Diary of Darkness
and Light
A Dark Retreat Adventure
Carrie Klees
Published by Carrie Klees at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Carrie Klees
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you.
* * *
This book is dedicated to
Jed McKenna,
Whoever he is.
* * *
Table of Contents
“Do not follow the ideas of others, but learn to listen to the voice within yourself...Your body and mind will become clear and you will realize the unity of all things.”--Dogen, 13th Century Japanese Zen Buddhist
My spiritual path has meandered through a huge variety of physical, mental and emotional activities. In hindsight, many of them were downright strange and often silly, desperate attempts to move my consciousness beyond the sleepwalking state. But this is my path and I'm deeply grateful to the Universe for always and forever guiding me forward. Your path is your own. It would be foolish to believe anything I have to say. I don't believe it myself.
In order to protect privacy, the names of many people and places have been changed.
I gratefully acknowledge the ultimate wisdom provided by the Ultimate Creator in all aspects of this book's development, and everything else.
Deep thanks to my dear friends, Durga Ishaya, Cassie Pierce and Vic Spies, for their love, support and endless reading of this account, and all the valuable guidance they provided regarding this book and all matters. Special thanks to “Prema” (a.k.a. L.M. McCandless) for her very thoughtful review and feedback.
All the quotes from the Tao Te Ching within this work have been cited from Tao Te Ching: The Definitive Edition, the beautiful translation by Jonathan Star. Mr. Star's work connects deeply within me, always bringing me a sense of calm and clarity. I am deeply grateful for the wisdom within the Tao, which is divinely expressed through Mr. Star.
Profound thanks to you, reader. Our connection within this realm is an overwhelming gift. I couldn't have written these words without you.
Years ago, I wrote the following on a scrap of paper: “I want to get to a place where I can write about God and peace and bliss and goodness and the world will know how wonderful life can be and how good the Universe is.” Even then, I knew my spiritual journey was linked inextricably to the writing process, and overcoming my fears, beliefs and all other programming related to it. Little did I know that I would have to overcome my fears, beliefs and programming about everything else too, as part of the process.
Last February I engaged in a Dark Retreat, living in pitch-black darkness for one week. In ancient times, yogis, Buddhists and other seekers would hole up in dark caves for extended periods of time, in order to develop their spiritual states. Dark retreats are still primarily practiced in the East, often in more comfortable environments than the caves from days of yore.
Prior to entering the dark, sweet little apartment in the mountains of Virginia, I planned to keep a journal of the experience. I was surprised to discover a freedom in the dark, which allowed my voice to flow without restraint or self-consciousness. Writing the story was a huge comfort in the challenging environment of the blackest darkness. I relished the experience so much that I was motivated to continue “playing” with it when I left the retreat. I recognized my unusual experience could be of benefit to other spiritual seekers.
My friend Joan, a literary agent, was excited by my efforts and pleased that I had documented the experience. She gave me lots of valuable feedback as far as how to develop the journal as a tool for my own growth, as well as for something that others might want to read. She clarified the matter effectively: she said that I could sit and try to write a literary masterpiece, or I could simply focus on distilling the whole experience for my own benefit. I could illicit the entire experience for myself. We agreed the latter approach was the only way to go. I kept her advice in mind, but allowed the heart to guide me as much as possible. That was the major part of the exercise for me. I took the original journal and added many aspects of my entire journey, beyond the time in the dark, in an effort to sort the whole thing out. I have tried to re-create the experience of a weeklong meditation, with all its challenges, distractions and benefits. It is my hope that the details of my spiritual process through this weeklong meditation will be of benefit to the reader, as much as the process of documenting them has been for me.
I offer my open, honest heart to you within these pages, through the grace of the Ultimate Creator. Our connection with each other and all things is acknowledged, as it always has been and always will be. We are all here together on this planet, alive as ourselves. Very soon, we will together be dead and forgotten. So even if it's just these few words you will read, our paths are joined together at this exact point in time and space. The fact that your soul is here with these words at this moment is an amazing and gratifying thing. I'm deeply grateful to you for your part in the journey. The Universe is always giving us everything we need to wake up, to return to our true nature and spirit.
Let us continue on our journeys then. Brave as warriors. Innocent as children. Grateful.
* * *
“Just think what kind of thoughts go on inside your mind. One day just sit, close your doors, and write down...whatsoever is passing in your mind, and you will understand what I mean and you will be surprised what goes on inside your mind. It remains in the background, it is constantly there, it surrounds you like a cloud. With this cloud you cannot know reality; you cannot attain to spiritual perception.
