The Landless Land


foggy stairway

 

Staring at a clock face that has no hands
I find myself in a landless land
Where shifting sands and watery mists
Rove endlessly seeking the lip-less kiss
Of a lover whose face is never revealed
With eyes turned inward on a truth that conceals

A million-note melody that no one can hear
Humming it’s sweet song to infinite ears
So silent this tune from the visage-less face
So supple the kiss, so full grace
That the dancers, the dance and the eternal song
Merge into one devotional throng

Shadow seeking substance seeking light divine
A stairway to nowhere that endlessly climbs
For a kiss within the eternal embrace
‘Round in circles forever and ever is traced
Until that which isn’t succumbs on its pyre
Every saint and sinner remains a liar

Confessions of an Ex-Hoarder


hoard

Yep.  That’s me.  I was a hoarder.  Not a hoarder of knick-knacks or cats.  No.  I was a hoarder of thoughts.  Sounds a bit strange, I know, but I’ll bet as you following my unburdening you will relate to it.

Ouch.  That’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?  To be likened to those horrific images of homes filled with discarded food containers, unwashed dishes, and stacks and stacks and stacks of stuff makes you squirm.  But, please don’t misunderstand.  I’m not trying to shed a judgemental light on those afflicted with hoarding.  What I am doing is identifying with how painful it is.  Stick with me here…

It’s true that I don’t fill rooms with accumulated things, but I’ve discovered that I have filled my head these past 50 years to the point where there is just no more room.  All these ideas, opinions, concepts and beliefs were practically dribbling out of my ears.  And it was more than uncomfortable.  It was painful.  Physically and emotionally painful.

It got so bad I found myself contemplating suicide often.  Now, before you shrink in horror or judgement, let me continue.  There was also something else working behind the scenes of my filled-to-bursting brain.  A magnetism, a force, that peeped over the top of and through the tiny gaps between the thoughts, and the misery, and the thoughts of misery.  Something whispering, “You’re missing something.  There’s something you’re not seeing.”

I’m driven by curiosity.  I thrive on it.  The gauntlet had been thrown down and that strange magnetic pull lit a fire inside of me.  I began digging through the mess and tangle of my crowded “house”.  At first, and for years and years, I expended a lot of energy and attention on each thing I encountered.  Crazy, right?  I mean, who in their right mind examines the garbage they’re tossing out?  Who obsesses over rotten banana peels and used tissues?  No one in their “right” mind does.

But this is what I did with every thought, every obsession, every belief I held and all the emotions associated with them.  Over and over and over.  Decade after decade.  And it was exhausting.  I gave up many times only to amass more “junk” and then start the process of garbage fondling all over again.  Yuck.  And I can tell you without hesitating this is what drove my misery to the point of breaking me.

And I celebrate that moment.  The moment where I was so fed up with whoever this train wreck of myself was that I put down the garbage, tore open my heart, and shouted to the ethers, “I give up!  I don’t want to be me anymore.  I just QUIT!”

And that’s when that strange but magnetic force reached out and touched the core of my tired mind.  It was like a cool fragrant cloth on a fevered brow.  The smell of rain after a drought.  Pure magic.  That’s when everything began to change.

I discovered that all I had to do was return that loving magnetic touch emanating from the core of me and all that junk just started to disappear.  Imagine if house work was so easy.  But it was.  I’ve stopped caring about any of the stories I had written in my mind.  Not about who I am or what I believe or what I thought about anything.  They’re all just stories.   Well, most of the stories anyway.  The emptying out is still going on.  I occasionally succumb to the old habit of fondling the garbage on its way out the door, but I quickly put it down and send it on its way.  It’s not important.

What’s truly amazing is the amount of space the removal of all this junk has left.  I can now stretch out in my mind without bumping into anything.  I can run, leap and dance without bruising myself.  It’s like my “house” is now filled with sunshine and the sweet smell of a grace I never knew existed.  It sure beats the stench of the garbage that was there before.  And what really excites me and keeps me holding hands with that wonderful force is the intuition that one day soon, not only will my “house” be swept clean, but the walls are coming down too.  I don’t need them anymore.

I know what this magnetic force is.  It’s my true self.  My completely natural state of being.  It’s what was there before my “house” was built and will remain long after it’s gone.  This is the real me.  Not all those ideas, stories and beliefs.  And this real me is so joyously spacious and so filled with unbreakable love that I can dance my way into infinity without ever suffering a bruise again.

