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What a week. My first full and well paid back to work week in a while. Then my bank insists I have $800 less than my accountants and I say. My bowels are active. The pains in my left arm make me distinctly aware of my heart and the sadness of its hidden fortress.
I also have deep conversations with friends, my children and make love. I sleep well and my car is running just fine. I hit all the green lights on the way home today.
Since I worked a lot, I didn’t practice my external forms but had a feeling that I was being ‘worked on’. When I closed my eyes to the inner dimensions I could see busy hands in the pit of my belly busy at work rewiring and operating on the subtle body while “I” was sleepy and not involved—under blue collared anesthesia.
This perception ended, or rather, this split of selves ended when I did the Primordial and welcomed communication. When I asked, “who is there working on me in the inner planes?”, I came up with many alternate realities while the Primordial simply touched and united them all.
Today, upset and tired, I tried to work Fusion and became more and more contracted. What am I doing “wrong?”, because it feels like I am failing at this energy work when I put my mind to it and most need its help. What message am I secretly making, in the shadow world?
I remembered recently recognizing my shen as inner identities and not energetic mechanics. I welcomed them to ‘come out come out wherever they are’, and what do you know, the contraction ended. I expanded into a conversation and they complained– “why are you pushing us so much…We am not going to change… we’re not your whipping boy…” MISTRUST OF SHEN=CONTRACTION.
As in my first paragraph, I have whiny complaining and wounded shen. In the second paragraph I meet grateful, satisfied and happy shen. It seems one intention of the Inner Smile is to draw all of these voices into the open without the impulse to carve or shave them into a respectable spiritual form that pleases me.
As an opening universal convocation is offered before Ceremony, so too the Inner Smile could represent the Mysterious Female who holds but does not drop. Who gathers and invites into the sacred circle the many– from those angelic beings who live deep in other dimensions working me, to petty impatience and anger at not getting what I want in the world– allowing them to meet through the forms and communicate without the pressure of resolution.
So I return to the heart and the essence of these practices…unconditional acceptance. Otherwise there is inner battle and polarity in a broken circle. When I go to my liver I have cultivated color and sound, location and feeling…now I will ask ‘who is there?’ and wait to see who comes from behind the tree with warpaint on. baba
I find these to be really fascinating observations that remind me of a dream I had recently, which I view as a combination of digesting several lines of study: reading Henry Corbin, who I quoted in the subject line–“Psychology is Cosmology”; Isabelle Robinet, author of “Taoism, Growth of a Religion”; my meditation practice; a particular message posted here by Michael Winn; but mainly I see it as a kind of symbolic summary of daoist psychology-cosmology as reflected in my internal hall of mirrors.
For what it’s worth I’d like to share it with you and anyone else who’s interested:
There is a male figure in a city street, in the middle of the street, with rows of buildings on either side (this seemed emphasized). He is creating something that at first is vague, a kind of chaotic, obscure object like a rod hovering a little away from him in the street.
The creation begins to become unruly, to float away mischievously, half consciously, like a curious animal getting out of the master’s control. He tries to firmly command it, like a classical magician, commanding it to turn to lead, into a bar of lead, where, in obeying him and turning into lead, it would be less unruly also. It almost obeys, but then refuses.
Now it seems to be taking on a feminine form, and to sort of be dancing in the air, while still remaining a vague form.
This time he tries to command it to turn into gold, into a gold rod, thinking that this would appeal to it more than lead; noticing now that it is conscious or aware and has inclinations–he is trying to control it by making it think it will be nice to be an inert bar of beautiful gold, which he can then control more easily. But this time it is even less moved by his attempts to command it, and it begins to dance more clearly, and is also now more clearly a female form, though still seeming very primal, like her spirit is still half like a wild animal…
He begins to see that he can only subtly influence her now; he can only persuade her, rather than command her, like a “user” commanding a computer program to do his bidding.
She wants to be a dancer, “to live her own life”–she’s full of enthusiasm for life, for the possibilities stretching before her, like the energy of a determined teenager coming into her own. He complies–he must–but he says, that’s fine, but, now you have to pay rent…
Next the scene shifts and the original man-creator is now like a father with his wife and they are sitting at a picnic table (still in between the two sides of the street) with the daughter-creation and her own man across from them, a family of two generations, facing each other.
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