The Re-Wombing of Everything
It’s an odd thing, the current cave experience. For the uninitiated, a ‘cave experience’ is, or perhaps was, an ancient initiation into Enlightenment. The monk in question is sealed into a cave with a limited amount of food and water, and sometimes a candle. More often, not. The initiate was left in isolation to meditate/teleport him/herself out of the cave, or die. It was the very definition of a ‘final test.’
When one experiences a classic ‘dark night of the soul,’ it mirrors the cave experience, but in consciousness. Transformation happens from the inside out, regardless of physical circumstances. The cave experience is a morph-in-place in what people call the ‘real world.’ {The one that will never be the same.}
Not too long into this pandemic-induced transition, I was faced with the recognition of this current passage as a cave experience I would need to ‘mediate my way out of.” The realization made me laugh out loud, especially when shared with a friend who had experienced the same feelings, and during the same few days. Global patterns, much?
So, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time in meditation, sitting with the concept of dissolution as well as ascension and with what this worldwide initiation is all about.
I have been able to view this incarnation, and its many lifetimes, from an unattached and loving place, smiling at all kinds of things, letting the lessons go. It’s quite the thing to see every single circumstance as a blessed setup from Source.
A few days ago I began to feel the story of all this as the saga of The Red Cave {to be told elsewhere}. The drapes in my little room are blood red, and the summer sun behind them has made my afternoons something out of Kali’s domain. Sekhmet has been my constant companion, steadfastly refusing to leave, even for a moment. I hadn’t asked her to go, you understand. I only felt she might have better things to do than position herself at my back, one paw on each shoulder, for weeks on end.
The Scottie Nation has pounced in and out, and I can report that all of your beloved furry ones are busy with the new Guardian Gig being hatched ‘upstairs.’ Entire new Universes are afoot and they are assisting with laying the light lines. Way cool. Aren’t they always? The vision disappears quickly if you look more than a moment. Clearly a covert mission. Very hush-hush.
These past few days have felt a deep in-breath before the sorting/sieving/re-configuring of the soon-to-be-upon-us. The old threads have left me. The new, of whatever weave in whatever comes, are barely sensed and not yet seen. The feeling is of being swaddled, wrapped up tight, with the necessary being squeezed out into a very new space where what is no longer needed is left behind.
I keep seeing various constructs, within my awareness and in the world, imploding like the Witch King of Angmar at the end of The Lord of the Rings. “No man can kill me,” says the emissary of darkness…”I am no man!” shouts Eowyn, as She plunges Her sword through its head. And then it crumples.
The dark, the old, the outdated, the unnecessary, is folding in on itself, crumpling in crunchy little bundles of rigid, sticky gruesomeness, like burnt-up toffee. They will turn to ashes, these crushed realities. And nothing will Phoenix out of them. This debris must be left behind, discarded, and moved beyond.
On a 103F degree afternoon, three days ago, I sat in my red cave, grateful for the aircon, and pondering the situation in which I find myself. I know it has been the ‘right place for right now’ because we are all so placed for this transition. A transition not yet complete.
My chamber glowed, like sunlight through closed eyes, and finally, I remembered.
I heard the originating thought, clear as a bell, “The LAST THING I want is to be stuck in the States during some disaster where everyone’s borders are locked and there is no clear way out.” So, there was this little tiny niggling worst fear left over…Small really… nothing much… {insert hysterical laughter here} This wasn’t the first time I’d been shown the holdout, the inception, or the setup in being so placed, including the eerily-similar-to-a-childhood-home surroundings. Only this meditation felt different.
The language finally hit home. “The LAST THING I want…” Some part of my personality actually thought, “…last thing I want…” So, the ‘final experience’ that piece of ego wanted was exactly this situation. Did I mention Source always says “yes?”
After the initial laugh-spattered chorus of “Bugger, bugger, bugger! Oh, you’re bloody JOKING me!!” I chose the only optimal option… surrender. A deeper surrender this time than ever before, though I have no words to explain it. I have been feeling the squeezing of a new birthing, the pressure of the cave, the dissolving of a piece of identity that dances forever just out of reach. Elusive little critter.
“Let it dance,” Sekhmet whispered, shrugging, as She turned us to face the stars. I felt ‘it’ crush and crumble as we left that reality far behind. I could not identify ‘it’ if I tried, and, to be honest, it doesn’t matter. I choose to manifest through different frequencies now and in every dimension.
Hands clasped we soared, touching down with a hop-skip on a mountainous-grassy-wooded-seascaped multiversal pixel of reality that outshines even the Goldilocks definition of just right. A single grain of reality from which worlds can be created. Falkor, here we come!
