Friday, April 4, 2014

Waking Up Again

I used to meticulously catalogue the experiences I had that pointed to what could be understood as spiritual. Nervous system bucking, giddy spinal flashes, hot coal palms, tightening forehead focusings, sensations of enlarging or shrinking body, precog moments, sustained deja vu, odd dreams, distortions in my visual field, synchronicities, transcendent moments, unity consciousness. I was excited and excitable.
    By the age of twenty three it often felt like every step I took was a step deeper into an ever unfolding initiation. Some of my anomalous experiences were induced, many predated any experimentation with drugs. I'd go so far to say that my willingness to experiment with drugs was encouraged by a desire to have more such non-ordinary glimpses into a larger world. I hoped that my first foray into joint smoking would send me down the path from Hobbiton to Rivendell. Suffice to say, it didn't turn out quite like that.
    I was a cautious and over-read drug dabbler. I was hellbent on recognizing the stronger hallucinogens as sacraments even if my friends were happy to just trip out. My catalogue of oddities surpassed my infrequent and few trips. I would meditate and feel intense heat in my body. My palms glowed with tai-chi. Aura exercise yielded results quickly. Most overtime I scored some transcendent points I would promise myself to be more diligent, to investigate further, to develop a daily routine that incorporated the body and the spirit.
    I was a poor student. The old men in my dreams held out scrolls to me, covered in holy script. I would shake my head and look away. Twice I was offered torahs, twice I botched the move. Even once, sitting in my kitchen and aided by the fungus, I saw intricate Mayan cartoons play out on the wall, I shook them away, confident that this kind of thing is dime-a-dozen. I'll check it out later.
    Later came and with it the insight that rare gems shouldn't be tossed out. I repeated my mantra, I'm a poor student. I feared the universe would abandon me, reveal nothing of itself. Cosmological models and geometric symmetries stopped showing up to my drawing pad.
    The visions faded. The magic retreated. Occasionally the universe would make a reappearance, proving to me that though I slept, things churned lively just beyond my eyelids. I shut up about it though. Maybe ten years without a peep to the muggles. I quietly read and read. I shook the poor student status. I joined a goddess study group. I peaked in magic. That didn't last long and I set out on the deepest darkest mundanity yet. Beer and bagels set themselves up as staples.
    Nowadays I still read, more than ever, and am steeling my nerves for a rebirth of the body I mistreated for so long. One thing at a time, first body then mind, then both or all three and I'm off.
I'm starting over without a care for the trophies I once thought I had won.