I love to meditate, although, admittedly I don’t do it often enough. Maybe that says something about the society we all find ourselves living in these days but then again, it could just be a hint of my ADHD.
Meditation seems almost counterintuitive in our “get er done” society and yet there is little question that the health benefits alone make it worthwhile. What makes it so incredible and unique for me personally though are the crazy rides it takes me on. It’s better than a free blue line pass at Wonderland.
It may be a fault of mine but I am not an avid reader of books. I am fully aware that many say you must be a reader to be a writer. I can’t say that I totally agree but there is one incredible book in particular that I did snag a quick glance at once.
The Akashic Records, known biblically as the Book of Life, is something theologians have debated about for years. A hipper hipster new age term would be the “collective conscious.” The book is said to be a record of everything known and unknown, encompassing all events that have come to pass as well as all events that will come to pass.
I believe I saw this book once although I really can’t say for sure. I was in some highlands at the time. Not high lands mind you but highlands. I used to practice what I coined freestyle guided meditation. It begins with your standard guided meditation lead-in. You take some deep breaths to calm and focus yourself. Next, you visualize a ten-step stairway of your choice and begin to make your way down counting slowly from ten to one as you do. Each step down has you feeling progressively calmer and more relaxed. Once at the bottom of the stairway, you see in front of you a door. Again, the door can be of any shape or size you desire.
At this point, you should be in a pretty relaxed state of mind and ready to rock and roll on your self-created journey. Sometimes I have opened the door to forests and jungles, walking on to meet strange nature beings. Other times still, I have wondered along deserted beaches bordering silvery blue oceans or rugged autonomous mountainous regions with blood red skies. These diverse landscapes seemingly serve to reflect back to me characteristics of myself that need immediate addressing.
On more than one occasion, the door has opened up to a familiar pathway. That’s one thing I have noticed about the netherworlds of meditation, once you create a place mentally you can return to it time and time again. That old house you envisioned with the small vegetable garden and the dirt path that cuts through the trees down to the lake is there anytime you want to visit it. Once envisioned, never forgotten.
And so it is with this one path that I have walked at least a half-dozen times. It ascends from a forested ravine snaking its way upward to a relatively large wooden cabin. A small stream runs astride the path and gurgles noisily as you walk along. Nearing the top a section the trail widens out affording the hiker an expansive view of the forest canopy below. To your left, you can see in the distance thin white lines created by waves cresting and crashing as they merge back into the expansive blue ocean.
Just above this outcrop, the trailhead opens to a clearing in the woods, predominated by the sizeable rustic lodge. The interior, as with the exterior, is constructed entirely of wood. Cathedral ceilings dominate the rectangular structure towering, as they do, over a wide planked hardwood floor.
Most often, the lodge is uninhabited giving off the feeling of being a meeting place rather than a residence. Akin to a Mason’s Lodge or Rotary Club headquarters. I happened to be an attendee at one such meeting although I wasn’t alone this time. By my side was a close friend that I know quite well in this life. We met at an early age and have been confidants in each other’s lives ever since.
I have no specific recollection of the two of us walking the path up to the lodge together only being in the building itself. What I can vividly recall is the two of us standing in front of a sizeable altar-like table. Our demeanor was anything but somber as we laughed and giggled together like a couple of grade school children.
I draw this parallel precisely because that was how the atmosphere around us felt. So while we were busy laughing at ourselves, the others saw fit not to join in our jocularity. Their attitude and conduct were more serious, stern and business-like. I ascertained that we had been summoned for a rather serious matter. It was more than apparent that we were frustrating the others by not affording the occasion the respect they felt it deserved. Like children, acting out at an inappropriate time needing to be quieted by their parents.
In retrospect, it is funny that we should be laughing at all given the fact of who these others were. You would think we would have been terrified excepting that they were familiar to us within this in-between world we now found ourselves.
Though extraordinary in expression, they were at the same time indistinguishable from one another. Each appearing exactly as the other in stature, facial features, and dress. They weren’t tall by human standards, reaching a height of only four or so feet. The texture of their faces was ruddy and irregular like that of a potato only ink blue in hue. They did not at all possess the same curvature of a humans body with narrowing waistlines and broadening shoulders but rather were squat like that of an equilateral triangle.
I took no note of their legs nor could I as each wore a floor-length dark hooded robe. All in all, they numbered approximately twenty, most congregating in groups of three. Even though they were noticeably conversing with one another, no words or syllables were audible. All that was discernible was a low-frequency murmur that permeated the room. I understood at the time this murmur to be their speech although how I knew, I cannot say.
Most of the blue beings paid little or no attention to myself or my friend, busy as they were amongst themselves. The one exception being a grouping of three that stood nearby. I cannot say with any certainty that the one communicating directly with us occupied a leadership role, although I did sense that we were somehow his charge.
He was quite emphatic indicating that we should be executing the ceremony with a much more serious tone, stressing its utmost importance. Like the other blue beings, he used a form of telepathy while communing with us. Again, it is odd in retrospect that none of this struck me as being out of the ordinary. It was simply all too familiar, fully aware, as I was, of where we were, who these blue beings were and what exactly it was we were venturing into.
My focus was brought back to the table whereupon lay a large enigmatic book. Open face, the book reached a width of no less than three feet with an equal corresponding height. Ancient in its appearance the pages were yellowed and brittle from age. The cover contained an inscription written in some long lost coniform styled writing, the symbols embossed on its thick brown leather binding. I knew what it was all at once. I was peering downward at the Book of Life. Contained within its large pages were the chosen lessons and resulting wisdom my friend and I were to undertake in our next incarnation.
There was no inherent judgment that I could sense, and we were indeed free to undertake all, some or none of the lessons that the book laid out for us. Almost like the old Mission Impossible adage, “Your mission, should you chose to accept it.”
Which life lessons we decided upon for this current sojourn; I cannot be entirely sure. Lessons must work that way in order to be effective. Having foreknowledge of their illusory Fantasy Island type nature would defeat their whole purpose. Neither can I recall exiting the building nor taking leave of our dear bewildering blue friends.
I have, as aforementioned, returned to have a gander around the place, though in this I am always alone. It isn’t time yet for the next ceremony. I am still alive and kicking. I suppose that will have to wait until I have passed on from this world to the next. Returning laughingly once again to that old au fait wooden lodge in the forested highlands, dead on arrival.
Tell us about any strange meditations you may have had in the comment section.