(Guys, this is for you too).
It wasn’t a lack of maps. I had met many teachers and guides along the way. Unexpected signposts. Some glowing and neon. Others dented and dusty. I traveled by arrow, despite the logic. Day and night, balancing trial and error. I cut the atmosphere of intuition. Dreamed my awakening. Rode insatiable thirst straight into the salty waves.
Where was I going? I wondered most days and something inside me was missing.
It’s hard to explain what happened next. Three things stick out as pinnacles of my personal light. It was like they say, the stars aligned.
But these stars were practices, and in my mind, practices are for everyone.
I had spent 10 years studying its mystery and I knew where it came from. I knew what Whitman meant when he wrote, “Stop this day and night with me, and you shall possess the origin of all poems.” I’ll consider myself lucky on this first star. If I could sum it up, I’d tell you: All Living IS Writing. Writers know this intimately. I understood I could “write my life” in the same manner I could write a poem — in anyway, in any direction I wanted. I understood how to flow thought, where thought came from, and how it built upon itself to build a new meanings and realities. I also understood that writing contained infinite openings in the gaps of the page. I believed in any possibility for the poem, because I believed in poetry’s infinite openness.
In time I would learn this also meant I believed in any possibility for myself.
It may be that I came out of the womb containing both the curiosity of a cat and the wisdom of an elder. Inside me I’ve always felt a split soul (ancient and wildly new) this divide isn’t always easy to navigate. By age 28 I had confused myself into the Buddha’s infamous “suffering.”
One day I was chopping vegetables and I heard a voice. It was in my head, but it wasn’t mine. It was male, deep and dark, and spoke Portuguese. Honestly, I don’t know how I knew it was Portuguese. I don’t speak Portuguese, but apparently that day I did becauuse I understood exactly what it said.
I had a cold at the time and when I called my mom she said it was probably just the medicine. But, quite frankly, this paranormal event terrified me. Was I going crazy? Not to mention this time period was probably the shittiest ever (because it was the most selfish) time in my life. I can see that clearly looking back at it now.
On this cold, Denver day, making soup, the decision entered. I needed to quiet my mind. AND FAST. Meditation is the second star. And I’ll consider myself lucky again.
“Quiet your mind.” That was a phrase I grew up with. I grew up in a household where I watched my mom and dad take 20 min respites to meditate. At a young age my grandpa Jack even taught all my cousins and I exactly how to do it. These adults were meditation models. This kind of thing actually matters. So, I knew what to do and I started.
I committed myself. Daily. For six months I don’t even think anything happened, but I kept going. Finally there was prolonged silence. Stillness. I basked. I sat. I breathed. While I did it the first small enlightenment dawned on me, this, whatever was happening right now, was exactly where everyone was seeking to go.
For the first time I had found the meadow of “first permission” that poet Robert Duncan talks about.
- Meeting Abraham (as channeled by Esther Hicks)
About two years into my meditation practice I came across the teachings of Abraham (again). Most of you will know these teachings as “The Law of Attraction” — “that which is like itself will be drawn into itself.” I was familiar with the concepts, but I had never taken the time to thoughtfully apply them. To live them faithfully. My desire had never told me this was the arrow I should follow. Now it did.
To my surprise this new practice felt identical to poetry. It felt second nature. Poetry is a practice of making by bodily focus. Of entering flow state. Of flowing thought and listening to your body as you flow the thought. If you’re not flowing, then adjusting, flowing more. It goes on-and-on until you receive the poem (a made thing) inspired by you.
This time around, because of my interest in spiritual poetic experience, Abraham’s teachings registered in my mind differently. I picked up on the vital importance of receiving.
Receiving is the final star in my alignment. From a poetic perspective I would add: Making as a way of receiving is the final star.
Making as a way of receiving. What the hell does that mean?
Well, this is the feminine force (the creative force) of The Universe. Making and receiving. Simultaneously. Think about it. A woman makes a baby, but what does she do to create its life? Her body flows the energy and she receives her making.
I think learning how to both receive and make at the same time is the secret and gift of human Love. The divinity inside each of us. This Divine Feminine skill is something you must practice and experience for yourself. I want to liken this practice to gardening (growing the brilliant flowers of our lives). We will all have moments when we suddenly “stop and smell the roses.” Transcendent hours, days, weeks, of gratitude, truth, and beauty. For most of us these glimmers come-and-go. Too fast. Unconsciously. We feel unsure how their light arrived. We wonder why life isn’t always this fresh and beautiful. We ask, where did these roses come from? Making as a way of receiving is a different way. A poetic path. Instead of wondering how we arrived in this blooming garden, we make our path to receive its beauty. We plant the seeds. Tend the soil. Trim the stems. Water the roots. We are actively creating every step of the way. Not with effort, but as a true gardener gardens, with his or her full presence of being. And when the roses are finally here, we now receive their full essence, as a mirror of the Creator (divine essence & intelligence) inside us.
I practiced growing these roses. I still do every day.
Then came the ultimate epiphany for me: The poet feminine (that does not mean the female poet) has more power for creation than the stars from which she is born. In fact, I believe, she can change the stars. Realign them in any order of possiblity she wants… The question is: can the poet feminine make her receiving and receive her making?
Artwork by Unknown
(If anyone knows, message me so I can credit).