The ecstasy: to break out, feeling
first light fall across new form, wings and freedom. Out from the
depths of futility and sorrow, the dark confines of the cocoon wherein
the seeming failure and painful collapse of a once, perfect and proud
worm is irreversibly prepared for re-creation. Formless fluid remains;
the essence, once caterpillar, now rises as butterfly.
I jolted out
of bed, grasping for something, anything I could hold on to—no
thread of who I was. The room, the sunshine, a reason for breathing:
nothing familiar, no solace—just a widening fissure of expanding
emptiness.
Reaching for
the phone, I called a friend, desperate to hear his voice. I needed to
know that there was something left of me to cling to. Gradually, in my
outpouring and his listening, I found ground enough to rest upon—a
tenuous reprieve.
As I looked
out the window of my apartment I clung to the vision of bright
sunlight upon the ocean swells and waves crashing upon the beach of
Ocean Park, Puerto Rico. I knew something had changed in me. I had no
confidence in lasting relief—more a presentiment that more of the
same would be revealed. I shuddered at the thought, trying to force it
from my mind.
It was the
beginning of my dissolution, of who I thought I was. Within six
months, I would no longer be a husband, have a career or sense of
place. Any substance of my self-image would be fleeting. I moved from
Puerto Rico to Alaska to be alone. I didn’t know why. It seemed the
only door open. Friends asked, “What
are you going to do there?”
I had no response. They told me I was taking a courageous step.
I didn’t feel brave. As I stepped off the plane in Anchorage, I
could never have imagined how long and dark my journey would appear;
how lost and confused I could seem; how much pain, fear and loneliness
I could feel.
Looking back
some fifteen months later, I stand in awe with deep respect and
humility for what is happening through me. I was so lost, so attached
to what I thought my life was, to what I thought I needed to become in
order to keep it afloat. I wasn’t living. I had been far too
occupied keeping track of time and status. The compulsivity of my
routines was the cement that kept it all together. My drugs of choice
were simple: a committed relationship with a partner and ties with
friends; a sense of financial stability; a place I could call home;
coffee from my favorite café; work; and, most essential, a belief in
who I thought I was.
By losing
them, I entered into the cocoon. Though I didn’t know it, for I
couldn’t see beyond my mind’s obsession for those attachments to
aspects of who I believed myself to be. Only by accepting the futility
of my resistance could I begin to see another possibility—the
substance of wings forming within the creative chaos of utter
confusion.
Letting go is
not something that is done by will; in fact, the will itself is what
must go. My teacher said simply, “know
the truth and it will make you free”—not “using
the truth that you know will make you free.” Oh how the mind
tries to wrap itself around the conundrum of Being! “There
must be something I can do to Become!” it shouts into a vacuum.
Evolution is
not static. It is unimpeded, even by human effort. The tender blade of
grass breaks through the strongest concrete. The lowly river carves
wide, stone canyons deep into the earth. Consciousness is no less
directed. It is arrogant to believe that human thinking directs the
course of evolution. That’s as flawed as believing that we once
thought up the ability to think.
The same
evolution that gave birth to reflective thought weaves through all
thought, forms, and things pointing towards conscious unity and
beyond. Collective Mind—all self-awareness coalesced into a single,
shared observation of “I
AM”—is on the horizon.
Enlightened
individuals who serve as points of Being, poles of Presence, are
necessary to bring this light into collective focus. Is it any wonder
that reflective thinking reserved for attainment of isolated,
individual vision is becoming so consciously toxic, so noisy, and so
forcefully disruptive within the minds of so many people? It is
evolution moving forward, opening new pathways (individual minds) by
bringing pressure to bear upon those unconscious attachments to which
we steadfastly cling.
We have minds,
but we are not our minds. But by believing that we are “who
we think we are”—with the emphasis on “becoming
better, worse, wiser, or whatever” through time—we give
license to the compulsive chatter that “thinks
us” 24/7/365, unhindered by observation or even inquiry.
This is the
only compulsivity: a misplaced identification with the Mind,
manifesting as compulsive thinking about the past and future. All
other addictions (whether psychologically or physiologically manifest)
are compulsive attempts to medicate the pain and pressure of this core
thinking-attachment addiction.
This is really
good news. It means that all compulsivity and suffering can be
realized and released at a level that transcends the psychological
matrix of time, trauma and the stories that give it form. Why is it so
difficult to find release from past experiences, traumas, and
subsequent patterned thinking? Because,
in attempting to treat the seeming problem, one affirms the false
foundation from which the problem draws energy to exist.
The problem
(which is no problem, after one sees it) is that we are not our minds
or our thinking—we are Being, which observes the mind and our
thinking. Mystics share with us that our name is “I
AM”—not “I am
something.” To think and to attach to those thoughts might be
likened to an artist who, after applying his vision on canvas, chose
to enter into the painting. Living in his art, he is then subject to
the parameters in which he formed it. He can’t solve his fundamental
distress—his longing not to be trapped in a world of his
creation—for he is forced to strive against the resistance his
imagination has envisioned. With every attempt to brush stroke a
better world, all that changes is the color and texture of his longing
to be free again. While all along, to know himself, nothing more is
needed than to pull back and observe again that he forms the painting,
not the other way around.
This is how
all suffering is transformed: by observing the reality that is before
us. When we observe, thinking stops and vice-versa. When we step out
of and pull back from the life stories, problems, situations, etc.,
that we have painted and the compulsion to keep applying brushstrokes
to change, enhanced or fix it, we’re able to clearly see that
nothing is out of order; the flow is perfect.
In Being lies
the peace and freedom of this moment. Becoming is not necessary, for
the caterpillar is already the butterfly. The cocoon holds us lovingly
firm through our resistance; it gives us time to grieve what was, and
space for flight preparation.
Editor’s
Note: This article is Part One of a five-part series. Next
issue: How enlightenment has gone mainstream, why initiation is no
longer necessary, and a few tips and tools to deeper Being.
The
Reverend Warren Dale Blackford is an author, speaker, teacher and Spiritual
guide. He lives in Anchorage and can be reached at 907.746.6089 and at
strong4man@gmail.com.
