When you come to your senses, put down your defenses, habits, cover: I-won’t-show-you-mine-if-you-won’t-show-me-yours, ‘Everything is F.I.N.E.,’ (fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional), like traveling in a car, stopping at the drive-through, throwing leftovers in the back, you keep moving, trash piling up, rotting, just over your shoulder. And forgetting it’s there, get used to the smell, the festering of mind, farting from the back seat, but the moment you slow down, put on the brakes, everything comes flying forward, French fries, fish sticks, uneaten hamburger and half-downed cokes, McCrap on the dash board, in the windshield, wreckage of your past, so thick you’re blind. Kharma, like mud, obscuring your view. You have to clean up, if you’re going to proceed, get your life, have your day in the freaking sun. You’ve got to unload, get a grip, a view of the road, without all this drama, garbage, making the way unclear, it’s clearly in the way. And because it’s in the way, it is the way. The giving up, the surrender to, the letting in letting go, releasing, a panorama where there were once blinders, hell, no view at all. Pick it up, every smelly bit, examine it and highlight for deletion. An Everything-Must-Go-Sale at the Dumpster. When the view is wider, the screen clear of mind, wipers keeping it open, each stroke of the blade, becoming, ‘Name something you like, Thank you more please, Name something you like, Thank you more please, Name something you like, Thank you more please, Name Something … you like … more please … you like … more please … you like … more please … you like … more please … you like … more please … you like.’
Flash flooding. That’s what the warning said. We went anyway. Into the Joshua Tree Desert. Unaware. Unaware that the rain would drown out the sound of the Sacred Crystal Singing Bowls. Driving rain through the celestial portal, spattering us with divine wet. The drama of God’s Own Carwash threatening to slowly meld our cars, parked side by side, sliding down the muddy lot toward the Main Office of Integratron. From inside the wooden dome, we watched the torrent rip through the house next door. Dogs scrambling to the rooftop, yelping, jumping at the raindrops. The shift, the energy, the catapult and reflection of our inward beings, thundering outside, so sexy, so vital, as if the universe were speaking it directly to us, ‘Rain. Psychic Rain. Be that. Pour from the heavens with your magnificent voice. Wash us clean. Refresh our souls. Releasing all that would hold us back and let us dance. With lightening across our hearts. Strike us alive again.’ Amid the cars honking, waiting for the plow, cheering those who would drive through the riverbed that 20 minutes ago had been the freeway, we drank in the sweet air, eyes to the sky, breathed a cleansing breath, gazing at the tremendous thundercloud still hovering, in awe. To be this alive. Thrilling. To roam the world, not solid, but active, moving without weight, purely spirit, like cloud burst, changing the course of the river and life. Thank you more please.
Your body is channel, for energy, to move through, do what energy does. Ego, Who Am I, opinions, judgment, hold vibration, change it, block it, lock it, push, shove, increase uncomfortability, til pop, there’s fire, ignition, perpetrated motion, pain, burn. Living in this cancer culture, this cancer nation, where people are contracting, attracting, like self hatred, or unrealized desire, that grows and because it is stifled, signals, outloud, through the body, this loathing, this denial of self, this belittling, defamation must end, or it will. Release. Feel the ‘letting’, in letting go. Open your hands, open your arms. A prayer, a handful of tears sent to God (good orderly direction) a call to be of service, remember channel, bless this tumor, this reminder that love is the only door, the answer, and in bowing, head below the heart, knowing, knowing that kind of simple belief, faith, heals. The universe is waiting, filled with gifts and all manner of excellence. Unclench the fists, the mind and receive. Letting the energy go where it will, taking you on the adventure, your life, moving, undulating, like fierce grace. Hearts open. Free.
When you understand that the mind is predatory and that you are its host, not like some eco-friendly-birdie-atop-a-hippo-mind-predatory, but like water-moccasin-leeches-man-eating-alligators-in-the-Louisiana-Swamp-Mind-Predatory, then you truly realize, real eyes, that your mind will drain the life-blood from you. Get out of the swamp, wade to shore, before the gators dive and pull you under, disprove the mind, wrangle its scaly ass and burn its tyrannical nature, into submission. When you’re safe from the death grip, aware, awake to the state of grace in which you live, the precious commodity which is your life, build your campfire, dip into source, the bliss state, grateful to be alive. Deactivate the mind and re-wire that sucker, by creating balance, the kind of nature/nurture balance only a spiritual warrior can, so that the predatory mind weakens, and your being, alert, adaptable, present becomes one, aligned, ready for battle, ready for joy.