So, yeah, I’m an ex-hoarder.  Even this story will be swept away soon.  For I am disappearing, or at least who and what I thought I was.  I am nobody and it feels so amazing.  I am nothing, yet here I am.  And I am free.

What really is THE SHIFT and how do I shift into the 5th dimension?


Jean Mishra:

“Now it is time to take back ownership of the center of your head.”

This is an amazing post that explains what seems to be a natural progression in consciousness awareness moving through humanity at this time. If you’re interested in this, you may enjoy reading this blog post from Aligning With Truth.

Originally posted on Aligning With Truth:

Image from http://www.shiftoftheages.com. The Shift of the Ages docu-film is a true and authentic story of the Maya, the Mayan Calendar, 2012 and the turbulent times in which we are living. Compelling and timely, this story is told through the Grand Elder of the Living Maya, Wandering Wolf, also known as Don Alejandro Cirilo Perez Oxlaj. The film is targeted to come out this early part of 2012. Click image to know more.

Much has been written about the Shift, transformation, changes.  What is the Shift really?  And what do dimensions have to do with it?  Why should we be concerned about it?  Why bother learning it?

I came across this simple and basic, yet comprehensive explanation of what dimensions are.

I encourage you to read through it in order to help alleviate any fears or anxiety that have resulted from misinformation.  There is too much heavy, dense, misqualified energies pervading in our planet. …

View original 4,108 more words

The Universes Within


“I remain fixed, whereas innumerable universes, becoming concepts within my mind, rotate within me.”– The highest pradakshina

I stumbled upon this quote yesterday.  It’s one of those “gems” that sparks something deep in me.  It moves currents I can’t name but I know it’s left me changed.

If you’re not familiar, a pradakshina is a ritual done when visiting a Hindu temple.  It’s customary to walk in slow circles around the altar after offering prayers.  It’s a symbolic act.  One can’t draw, or walk, a circle without a center point.  This center point is considered the Source, or God, or the Lord, or whatever you label the target of your devotion.  It’s symbolic that our existence cannot be without it.  Also, considering every point on the circumference of a circle is equidistant to the center, this is symbolic that all things in creation are also equidistant to its Source or Creator.  All are equal.  Verses are often repeated while circumambulating the altar and the above quote is one of them.

I am not Hindu, but a person doesn’t have to belong to a faith, philosophy or belief system to find value or understanding.  These words fell like a perfectly polished stone into my being, rippling gently and sinking exquisitely into the depths of my core.  My interpretation may not be its exact intended meaning, but as with all abstractions, the mind and soul recognize the shape that makes the most sense.

“I” always remains fixed; unmoving.  By “I” it’s referring to consciousness, or that part of your being which observes every thought and deed.  It’s been present in you, unchanging, since birth.  It’s not the mind but that which observes the mind.  Although you have physically, it has never aged.  All your thoughts, all your actions and emotions are in movement.  They swirl, ebb and flow but the “I” sits motionless in its constant and unfailing observation.  It is the point around which the circle of our existence is drawn.

“Innumerable universes, becoming concepts within in my mind, rotate within me” hints that the thoughts we have about anything and everything become real things, alternate universes, or realities, that we carry within us, within that circle; forever spinning.   They become the fiber of our being.  They define how we perceive ourselves and how we perceive our life.  If not for these tiny universes, we would be nothing more than an empty shell with no dimension; just a plastic bag in the wind.

This leads to the notion that mindfulness is critical to understanding and molding our character.  It’s the reminder that the thoughts we project into our being are important.  Not being mindful, or being unaware of our thoughts and what creates them, would be akin to building a high-rise without a blueprint.

There is more I could probably say about this, but the little voice in me says, “Stop here.  It’s enough.”

This is where I fall into quiescence where words begin to fail but understanding blooms.  I’m content to watch all these little universes rotate and ponder the blue print I’ve been using and what changes I’d like to make.

Sucking Swamps and Lotus Flowers


From The Age of Conan:  Hyborian AdventuresMy thoughts have wandered into the darkest part of the woods and waded through sucking swamps.  Now my soul sits like a stone, cold and dusty, and I wonder.  Why do I do this to myself?  I haven’t written anything worthwhile in more than two weeks.  It feels like I’ve lost a friend and maybe I have:  my muse has wandered on, tired and fed up with the journey I’ve dragged us through.

