at loosening the strangle hold on my ego based perception.  So it is like a reverse working out, its like strengthening my ability to let go of things in the external world, like a strengthening through weakening and learning to continually release the illusions of this world.

Is it just me that I’ve been running from my whole life? My soul just wanted to be heard, to be fed and nourished with the silent frequencies of our loving source field or earth and the cosmos.  Meditation practice for me, is like inviting these old versions of me to come back, to give them a hug, tell them we were never truly apart, it was only an illusion.  We are always united, together, synced: soul, mind, body, spirit, source field.   Every external distraction in my life has served to keep me distant from the calls coming from within.

Buddha nature is striving (or not striving) to have this child-mind, accepting that I know nothing, I am nothing, yet I am everything.  I own nothing, yet I am every living thing.

Vision: such a peculiar phenomenon.  That eyeballs, when you open them, can transmit this entire picture, this movie that is playing in your mind, this fairy tale land of color and objects, sensation. Where is this vision, or picture, of moving reality, sensory perception originating?  Is it sitting right there on your eyes? Well, no, it is being created by the brain on a second to second basis, or is it housed in a larger supercomputer of a unified source field?  We have so much less free will by the sheer power of these evolutionary supercomputers we call consciousness, that originates, maybe only from a tony fraction of brain function.  The brain deludes and yanks you towards survival and simplification more than it clarifies anything.

The more I get immersed in the nothingness and blankness and absence of form in the dark of the back of my eyelids closed and silence, the more I realize that what I perceive in the external world is a projection, it is a creation of my mind.   Nothing, inherently possesses form or essence, it is simply a more dense coagulation of molecules and atoms: my hand, the air, the desk, the tree, the TV. These are all just different expression of form, which are essentially formless, our mind constructs parameters within visual sensory capacity, the form is influenced and shaped, in a way by our brain’s preferences, aversions.   The thousands of wheels in the evolutionary machine are turning at every millisecond.

How will I mine my soul today? How will I dig through the gunk, the seemingly painful nerve endings, I must hit while I dig down to get to the diamonds.   A diamond needs to go through the melding forces of fire and rough gauntlet to become a diamond. Nothing worth doing is easy.

I know, now, that my soul, knows my path, my deepest self, knows exactly what is in the cards for Peter’s highest path.   The task now is just deprogramming the mountains, the valleys, the canyons, the quick sand, the barren lands of my protective layers of resistance, all of the synthetic patterns learned from society.  What lessons does my soul want to teach me by incarnating in this body, at this time in history, around these people?

When I can dig and get deep into these I will eventually see that my soul, my intuition always knew exactly what to do.  I think the strengthening the trust in my heart started when I had 3 mushroom trips in a 6 day period and slept in a cabin in the wilderness by the ocean with no technology or phone contact.  The mushrooms reminded me that I am a beautiful soul and that I should never neglect that I need love from myself first and foremost, more than anyone, in doing so, they nudged me to wake up from the hazy sleepwalking through life I have been doing.

Meditation is like navigating the maze that is your core, but also finding that the core is powered by luminous roots that are powered by limitless currents of divine energy.  Although deep down in your subconscious, you know exactly how to get out of the maze but at the conscious level you don’t.  It’s like the way they do Psychology experiments with priming, flashing a single word on a screen and then subconsciously swaying a future decision a few minutes later.  The word Black will register below conscious awareness, and then influence your selection on the next question of a picture of a black, white, spanish, person.  You think the advertising execs aren’t wizards of subconscious programming by now?   We aren’t humans to them, we are machines to be programmed and primed to buy certain things.

I woke up feeling cleansed, mentally, my body needed the medicine of sleep, so the higher dimensional magic could work on me in my 10 and half hours of sleep.  I had a cathartic conversation with a family member in my dream.  I think my subconscious, or higher dimensional self is starting to hear my intentional calls and requests during meditation and quiet moments.

I release you in love.  I release you in love Melissa.  I release you in love, popularity.  Come home Peter, you are welcome here, past selves that I attach shame to, and carry.  I allow myself to be alone and realize that strong pull of attachments can lead me to doubt my own power of love to sustain myself.  

Concerning my writing: do I believe that what I have to say , must come out, do I believe in the substance and necessity of my message? Do I believe the unique prism of perception granted to me by my creator has value for others?  If I believe that in my soul, then all the other things can fall in place after that.

I sat in a meditation group that I go to on Thursday nights, the night of the partial solar eclipse, new moon.  A kid sat next me, a 16 year old, fidgety, awkward, video-game playing, disobedient, moody, seemingly angry,  kid.  I felt immediate aversion to him as soon as I walked in the room and, about it being a sacred space and thought his energy would fuck it up.

As the hour progressed, we chanted mantras, breathed deeply, called in divine energy.  I felt heaviness, I felt an uncertainty and a nervousness and fear in my chest, an uneasiness, it was pronounced by my agitation towards the teenage kid sitting next to me.   I felt my crown chakra vibrate and tingle, energy seemed to be swooping in and out, it was being opened for something to come in.  Did it want to unlock my heart more? As the heaviness came upon me, I realized I had to relax and let it in, what was it trying to teach me?

The uneasiness and tightness seemed to crescendo up into a climax at which time I finally said ok, come in darkness, envelope me, swallow me, I surrender, teach me. The tears began to flow, I began to sob, it seemed this kid was me in high school in a way, it was why I had such a strong revulsion towards him.  This crying and facing down the darkness was just my past self, the shame filled, awkward, high school Peter wanted to be welcomed home and accepted for who he is.  This kid was just the outward manifestation of a past self of mine. Source wants me to feel his sadness and integrate it into my heart, to see myself in him.  To see that I have been uniquely armed to reach out to this kid, having been through it.  This old Peter doesn’t want to be locked up anymore, where he is polluting my heart pathways, he wants to merge with the present, future, and higher spirit me.

On bended knee is no way to be free
Lifting up an empty cup I ask silently
That all my destinations will accept the one that’s me
So I can breath

Circles they grow and they swallow people whole
Half their lives they say goodnight to wive’s they’ll never know
Got a mind full of questions and a teacher in my soul
So it goes

Don’t come closer or I’ll have to go
Holding me like gravity are places that pull
If ever there was someone to keep me at home
It would be you

Everyone I come across in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering
But I’m never what they thought
Got my indignation but I’m pure in all my thoughts
I’m alive

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere
Underneath my being is a road that disappeared
Late at night I hear the trees
They’re singing with the dead

Leave it to me as I find a way to be
Consider me a satellite forever orbiting
I knew all the rules but the rules did not know me

-Eddie Vedder, Guaranteed


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