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Thursday November 11, 2004: Fluidity of Reality: Part Two

  Be sure you've read September 15: Intro to Mystic Experiences before continuing, as this comes from the weird part of my life...

        The very notion that physical reality might be fluid and changeable may seem a radical proposal. Thank goodness people are not able to run around changing reality to fit their whims. For all practical purposes, the potential is closed off from humanity. Still, based on several experiences, I'm convinced physical reality is fluid; it remains solid and predictable only because we are accustomed to perceiving it so. The fluid nature of physical reality seems more plausible after you've experimented with lucid dreaming. 

          Many people get carried along by dream action in the same manner they are carried along by events in everyday life. For the average person, realization that events occurred within a dream becomes obvious only upon awakening, when details are compared to everyday reality.

             Lucid dreamers take the awakened state of awareness into the dream state, so they're aware that they're seeing symbolic representations. Because of the opening between everyday awareness and dream events, the lucid dreamer is able to alter the symbols of the dream, to stop or reverse action, rearrange props, and make serious alterations to the final outcome of actions set in motion.  The dream state becomes fluid because of the dreamer's state of consciousness.

           Sometime after the previously described incident, I encountered physical fluidity a second time. Having just read a book about symbols, I was thinking about a particular symbol and I suddenly remembered -- knew -- how to breathe the awareness of that symbol.  A window opened into a higher state of consciousness and I found myself again facing this strange power. 

         One of my inner teachers yelled at me, shouting and distracting me from actually beginning to pull energy through my body. I was not ready I was told; I did not understand the risks; I was not strong enough to maintain my focus.

           With the window open, I knew everything involved with the procedure. Energy could be pulled into the physical world that would undo negative cycles, negative outcomes. I knew the risks. The odds of manipulating this energy and surviving were infinitesimal. It was like standing on a narrow ledge with a sheer wall stretching up behind you and a drop into nothingness beneath you. One stayed on the ledge only by keeping heels up against the wall, sliding feet carefully along the wall, focusing so that body weight remained on the heels. Toes hung over the edge and one stared into the power: a seductively sweet power of silky softness,  a spellbinding power that ever so gently and persistently pulled, enticed one forward, made one forget about everything but the desire to step forward into the arms of its sweet embrace.

             My teacher kept arguing that I wasn't ready; I kept responding that I could handle it; I could keep my attention focused. I babbled on until I realized my teacher had grown quiet and the window had closed. The option of its sweetness was no longer open to me.

           "What a sly trick," I thought, and I pouted, angry at my teacher's interference. I groped desperately about to relocate that elusive fragment of awareness; when that failed, I tried to soak up every last lingering memory of its seductive power.

            Only in retrospect can I be grateful I was stopped.  Separated from the power source long enough for its effect to fade, I gradually became more sober, aware of my inability to handle something so delicately balanced, so unforgiving of mistakes. A dangerous power -- this awareness.  During the first encounter I had been frightened and yet still had almost succumbed to the overwhelming desire to embrace the flow. Yes, I was willing to be destroyed, just to feel my conscious will wrapped about the power one more time. The second encounter was perhaps more frightening, for I had been seduced into believing I could handle the flow without touching it. For all my complaints, my teachers were right to stop me; it had been a siren's song -- ready to dash me upon the rocks.

             Someday, I may be ready to channel that power. That may be the end my inner teachers have in mind, but I must trust their time schedule. The moment will not come because of my desire to answer deep and haunting questions. It will come when I no longer need to hold onto and revel in the power's sweetness; when I have no needs to place before it; when I can allow the power to flow through me unobstructed.

            Can I reach that point of inner development before this lifetime ends? I wonder. Even if I live to be eighty or ninety (not unheard of in my family), I'm not sure I would be ready. The vague memory of its sweetness lingers, and I find myself still longing to brush fingertips along the edges of its passing.


Posted on Thursday, November 11, 2004 at 05:41AM by Registered CommenterThe Skeptical Mystic | Comments1 Comment

Reader Comments (1)

Picture a square centimeter of a football field; Now, picture 999 nonillion of them. Which you think's our Finite Existence? Which you think's our Infinite Eternity? Don't be ignorant. Repent.
November 11, 2004 | Unregistered CommenterCatalyst4Christ

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