nesting in the womb of illusion

When I was younger and experimenting with various mind-altering substances, I sometimes would enter a state of panic and paranoia. It was probably the reason why I never lost myself in that particular culture; fear is sometimes your protector when young. But as I look back at that state, I realize now that I had been looking at things with a newly transparent eye. But what I saw was shaking me to the core.

What I was actually witnessing was the utter absurdity of things. But not having a foundation to understand the duplicity of illusion and the nature of reality, I saw instead the roots of insanity and it scared the ever-living bejesus out of me. Nothing appeared real. Everything seemed artificial. Especially me.

I remember the worst time, driving my father’s car, full of loud and relatively unaware fellow trippers, and trying with all my might to hold myself together. Luckily my cousin was with me. Unlike the others, she was sensitive to the situation, and led me to the home of some of her friends. I remember they had a room they called the egg. It was as if I had returned to the safety of the womb. I never wanted to leave.

And in some ways I didn’t—for more than thirty-five years. Sure, the sensation, even a subtle understanding, was always there. But I tried my best to accommodate myself to what everyone around me seemed to think was real. My compensation for this disconnect was thinking I was marching to a beat of a different drummer. After all, I was a poet.

So in some ways, I had been prepared for this movement toward awakening the past few years. There was something in me that had seen this already. And although I had fled from it with all my might, the vision had never left me. In fact, it was always pulling me towards it.

So this time, when I was ready, step by step, my eyes opened, and this time without some dangerous chemical push. I walked towards the understanding on my own time table. Illusion? Oh yes, I’ve met you before; you’re not such a bad bloke after all. The nature of my reality? Welcome, what a joy to finally meet you.

But I certainly sympathize with those who now have trouble when confronting illusion and reality for the very first time. Like me on that hellish trip, they are being shook. And their natural reaction is to run back to safety, nesting in the womb of illusion again. Who can blame them? This understanding is a thousand megatons stronger than that moment when first discovering there is no Santa Claus.

Except now the universe gives you the real gift, and it’s a thousand, no, an infinite megatons better too. There is no you! Don't be afraid; accept it with gratitude.


Peace to All and One,
Son Rivers

The Primitive Square Roots of Unity

Despite traditions to the contrary, there simply cannot be true jnana without true bhakti, there cannot be the ultimate understanding without the ultimate surrender. Certain personalities will try to avoid one or the other under the guise of some higher wisdom, but always at the cost of wholeness.

There is a tradition that jnana is the higher path because the bhakta relies on a belief in someone or something to be devoted to, whereas the jnani knows there are neither. But true bhakti knows no object; and the true jnani knows nothing.

Jnana and bhakti, knowledge and devotion, understanding and surrender, inseeing and outpouring, mind and heart, cannot be divided or opposed; because they are the same.

~David Carse from 'Perfect Brilliant Stillness'

I Go, You Go, We All Go for Ego

Adyashanti says that spirituality is a surrender game. Certainly eradicating the ego and all its resultant suffering is. There are two chief ways of doing so.

The first involves some worship of a higher power, so that your self is humbled to a greater cause or being. The ego is ultimately sacrificed on that altar.

The second involves an intellectual quest, an investigation really, into the nature of the self. In so doing, the ego is discovered to be an illusion.

In both ways, the ego is surrendered. In the former, it is killed. In the latter, it never existed.

Still, they are radically different in their worldview. In worship, there is a Creation. In self inquiry, there is, at most, a dream. Beyond that, Nothingness.

Call me Ishmael. Call me Quantum Spirit.