This cloud has to be dropped. And it is just with your decision to drop it that it will disappear. You are clinging to it - the cloud is not interested in you, remember it.”
Osho, The Sun Rises in the Evening
~Saturday~
Well, here I am, as I've planned over and over in this delusional mind. I remember glorifying the image of being here in the dark. So proud and bragging and blabbing all about it. Puffing out my chest, batting my eye lashes beatifically, telling inquiring acquaintances that I would be spending my vacation sitting in pitch-black darkness, twenty-four/seven. Yes, I'm quite a spiritual seeker! Oh, some were impressed. Most were dubious, rolling their eyes about “kooky Carrie, always up to something strange.” Yes, kooky me, I would grin with a big yet knowing smile of bliss. Irene, a co-worker, took me aside in all seriousness and said, “You know they torture people with darkness? For real.” “Ha,” I scoffed, fearless and bold.
Now I'm scared. The little child me is crying and curled up in a fetal position.
I came here to sit in the dark for 8 days, to kill my self. The little ego-driven self, she must go. And here I am, a scared little baby. I don't want to kill the child but the fear must go. Or maybe I do want to kill it, to make room for a grown-up woman. Will eight days in the dark be enough to kill a lifetime of fear? Where did this fear come from? Did I program myself, or was it the whole of human consciousness? Or maybe we just arrive wired with a fear of death that gets transmuted into everything we think and do. What is a fear of death but a fear of being nothing? No thing. Doesn't matter, though. There's really no point in living a partial life, a life paralyzed and shaped by fear. No point in spending my life being chased by fear, always nipping at my heels. Always reacting to the Great Ugly Motivator. Always thinking, “I must be careful!” My motto of late: “I'd rather be eaten by a bear, than be afraid of being eaten by a bear.” For real.
Kriyananda, the wise disciple of the great yogi Paramahansa Yogananda, said, “The first quality of the divinely inclined is fearlessness.” That's all well and good, but I'm still afraid of being eaten by a bear. Such a child, a scaredy-cat. When will I grow up and take charge? At the moment, it certainly does not seem possible in here. It's the ultimate “scary”. Gloomy. Eight days is a ridiculously long time to sit in the dark. Just doesn't feel possible.
Who am I? Or maybe the question should be “what am I”? And who—or what—is really in charge? How does the true self emerge and release the illusion of control? What exactly is the true self? Is there a true self in the first place, beyond the insane, needy, delusional and fearful ego? And what precisely is the ego that I've come to despise? And why the hell does this experience of “reality” feel so fucked up at times? What the hell is going on here? Is it possible to learn the answers in a lifetime? How about a week in the dark? Sure hope so, because I'm deeply tired of the self I'm acting out, and really tired of the life I've been living. Life is too fucking short. How about having the best experience possible, while I'm at this business of living?
Later Saturday
Trying writing again.
After my initial freak-out, mourning the loss of light, I took a nap. After the nap I had a compulsory panic attack. It was pretty standard: loss of air, suffocating, imminent death, the usual. I wonder if there will be enough air in here. It stands to reason that if you block out all the light, which is not easy to do, the air won't be able to get in. When I spent the night in the dark with Vic after he set up his dark retreat, the air was really stale, moist and unpleasant the next morning. And that was only one night. He ended up adding a vent to the room and getting an electronic air filter. How the hell am I supposed to survive down here for 8 nights with no air? I could suffer permanent brain damage, or die in my sleep alone. Ugh. Okay, I know that isn't going to happen, but the thought does pop up. I mean, it could happen. It would certainly make the evening news: “Insane woman dies in a bizarre new age ritual.”
It has been difficult keeping the light out. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I started noticing all the “stars” poking through the insulated window coverings. In fact, a whole corner of insulation was loose, allowing a large patch of light in. I pressed the tape down and hoped it would stay. Well, I didn't really hope it would stay. It would be more accurate to say that I met the challenge with total apathy. Not too jazzed up to be in here.
I called Durga down. She had to comfort me because I was already quite distressed. She pointed out that this space is exactly the same space it was a few minutes before, in the light. I cried and fussed about my ego putting up walls, much like a rock-hard shell encasing my spirit, blocking my connection with the Infinite. She remembered the war she used to wage in seeking that connection. Now she sees it more of a dance into which you relax. She is single-minded in love with God, her “Beloved.” That unchanging part of us that is us, even after our bodies are gone. I love God, too, but still feel so distant that it feels more like a unfulfilled, desperate desire. Rumi, the oft-quoted Sufi poet of divine love, mused,
“Know
that my beloved is hidden from everyone
Know that she is beyond
the belief of all belief
Know that in my heart she is as clear as
the MOON
Know that she is the life in my body and soul.”
