It’s early morning at a Virginia Beach cottage I rented. I can hear the ocean faintly in the background as I drift in and out of sleep. My dog Maddy lies at my feet on the floor breathing cyclically. The rise and fall of her chest soothe as the sound of the waves, gently lapping in their natural rhythm. I awaken. My schedule is strange. I awaken when I arise and sleep when I fall.
Sometimes I sleep four hours other times six. Usually five. My time is spent contemplating the nature of reality. It is all that I have ever done and all that I will ever do. I would love to say someone made me this way, but I cannot. It is truly just what I am. The nature of existence, of self-reflection is all that there is. Awareness of the fact that you exist. This God-Presence is the state of knowing. I can and will go further, but this entry is not the place. It suffices to say however that when you are silent and at peace, comfortable, then you will know.
Today I spend that time on the beach chasing Maddy, or swimming or walking. Even helping my best friend clean out the emotional detritus of a life well-lived. When I decided to store my excess books and art and technical tools at her place I knew that I might be doing a cleanse. Little did I know that I would have a second opportunity to perform the work she so lovingly has on me.
She has provided unconditional love of the angry screaming premature baby that fought out of his mother’s womb forty years ago. That tiny 3.5 pound child that savages would say a mother has a right to murder today. I was two months early with no Caesarean section. I fought my way out into my dad the delivering doctors hands. Now the darkness has grown so strong that our so called thought leaders say that this child is an infection, a parasite. This is evil that a being designed to love and nurture all that it finds murders the greatest creation that she can contribute.
Alas, this woman has patiently tolerated verbal cries and abuse as I finish my final stages of birth outside the body. Like all women, she picked up where my mother left off. Like all men I pick up where her father did. No one knew how to help her to clean up the debris that men leave in your life as they stomp their way through the grapes of your vineyard, cultivating the drink of your soul, a nectar so rich and sweet that it could never be called a mere wine – with a finish so tart it could never be termed Ambrosia.
It is in this way that I have driven her emotionally, physically and spiritually to seek new heights. She is going to her Initiation at the Ashram, of her own accord. This is a success for all of us. For each soul purified and restored is another light reflecting back the pure light of God. An angel. Spiritual Spring, after the long cycles of spiritual winter, where nothing grew. Now every thought, word and deed become real, not only in our own mind but reflected clearly in the thoughts words and deeds of others. Even matter itself vibrates back our song.
Hari Om – Namaste
Om Namah Shivaya