Feral Meditation

"The knowledge of Christ requires not an intellectual soul, but a seeing soul."
~Evagrius Ponticus, Gnostic Centuries

"Meditation happens when all the efforts are dropped."
~Sri Sri Ravi Shankar

Though it sounds too simple for our busy intellect, the purest meditation is to Be. No trying, doing, wanting, attaining. Just allow the rainbow mirage of this world to flash and dissolve, this foam of stars to swell and fall in the ocean of the effortless, where repose is vibration, vibration is repose.

No need to control your mind, whose nature is playful disobedience. So what if it wanders to the corners of the cosmos like a pin-ball? Just let it Be, frolicking where it will, the tantrum and lila of a child in the sandbox. The mother is watching over the child. This restless lovable puppy-mind is not who You are. You are the Witness, the seer, not the scene. You are the Mother, the watcher of boundless silence and compassion.

Your mind is a thing, but You are not in the realm of things. Your mind is a creature, but You are un-created. Simply to behold with wonder is vast spiritual practice. And yet there is no act of practicing. 100,000 galaxies expand and overflow the rim of Laniakea. Scientists and astrologers try to tell you, "You are here," pointing to a dot on the edge of one small galaxy in this celestial explosion. But they are wrong. You are not contained in a dot. It requires a do-er to confine yourself to a dot. It takes a lot of work to make yourself so small! You are space itself, containing all possible dots and points of view. And space is awake.

The deep vacuum beyond the farthest event-horizon is your own awareness, more intimate than the pulse in your jugular vein. There is no distance in pure awareness. Listen to the symphony of quasars filling every cell of your body with the hum of divine darkness. It is the music of the Vedas resonating in your flesh, where hosts of angels sing in the hollow of a quark.

You don't need to ascend or descend or transcend, because transcendence is the prior nature of awareness. The effervescence of your neuropeptide nerve fluid, the bubbling chocolate fire of your amygdala, the sapphire radiance of your pineal gland zinging thunderbolts of Shakti through light-years of cerebral cortex to the fathomless blue pool in your forehead: these are all made out of consciousness itself, immediate and already realized.

Everyone seems inebriated with the glamor of a spiritual hero, an external form: a Savior, a Guru, a saintly rock star. We post pictures of them in our heads all day, all night, in a constant hemorrhage of attention. But the true joy, the bliss of ananda, only happens when we relinquish this clinging, let go of our surrogate daddy, and just let our attention collapse back into itself, resting in its source. Then the radiance of God ignites by the grace of merely Being.

Pure Being sounds like an abstraction, yet it holds the world like a mosaic of reflections in the prism of its singularity. And pure Being is a jewel more solid than the world it holds. The material universe is but a mist compared to the diamond of its very Being.

That Being, You are. You are the Being of an infinitesimal bindhu, less than ten thousandth of the width of a hair; and you are the Being of the Supercluster SPT2349-56, largest single object in the known cosmos. Ano-raniyan mahato-mahiyan," says the Upanishads: "smaller than the smallest, greater than the greatest." That Beng, You are. "Tat tvam asi."

Your breath is the Milky Way. Your belly is the black hole at the center of Andromeda. Whether you recline or sit, stand like a mountain or walk like a cloud, do it with the grace and dignity You are. No need to attain what's already yours, or get rid of what isn't.

By not seeking, repose in the unattainable state of Christ Consciousness. Let the wisdom of every scripture pour out of your chest as a spontaneous sigh. Don't try to grasp any of this; there is no-thing to grasp. You are a great distance from yourself if you imagine that the kingdom of worms is any different than the kingdom of heaven. The flame in your soul is your body.

How can I prove this? I can't. In matters of Truth, all proof is a hoax. If you live the Truth, there cannot possibly be any confirmation, because if there were an external authority who could confirm it, you would not be whole.

Grok this very instant, which contains the abyss of the eternal past, the eternal future, and know that your work is finished. The perfected hot mess, finally un-done. All (k)nots hopelessly untied. The universe out of control, completely loose. Just dance. You are the whirled.

Painting by Rimi Yang