Feeling silly, I told Durga of my concern about the air. I asked if there was any way she could get Vic's air filter up the mountain from my car. She laughed and said that the house was so drafty, there would be plenty of air. She suggested I use the air ionizer if I feel the air isn't fresh enough. I don't know what the ionizer is, but will take that into consideration. She casually said she would see if she could get the air filter up the hill, but I knew even then there was no way the filter was getting here. It's big and awkward and heavy, and the hill is large and icy.
Durga had some metallic tape down here for patching the light as it sneaks in. She spent a few minutes patching the leaking light, merrily ripping the tape off the roll and slapping it on with gusto. I made feeble attempts to help, in my completely unstable mental state. We found a significant problem in the kitchen, where the whole side of the insulated window covering wasn't sticking, probably from the cold air blowing outside, cooling off the wall. She clearly enjoyed taping up the spots and I was desperately glad for her company. She left the tape on the mantelpiece for future use. Interestingly, the fireplace is covered with insulation, too. She said light came down the chimney before she covered it.
Before she left, I further complained that my body temperature feels out of whack since I got here, feeling freezing cold and burning hot alternatively. She told me how to adjust the thermostats for the electric baseboard heat, but it didn't really make sense at the time. Or now. She directed me to the “range” indicated on the thermostats, as if I could see the damn things. She finally said, "Just set it wherever you feel comfortable." That seemed surprisingly difficult to gauge with a fluctuating body heat. She said she had been having extreme temperature swings too, since we climbed up the mountain in the freezing cold. We had loads of stuff on our backs and were dragging up a tarp full of more shit--all the stuff I brought up for the week.
Was it just this morning that I left for my big adventure? I wasn't even sure until this morning that I would try to make the trip. It's been one of the worst winters in our area in memory: bitter cold with several snowfalls in Winston, very unusual. And here in the mountains of Virginia, there's already about 3 feet of snow on the ground with more falling last night. By the time I left around ten this morning, the fresh dusting in Winston had melted. The day was bright and the sun glimmered on the older snow that was still on the ground. Heading north and west, the snow got deeper and deeper, whiter and whiter, glistening like cheerful diamonds all along the way, as the mountains got steeper and steeper. Stopped at my favorite pit stop, where they sell everything from homemade muscadine wine to dust-covered stuffed animals of the taxidermy variety. I heard the locals talking about how they had already used the wood for the winter and there was still a solid month and a half left. Rough winter. But the ride was extremely relaxing and pleasant as I began to unwind from an intensely busy month or two (or years) of life.
Arranging eight days away from the kids had been challenging. I pieced together the caregiver schedule, activities, transportation and other related matters. (I sheepishly handed Durga a copy of the detailed itinerary and emergency numbers upon arriving, “just in case.” She assured me that most moms would do the same, it wasn't extreme.) Work had been a bear, with constant pressure to get ridiculously urgent matters managed on top of my regular social work and supervisory duties. I was also helping Vic during his Dark Retreat: bringing him food, managing his affairs, etc. With the heightened level of stimulation and activity, I really didn't have the inclination to sit still for five minutes. Such are my usual challenges in meditating. And my usual challenges in life. My life is completely out of hand. Working my ass off all day. Trying to provide a meaningful life for my kids during the few short hours I see them awake each night. Being broke, living paycheck to paycheck and hoping my old Civic will keep on going for a while. Running around like a maniac on steroids. Searching for some kind of spiritual meaning in between being sucked dry by a life that doesn't seem real. Can't be real, feels like a dream. How did it get this way, and is there power within to change my experience? My experience sucks at the moment. Having said all that, it is now time to engage in the obligatory and deeply true affirmation: I am so grateful for my children. I would spend my lifetime in hell if it would help them be happy and well. But their well-being would only improve if I could get this experience of life under control, and demonstrate a deeper level of satisfaction and success. For God's sake, what am I teaching them now? I shudder to imagine them repeating the mess of my life, thinking that's how it's supposed to be here on earth. But that's how it works, we learn from our dysfunctional parents, and pass the tradition down as a hideous inheritance.