The mind is a funny thing.  It can be a grandiloquent ring master, illuminating wonders and delights, or it can be an insidious traitor:  an assassin of inner peace.  Mine has turned traitor.  All wonders it illuminates are quickly herded into the center ring tempest of self doubt and soul-eating guilt.  Again.

So I sit and I wait.  I poke at the keyboard with hopes it leads me into the sunshine instead of back into those woods and stinking swamps.  I long for a spring rain shower of words.

I remember last year’s monsoon:  the shush of the rain as it beat the pavement.  I watched this interminable dust that clings to everything run off in brown rivulets and reveal splendors hidden.  The air practically sang with the fragrance and sighed with brief relief in the shimmering heat.  The world was abluted.  This is how I feel when I write.

I need a word-monsoon.  But monsoons create mud and turn roads into swamps.  For a moment it seems defeatist to wish such things.  I don’t need more mud.  Ironically I recall, however, in the foulest, muddiest, most mosquito-ridden muck, grows the lotus.  Like a sudden surprise, it’s the shocking reminder that beauty and growth always bloom from what may seem something very unpleasant.  So, maybe instead of wishing for rains and word-monsoons I should look for my lotus in this mental muck and simply watch it bloom.  The monsoon will come when it will.  It always does.

Head TV


Tuning in.  Head TV is airing and blaring 100 different programs again, simultaneously on the tv screen.  I try to watch intently a miasma of commercial messages, melodramas, documentaries, thrillers, comedies, sci fi.  My eyes dart from one to the other and back again.  Sound bites blaring.  Colors colliding.  Ear and eye madness.  I desperately try to focus on one channel looking for inspiration, but it’s deafening; impossible.  Reruns!  Exasperated.  I want to turn it off but there’s no “off” button.  This mind TV can’t be unplugged!  I wheel the thing into the other room and close the door, ignoring it.  Peace at last.  I’ll watch it later.  Maybe.

A small stone in River of Stones entry.

Copyright Jean Mishra 2012

To Build a Wall Perfectly


Last night I was reading blogs.  I love to see what’s going on in the minds of other people and I ran across this blog.  Julianna posted a quote there that’s been reciting itself over and over in my head ever since.  The quote is:

“You don’t set out to build a brick wall.
You say, I’m gonna lay this brick,
as perfectly as a brick can be laid.
And you do that every single day.
And soon you have a wall.”

- Will Smith

Initially, I thought,  “Whoa.  Will Smith?  Really??”  My curiosity was ignited so I thought about this a little.  Why not Will Smith?  But it wasn’t who had said it that followed me around all day.  It was what he said. My brain grabbed the words and slow-chewed them with relish.  Here’s my version:

When you have a dream and you want to make it reality, take each step towards achieving it mind-fully.

Focus on each step as if it was the only goal to be reached.  You won’t get lost in the illusion of insurmountable odds.

Take satisfaction in the small accomplishments.  In that satisfaction is tangible perfection, not some unattainable ideal of it.

Then take the next step in like fashion, and the next, and the next.

Do these things and one day you’ll find yourself effortlessly living your dream, fulfilled.

Will said it better with metaphor but this was my mind-speak.  I realized subconsciously I’ve already been approaching my dream of being a successful author in this way.  Focusing on each brick, laying them down the best I can and taking satisfaction in each one for it’s own sake.  This blog is one of those “bricks.”  But the subconscious lacks clarity.

Today my husband was reading my blog and came across an article that caused him to sit back and rub his whiskers.  I was overcome with a feeling of dread.

“What would your comment on this article be if you hadn’t written it?”

The lead weight dropped in my stomach.  He didn’t like it.  This to a perfectionist is a real knife twist.  I stumbled and fumbled for an answer, but realized as the author I couldn’t find a perspective detached enough to honestly answer his question.  A very good sign I have so much to learn before the dream can be a reality.  Do you feel the weight of those words?

“I have so much to learn before the dream can be a reality.”

Ugh.  Then Mr. Smith’s quote recited itself in my head again.

 You don’t set out to build a brick wall.
You say, I’m gonna lay this brick,
as perfectly as a brick can be laid.

