Yesterday I completed a milestone year. I’d like to think that means a degree of Eldership or Mastery. However…
Are these lifetimes, these incarnations, or simply this lifetime’s roles, merely costumes found in some huge backstage cosmic closet? Do we only slip into these to assume some role in order to expand our consciousness? All these pretty, or perhaps not so pretty costumes, are all there – waiting for us. Do we play both the villain and the victim? Do we embrace both the coward and the victor?
Might it be that we do not become “worthy” to create our own entire production until we have fully embraced and satisfied the role each costume represents? Could the costumes be merely initiations whereby we achieve “mastery” by some celestial yardstick? Or do they really mean little or nothing?
When we’re finished with all the roles and the acts, what if we are then worthy to write, create, produce, and direct our own show in our own venue? Do we get to produce and stage our own reality, with a brand new plot, story line, costumes, props, themes, music, choreography, comedy, drama and tragedy? Will we then hold auditions, giving the parts to only the most audacious to awe the masses in our production?
If so, who or what is watching this spectacle?
What if none of it matters? What if eternity depends on it? Ah! That delicious question so dear to my heart of late – “what if”?
There are days when it seems as if my mind wants to split wide open. I keep seeing that final crucifixion moment, as the temple veil rips asunder to reveal the Most Holy Place where no human eye previously has been allowed the view. I see a massive stone rolled aside from a tomb hewn into a rocky hillside, with an ethereal glow emanating from it…
Yet just when I think I have an old reality nailed to the Cross, it seems that mystery once again appears in all that’s left of a burial shroud with the imprint of a crucifixion victim seared into it by even more mysterious, inexplicable forces and powers yet incomprehensible to finite human minds and senses.
Again comes the question, is this also one of the Mystery costumes, left to the faithful or the faithless to supply their own details and their own storyline?
Is doubt a sin or a cry for real Wisdom?
Or might doubt be an incredible boredom with the status quo “here below”, and the yearning for a new adventure beyond our wildest imaginings?
Then I wonder, how many people my age even think about this stuff? Yet I cannot remember ever being free of such questionings. How can anyone have a quest without questions?
I have never been free of that sense of having a net thrown over me, like some sort of unsuspecting butterfly who must merely flutter in a pretense of flight until it exhausts itself and perishes, over and over again… from lowly crawling worm, to chrysalis, to winged creature – everything in it prepared for flight. But the net ever awaits it.
The winged one yearns for the knowledge and freedom that can only come from flying!
At this point I yearn to give to others of my substance, from the core of the real me, not the costumed actor. Yet I find myself in the most solitary mode I have ever experienced. There are days when all I seem capable of is to wonder if this reality isn’t some sort of cosmic death row, where those declared the arch criminals await sentencing by some cosmic council, where – bereft of any real knowledge of themselves and plunged into a stuporous imposed amnesia – we await an outcome. The deck is stacked, you are more than a card short, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been taken for a joker.
Why me? You ask. What’s this all about? Other people seem fairly laid back. They mind their own business. Or are they apathetic? Are they scared to see, think, feel, ask questions, or respond? What has become, is becoming, of humanity? You want to shout, to rattle the cell bars, to rattle somebody’s chain… really rattle it! But what good will it do? Why doesn’t anybody seem to care?
I’ve never been able to be like that. I have “cosmic curiosity”, but apparently no cosmic clearance. Yes, I’m an adventuress at heart [the positive kind, not the opportunist who rips out hearts and then runs]. I despise the net thrown over me, the grounding, the not knowing, the staleness and sterility of life. Inwardly I feel more go power than a colt in the starting gate vying for the Triple Crown, but outwardly the gate never even opens!
If there is anything that has characterized my sense of this life, it is the utter frustration of wasted potential, a sense of having been created with an incredible array of ability onboard, among some of the best in the Cosmos. Yet just after pulling out of space dock on the maiden voyage, the ship is met by a peculiar mechanized collectivist race and assimilated… Is that all there is?
I’ve read books, studied philosophy and the Bible, participated in every spiritual tradition under the sun, prayed, meditated, passed through a lot of “esoteric spaces” where one is advised not to go. I think I went there looking for answers I couldn’t even recognize, let alone articulate. “Organized” Christianity held no viable answers.
Lately I’ve returned to a deeply inner Christian Contemplative path; however, doubt and questions still loom large. [I’ll stick my neck our by stating that anyone who says you’ll come to a place where you will no longer question is full of hot air!]
I have to convince myself every day that I’m content, that I’m not losing my mind, although at this level that may be a requirement in a sense. All the while my deepest Inner Being is squirming to be free – whoever that is. I yearn to either go Home, or to keep on expanding into pure creative radiant Sentience.
I can talk the talk of “interfaith”, or I can shape shift into somebody who sheds tears over, and sincerely delights in, the old Gospel songs and hymns. I do love them! That may be because the Creativity in their composers somehow had the good sense to design their music and lyrics in a form that allows the listener or singer to emote whatever they see in these curiously transcendent songs with timeless and universal appeal.
Now this new shape shifting facet of myself – this ability to meld into the thought concurrent in any particular setting or paradigm, for the most part [I do have my limits on this one!] somewhat disturbs me. Being a shape shifter in this sense means that others may be confused as to my position and roll, or to perceive me as hypocritical. Or it may even scare the hell out of them because they think I can’t be trusted… Yes, since when did that costume and role appear on this stage?
However, what this may indicate is that they are disappointed because I did not fit into their costume, whether it’s New Age or Fundamentalist Christian, or a thousand and one variations thereof! It’s simply that I have enjoyed all the assigned costumes, and when I have donned them and really taken them seriously, I glean information, knowledge, and wisdom in the embrace of the role. These experiences have brought understanding concerning how other wearers of the costume, content with only that costume, feel about it and what makes them tick. It’s a secure feeling to always wear only one costume. It is a tool for growing my own empathy and compassion.
However, the first of these was fig leaves sewn together, was it not?
What may be different to observers is that I also find myself to be greatly discontented if I’m not free to embellish, alter, or be creative with both the costume and the role. I have been known to rewrite my part, if not the entire script.
But I guess it does get ugly when the colt goes into bomber mode in the starting gate, or the butterfly flops itself to death trying to fly within the net.
So I guess if anyone hates me for that, it’s about as sensible as hating Johnny Depp because you always want him to play Edward Scissorhands, while Tonto is always reserved for Jay Silverheels.
At the end of the day, frankly, it’s tough enough being stuck with all these cosmic costumes, when you’d like to not any longer be the roles they represent, but to become fully yourSelf… Yet can that ever be without wearing each one and embracing its role?
I think that few if any have actually yet achieved transcending the function of the costumes.
But maybe we’re getting close, judging from the futility and frustration.