Atma

As I turned back the covers and slipped into bed, shortly after my seventy-fifth birthday, which was graced to dawn this year on the day of the Master’s third satsang of a weekend of His now customary second of three seminars in each year, I petitioned the Inner Master for insights into bringing full consciousness to, and control of my dream life.

‘Dream life’ itself bears some explanation in the context of the Light and Sound Teachings, a precise map of the divine journey of soul from the end of human evolution back, via spiritual evolution, to the awakening of soul, a divine spark of the Absolute, lying latent, unknown, and unheard, deep within the constitution of one of the final manifestations of such a readied incarnation of human form.

Please bear with me. As the Master knows well, and any devotee inevitably encountering a moment when one wishes to share the experience of such a lifetime, literally everything one utters, requires seemingly endless qualifying explanation, since the entirety of humanity goes through countless lifetimes and currently lives in total ignorance of the realities of truth. All is illusion here. And anyone attempting to shed light on the illusion, finds themselves obligated to convey that light in the fullest, most responsible, and fully understood form possible.

The above is by no means a putdown of humanity. The condition described is a precisely planned and manifested expression of the entire journey of such souls—from devolution from the Godhead, all the way to the bottom of that trajectory, until soul begins to re-create its thorough, conscious ascent back Home. This is the way it’s ‘supposed to be’, for each one of us, in our own time—no exceptions. It’s another way of explaining that thoroughly unsatisfactory spiritual platitude, “It’s all perfect”, a statement so annoying (subtly or blatantly) to the mind/ego until one actually crosses that divine threshold from human to spiritual evolution—at which point it magically becomes a moment by moment reality, ‘plain as day’.

From that moment on, all of life will, gratefully, never be the same again.

Given that qualification, dream life is one of the early means through which the Master attempts to get our attention. That vehicle of unfoldment serves us for quite some time, until we ultimately, consciously bring our attention to cleaning up and directly managing, not just our conscious, but subconscious and unconscious contents—always under the explicit and flawless guidance of the Master. ‘God help’ the hapless soul who wanders into such a diabolical labyrinth without the Master’s escort.

I suppose “I” should be embarrassed to admit it’s taken me twenty-four years to sincerely make a genuine request for this particular guidance, but, in reality, I’m merely grateful to be here. For most chelas, merely bringing one’s outer life into order takes considerably more time than initially anticipated.

The Master’s always loving response to my request brought me to consciousness at 3:21AM, after having saturated it with, of all things, repetitious, full-hearted indulgence in Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes singing “I’ve Had the Time of My Life”, from the film Dirty Dancing, a production which evoked a public response largely surprising even to its makers.

As most of you know, this light hearted, yet instructive celebration of one of humanity’s more popular passions—lust—captured the emotional imagination of, at least, the American psyche. This is a perfect illustration of how the Master uses everything to convey a message that will effectively facilitate even an erg of further understanding for His chela’s unfoldment. And in the brief two hours since He set it in motion, He’s clearly milking this one for all it’s worth.

Not coincidentally, I just experienced an intense episode of uncontrolled coughing, as if something were stuck in my throat. The obvious flash, as I searched my still dark room for some water to interrupt it, was the clear message that I have spent two hours squandering attention and energy attempting to tell an unknown audience about my experience, rather than using that precious time as intended: to ascend further toward the goal I presumably want to fulfill more than anything else I know.

And with that recognition, I’m going to leave this written ‘contemplation’ hanging, and take it instead where it was intended to go—in the privacy of my own third eye. Otherwise, my action does nothing but demonstrate an unrecognized insincerity of my initial request, and betrayal of this unimaginable gift from a Master, Who so perfectly knows, sees, and Is—on all planes simultaneously.

He knows, and yet again serves me a familiar message at a time in which I can perhaps, finally grasp, that deeper levels of bhakti—love and devotion—must be developed, with unrestrained feeling, before the next door opens. If it’s possible to imagine, lifting the lyrics of this song from their initial, gross, material context—no heavies, just sayin’—and transporting them to a previously inconceived and unabashed love and yearning for Him alone, perfectly illuminates the divine’s loving response to atma’s request—while the Shabda truly stands by, waiting for me to hop on board with all bodies fully engaged.

Surrender.

 

 

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