From The Baffled Queen, a non-fiction work in progress about consciousness, how to change our lives and live the life we want.
Malaise
We all question is this it? Is the life I am living enough? What is this malaise? We all desire to create something of importance, of significance, of meaning in our lives. Instead of action, meandering desires, wants, needs, intentions arise. Are they there simply for us to more deeply clarify, deeply, deeply articulate what it is that we want to be doing? We are all messengers, and we must become willing to be sent on a mission. Most of us want to know where we are being sent, and now. Before that can manifest some work needs to be done. Some old accounts must close and relationships must end to allow fresh air to energize.
The point of the exercise is simply to show up regardless of what we feel so that when something more than our emotions need to be discussed we will have the chops. First, heal the pain, then heal the thought that created the pain.
The Hallway
There are rooms of the mansion yet to be discovered. There are staircases that are ornate that need to be described. Closets to be cleaned. Rooms and windows to be opened. This fine, majestic house that we are, was created by a divine architect, that both contemporary and ancient saints and sages all have come to live in comfortably. It’s pretty radical to think and to experience the fact that there is only love, and all else is conditioning and a learned program. Radical. Yet true.
We are finding out who the real master is, and how we need to serve. We need to learn about the process, ourselves; everything else must wait. Service to self is service to others. We may question how can we be of service simply by writing/painting/singing/experiencing these feelings and thoughts. I beg you to Stay in the question. Make no conclusions. We are serving the grandest version of the greatest vision of who we really are.
This truly is a mystery. We are living a mystery for which we have few answers. Each day is a like a treasure hunt or a novel and we are the prize at the end of the chase, or the character in the story. We search for clues in what people say, watch carefully to what is offered to us or simply appears in front of us. As each of us raises our personal level of consciousness so do we raise the energetic (playing) field for the world. That is a given. It’s not always so clearly seen or understood but we live in an energetic field or soup where everyone and everything is interconnected. Even in this self expression, through these words, there is a higher purpose.
STILLNESS
It is in the stillness that we sometimes fret the most. The anxiety in the spinal chord jiggles, twinges and our fight or flight mechanism kicks in. Once however the spinal chord is quiet, then all is possible, all is available. That is why it’s so important to first learn how to sit, be still both in body and mind and see what the Universe has in store. The deeper silence is much harder to reach but there is a unity, a oneness with it that makes oneself feel rooted, grounded and powerful. We spoke about the body as instrument, a finely attuned instrument that one must trust and not betray.
From Sarasvati Scapes
I run after desire & passion
I run after you
who embody them both
but it is I who suffers
when confronted with my delusion
that you could bring me pleasure
when I surely know
true pleasure has no object.
my house has a leak
not huge, but big enough
so that the drop of passion
stains the ground.
I like pristine floors
but I am also still allured by you
the beloved incarnate.
I know deep down
that a well thatched house & unstained floors
are what I ultimately desire.
Vulture's Peak
We round the corner after climbing steep steps up Rajgir Mountain to Vulture’s Peak, chatting when all of a sudden we’re greeted by a burning fire. Marigolds wreath the neck of a Buddha statue. Incense stings the air— the pilgrims and the emptiness of all things have arrived. The air of conscious awareness hits the back of the throat like a fireball. Immediate and hot. Rinpoche says, “Pure elements create pure mind where enlightenment is cultivated.” The breeze, dusty rock, haze against blue sky and green brush growth make the tongue tingle with instant teaching of the Prajnaparamita. Heart Sutra Hear the solace of a mountain. A wind through the consciousness blows away all sense of self. A truer sense of being arises. A coolie orders our shoes in neat rows, sells white silk scarves called katas, and flowers to offer as we cross our legs to meditate. Baksheesh and emptiness.
if we don't listen to the silence
close our eyes to see
life will only be event after event
not experience turned into wisdom.
take time to watch the wind
listen to the stars
The thirst of someone searching and finding something unnamed. Now quenched, found in sensation, a taste of Vulture's Peak.
Varanasi/Benares
Bruised sky of dawn today our hired man rows up the Ganges River cleaner than imagined watching bathers on the shore drink the purifying green water. Brahmins look like they're washing their backs with strings, actually they're saying mantra & performing a holy ritual. Sadhus in faded orange loin cloths religiously dip in their skivvies. The thought ruminates in mind like a mantra they're all in their underwear wet & cold & shivering & we watch as if they are are brothers & they allow us to watch as if they are too. Our boat knocks against fellow pilgrims as hawkers in a third skiff try to interrupt our peaceful awakening as the fireball of a sun makes its dramatic entrance.
The smell of a burning steak, we were warned, was what to expect & we aren't left wanting. Charred bodies, floating bodies, bathing bodies in the Ganges holy waters. I never expected it to be so wide. I squint through a purple haze to the distant shore. As anticipated, floating by is a bloated goat. All hunger to see a burning body at one of the ghats. Hunger like a child to see an adult's naked body not quite sure what to do with the image once seen. Then we receive the gift, a private & powerful moment we are privileged to witness. First the careful & loving washing of the not yet rigour mortis body of a man in his fifties. Four men's cupped hands of water splash over body parts to wash away the dirt of a lifetime. A white loincloth is discreetly wrapped over private parts. Then the still supple brown skin is caressed with a tumeric or saffron paste. This could be any one of us, but it is not. Today it is their friend. The corpse's hands are softly positioned beneath the bum while an attendant swaddles the body from feet to head in white gauze. Marigold garlands are placed on the torso as the wood fire in the background is stoked hotter. Waiting. Waiting, for the next cadaver.
Daily this ritual exists. We are only privy to it this once. The softness of a mauve dawn as we descend to the Pashaswedh Ghat on the Ganges edge.
we need this boat
to carry us across the wide abyss
ocean of delusions
we call reality
even this “thing” called love
is but perception
creation of mind
we want to soak our naked bodies
swim in it forever
eventually at dusk we will tire
& the water will cool
only to climb back aboard
the vehicle that ferries those in faith
to the shore
of the eternal.