The storm heat built up all afternoon and by early evening could contain itself no more. It exploded in a fury of whip-cracking rolling crashing thunder, massive sheets of lightning, torrents of rain. The parched earth was waiting with open arms.
Sleep was impossible; the action was too intense, loud, immediate.
Folded up on my zafu, thunderbolts flying clear through my body, lightning exploding from my head, I am a character in a Tibetan drama.
Until the door chimes bring me back to the theater of suburbia, Australian-style.
With every lightning strike they burst into a merry tinsel-town tune – a different one each time. Very odd really, since they were disconnected from mains power months ago. There must be a little battery inside with a trace of energy that recognizes the energy of the lightning bolt . . .
Awake on the dot of midnight with a wideawakeness in the brain that defies description. The brain was empty of thought yet singing with energy. Then I noticed the whole body was alive and singing with this energy and was completely at ease, although the night was hot, humid and airless.
Sitting through the night hours was an ecstasy of ease; I remember thinking at one point “I could do this forever, forever.”
Hours later, when the morning star was soaring in the eastern sky there was a perception of the world that was shocking in its luminosity and freshness and clarity. “Oh my God!” I cried out loud, and that shocked me too somehow – the sharp clarity of my own voice. I felt as though my hair was standing on end.
And then I noticed that for the first time in months the old aching exhaustion had left my body.
In the deep darkness of night – no slumber in sight – bum sits on cushion, eyelids draw down of their own accord, breath flows in breath flows out. Beat of heart, song of great silence.
Out of infinite velvet blackness points of energy emerge.
They spiral into appearance, and as they do so they take on mandala-like forms. Some are glorious flowers. Others are crystalline and geometric. Others are snowflake-like, a blend of organic curvaceous-ness and geometric patterning. Still others are spirals, simple vortexes, or radiating arms like the spira mirabilis. There is no color, only milk-white light playing in the black vastness.
The energy forms appear to move towards the witnessing Awareness, spiraling and expanding, and then they move right through and into IT –
an endlessly unfurling pulsation
emerging, spiraling, flowering, and flowing,
penetrating and dissolving into
the unknowable Knowingness
that is ceaselessly watching.
Habitual sleeping patterns are being trashed, like most other habit-bound activities. Initially there was anxiety about this. All the usual fears around insomnia clamored to be heard.
When the penny dropped through the works and took with it the ‘wee-me’ that thought it was more than just a thought, it was no longer possible to be anxious about … well, anything really – not for long anyway. This brings a new view on conditioned expectations and intentions about what ‘should’ be. They are noticed for what they are and slip away under that scrutiny.
Sensitivity to what this energy mandala called body really needs – and it does have needs according to its unique configurations and evolution – sets conflicting mind-views at rest.
If this body doesn’t wish to sleep at night, as is the norm, so be it! Let it sit. Let it sink into its natural throbbing silence. In deep sleep, with the ‘thinking’ button turned off by default, there is only this great silence. In sitting as suchness, no stories spinning, that same great silence is all-embracing. Beloved!
pain, pain, pain
perception grabs pain –
above ear, left side of head
conceptualization grabs pain –
sharp, irregular, might be telling me something…
awareing views pain –
without label, placement, explanation or conclusion:
sensation, energetic, shimmering, wondrous
in this naked knowingness
pain simply is …
the intelligence of the spacious energy system called body-brain
is the unborn intelligence of Life;
it’s non-personal and unconditioned
intellect, however, is measurable, trainable and indispensable;
we need it to operate in the world: memory, habit, discernment …
and we like to think it’s ‘ours’
intellect has little to do with unborn intelligence
but it can spin concepts that might be useful pointers
towards that immeasurable, unknowable movement
(to what better purpose could an intellect be directed?)