The light went on.  I may not have written that article to the best of my ability.  I rushed it.  My blog is growing more rapidly than I imagined.  I have readers.  Readers!  (Breathe, Jean.)  There are people who return every day to see what the next brick is.  In my haste to get that brick in place, I forgot to lay it perfectly.  I want my wall to inspire, not to crumble and fall.  So…

I’m gonna lay this brick,
as perfectly as a brick can be laid.

Hopefully I can hold onto this quote every time I go to lay my “brick” and readers will keep coming back.

May we all have a perfect wall upon which we can hang the artwork of our heart’s deepest wishes.

The Game


A Brief Preface

I must preface this with a little bit of information.  Today is the birthday ofSri Ramana Maharshi (December 30, 1879 to April 14, 1950).  If you don’t know who he is, he is venerated around the world as a true seeker and Indian guru.  He maintained that the purest form of his teachings was through a powerful silence.  It was said to radiate from his presence and quiet the minds of those attuned to it.  He gave spoken teachings only for the benefit of those who could not understand his silence or couldn’t understand how to attain this state. His verbal teachings were said to flow from his direct experience of Atman as the only existing reality.  He recommended self-inquiry as a means to achieving that realization.

I’m marking this occasion because Ramana is the only spiritual teacher I’ve ever encountered who really spoke to something deep in me.  I can attribute part of that to the fact I’m just not a good follower.  I’ve always preferred to find my own way.  As a result of this mindset, I find myself blundering into things just when I’m truly ready to experience them.  So, in keeping with my ways, it was through synchronous events that I even learned of his existence a little over a year ago.  That discovery launched me into childhood memories long forgotten that would significantly deepen my own spiritual growth.  It reminded me of the game I used to play with myself as a child I called “Who am I?”

The Who Am I Game

The game was very simple.  I would sit and inquire of myself,

“Who am I?”

My mind would begin making its list:

  • You’re Jean
  • You’re a girl
  • You’re Arsene and Mildred’s daughter
  • You have long hair
  • You love horses
  • You have a penchant for potato chips
  • You love fish sandwiches
  • You live in Nebraska
  • You go to elementary school
  • Etc.

You get the picture.  Quite a tidy little list, but then the game took a twist.  The next question:

“You are all these things, but who is the one experiencing them?”

In my childish mind the question was more like, “Yes, but who am I behind those things?”  I knew what I meant and that’s what counted.

The True Nature

When the answer came it was a very strange experience.  It didn’t come in words.  Now that I’m older I understand why, but then I just accepted what came with the typical trusting innocence ever inherent in children.  My list would evanesce like meaningless smoke and go forgotten.  I was left with a very odd and expansive feeling accompanied by the certainty that this was who I really was; this was my true nature.

It’s not something that can be explained easily.  It defies the intellect to quantify and measure it.  The intellect is just an island floating in this infinite sea of the Self.  And an Island only knows itself and the waters lapping against its shores.  It can’t fathom the depth or the breadth of its sea home nor the sky above it.

But what happened in my experience was the experiencing of that vast sea and sky.  I became aware that the list was just clothing I wore, and that by its very nature would always change but this am-ness I was experiencing is, was, and always will be unchanging.  This is pretty heavy stuff for a kid.  I would then begin to feel like I was invading a private room I didn’t belong in and would quickly slip back into my “Jean clothes” none the worse for wear.

Remembering

As with many things, the passing of time and encroaching maturity pushed the game back into a little closet in my mind to make room for more important things in life.  The more-important-things that lead to anxiety, fatigue, stress, under-achieving, over-achieving, countless blunders and a few successes along the way didn’t leave room for anything else.

Then along came middle age and the proverbial house-cleaning of “those important things” that comes with it.  Some call this wisdom.  I call it being too tired of dragging all those important things around and weeding them out to make life more manageable.  Whatever it’s called, it left some room for air, and that meant room for opportunity; the opportunity for synchronicity and flow; the opportunity to remember.

So now we find ourselves back to the beginning of this story.  My husband off-handedly asked me one day if I had heard of the silent guru.  I told him I hadn’t and started the half-listening thing spouses do when I heard him say,

“He encourages meditating on the question ‘who am I?’”

I felt I’d been struck by a truck.  That one innocent remark threw open that long forgotten closet door in my mind and the game crept back out along with the experiences.  I play the game every day now and I’m finding the game doesn’t have an end.  I’m finding the bliss of this am-ness and the freedom it affords me to be much more than just a list.

Copyright Jean Mishra 2011