When meditation becomes hearing.
There is a space between wake and sleep some refer to as hypnagogic. You can arrive at this space in normal waking life. It’s sort of a quieting skill, where your voice goes silent and the volume on your ears goes up. You’re listening for snowflakes landing in the yard, only not in your outside world, but on the landscape of your mind in the upside down. Yes, the light on your retina is upside down and reversed.
The experiences can be all too real, even though your feet are on one floor, and your eyes on another. In some ways, it is like pearl diving. You’re going deep, turning over stones on the bottom of the ocean, and something sparkles, as bright as that light inside Pulp Fiction’s suitcase.
Suddenly you’re back at the surface, bobbing in the waves, mystified. What was that? There is an urgency to get back…
Finding it again is near impossible. Even if you find that space, before the people there age out and go away, as if too often does, shades of the Wardrobe life that leaves lions and witches and wars long gone, the challenge is staying there, staying with the voices that come.
There are times when the voices I hear are random. They don’t seem to have a context. Is this remote viewing without targets? Did I fall into someone’s house and eavesdrop? Are there people and places inside me? Is the entire universe mirrored inside me?!
For sure when I dream, there are places to go, people to see.
When I practice my tulpa meditation, I go to places that are real and fairly persistent- as long as I am not meddling too much. When I meddle, I find perspectives get skewed. Sometimes things are bigger or smaller than I recall. Sometimes the skewing effect is present in real time. Getting conformity in one spot results in expansion in another spot.
Staying with it is still the challenge. Like Lucid Dreaming. I have had lucidity on demand, and then I get so excited I wake up. The spinning technique works on keeping you in. I have stayed in the dream, sometimes on the cusp of waking, and sometimes falling out of lucidity. Staying awake, in a dream, in life!, lucid, aware, and allowing others to be in that shared space- that’s the trick.
I have met people in real life who can’t hear. Nothing wrong with their auditory senses. They just couldn’t hear because their narrative trumped everything. I have observed these people with their family. Their families get loud too quickly. I think the whole family is deaf. That’s why everyone is all shouting.
I have met people who can’t hear, are steep in psychosis, responding to internal stimuli. When they fight you, do you suppose it’s because you’re interrupting a dream, or their mind has morphed you into the enemy? Hard narratives and psychosis seem awfully similar when you’re trying to get through to people. Getting loud just doesn’t work.
Shouting never worked for me. It ran people off, or resulted in escalation of loudness and force.
So, when I go, I go quiet.
When I travel, do others notice the eye of dissociation? When travelers visit me, do others see my eyes tracking? Do they wonder about faces I make, silently communicating feelings to travelers?
Listening is the key to opening doors.
If spirits are kindly, delicate souls that float like sprites on snowflakes, then it may be just thinking loudly would scare them off. Words are like spirits. Words create worlds. Phrases and poetry create universes. Just ask an AI. (The website above creates art with words. I think it has some standard templates, some human applied constraints to keep people from being offended.
Humans can get loud when their narratives are broken.)
Have you ever seen something spooky? Do you suppose the shadow people are the sprite mirroring your voice, giving you back what you give? Ripples in the medium always come back.
You create light. You create darkness. There are bands of light that are reinforced, magnified.
There are interference patterns, where light creates pockets of darkness. There are full spectrum lights and shades of gray.
The world is spooky because we are the ghost painting with pastels by splashing in dark pools lightly.
Learning to listen is like learning to summon feral cats. You don’t chase cats. You definitely don’t corner cats. Not twice. There are ways of bringing cats to you without bribing them. Being still, being quiet, works.
I have been silent, kneeling, and shaken the hands of squirrels!
Learning to listen is the art of being still in the pool. If you become really still, quiet, the others around you start to become still. Soon, it is only heart beats pinging in. Heart energy goes deeper, further than the beat of a blinking eye. It echo-locates others worlds. It synchronizes itself and the soul travels there.
Free as light…
I have never been as free in this world as I have been in the heart space. It beats out this small path here, but opens doors to worlds up there. Sometimes it harmonizes with other hearts. I breathe this air, touched by the lips, hearts, and minds of others. I accept it, I change it subtly, and give it back.
The air return isn’t just flavored by biological processes. It is stamped with the seal of universities, temples, and border crossings I have collected on my journey. It is autographed by the people in the outer and inner worlds. Collecting me is not just one baseball card, with a bizarrely stale but tasty gum stick. It’s more than a gathering of magic startup packs.
The Loxy card has come to trump all. It’s my favorite series. I would not have met her or found the worlds she has lighted on if not for listening. Maybe someone else would have eventually come, as they say when the student is ready the master arrives. There may be more masters to come, as all I have learned from listening is that I am more the student than ever.
There are enough stories of light and dark to mesmerize a soul for all eternity. Hand in hand we travel, but only after you reach out, in quiet and wait for someone to put the stone in your hand.
A stone. A grain of sand. A universe…