“Beware the barrenness of a busy life,” Socrates said. It's funny, though. I can clearly remember a time when the hectic pace of life was fine with me. I remember I used to like the busy-ness of my day. I would even have some melancholy feelings on Friday evenings, wondering how I would fill the weekend and dreading isolation from other adults. I remember identifying myself in a positive way with my job as a social worker. I Was a Social Worker. I remember craving the interaction with the families with whom I worked. I remember riding high on the esteem I gobbled up from my perception of helping people. My ego was gratified. It was and is easy for me to love the people I work with, warts and all. It's always felt like a valuable privilege, to be allowed into a family's home, into the inner sanctuary. People would open up and share all kinds of personal information, and I really loved and appreciated that. People fascinate me, attract me. It seems like the love I feel for them radiates and is received by them. I remember working with poor African-American families, and they would forget I was white, as they would complain about treatment by white America. Then they would remember my skin color and make apologies. But that's okay, because I hated “the white man,” too, as part of my bleeding-heart liberal bias. This is all to say that I probably have helped many people in many ways. But when we help people in order to gratify our own neediness, it doesn't feel like such a great thing. How much better could I love people if my neediness wasn't in the way, after all?
Back in those days, I couldn't sit still if I wanted to. I couldn't imagine sitting in meditation, although it seemed like a good idea. I couldn't face my self, whatever the hell that was and is. As I have learned to sit still, as I have gradually turned off the TV and stopped listening to the radio, as I have learned (re-learned?) to love silence and stillness, the pace of my lifestyle has become extremely uncomfortable and deeply unsatisfying. It was unsatisfying before my spiritual journey was ignited, but I was too medicated and spiritually asleep to understand what that meant. And I didn't know I had the power to change it. Max Picard, the Swiss philosopher, stated, “Nothing has changed the nature of man as much as the loss of silence.” That seems true for me, but which came first, the loss of silence or the loss of myself? The chicken or the egg?
Now I actively seek silence. I have come to receive silence as a priceless gift. Herman Melville said, “God's one and only voice is silence.” Or something like that.
A Course in Miracles teaches, “The memory of God comes to the quiet mind.”
And here's a perfect sentiment from Rumi: “This silence, this moment, every moment, if it's genuinely inside you, brings what you need. There's nothing to believe. Only when I stopped believing in myself did I come into this beauty. Sit quietly and listen for a voice that will say, 'Be more silent.' Die and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign that you have died. Your old life was a frantic running from silence. Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking. Live in silence.” Gee, that pretty much sums it up.
How does one “stop believing in” oneself when it's so deeply ingrained? That's all we know. Or all we think we know. And if that is all we know, what's left when we stop believing in it? We think each of own our personal experiences is the “right” one, and all our beliefs and ideas are the only ones worth a damn. Everyone else doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about.
“The constant assertion of belief is an indication of fear,” said the wise teacher Jiddu Krishnamurti.
Well, I'm seriously drawn to moving past my belief of myself, and my fear, but it feels like stepping off a cliff. There might be a beautiful, warm, sparkling blue ocean waiting to receive me, but it's very far down. It's so far down that it's hard to see. Looks like a puddle way down there, or maybe a small pool from the circus high dive. I'm feeling a bit like a clown, sitting here in the dark, so that's appropriate.
Here I sit and write, uncomfortable with silence. And darkness. Just keep blabbing.
Back to my trip: the ride here was a beautiful transition from my crazy life. The bright, beautiful scenery and snowy peacefulness reminded me of the endless miracles abounding. I could smile and breathe. The last five miles of the drive, as I got higher into the mountains on less-traveled roads, conditions started to look a bit threatening. The dusting of snow we had gotten in Winston last night was significantly more here. Although the roads had been cleared earlier, the wind had blown large patches of snow over them. I slowed down and focused on breathing and relaxing, knowing that nothing bad was going to happen, but respecting the need to pay attention and stay alert. To be fully present in the moment. I knew with some certainty that the Universe had not brought me here to this particular moment to have a car accident. Not at this time. It was a beautiful, snowy, sparkling journey through mountain farmland. Thinking of the movie Avatar, I felt that our planet kicks the ass of Pandora in it's beauty. Wish I could appreciate it more, all the time. Really and truly see it, with clear eyes, clear head and clear heart.
Now, there's nothing to see. Darkness. Inescapable.
Vic had advised me (before I lost my cell phone signal for the week, as I left the land of my coverage) to approach the driveway in second gear going at a fair pace, if I hoped to make it up the one-mile high hill. Durga had told me I should be able to make it up halfway at least, to the meadow where the horses graze when grass is available. That's where her car has been parked for the winter. I approached the daunting task of driving uphill on the snow and ice covered surface with dread and certainty of failure. Sure enough, my car got stuck about seventy-five feet in, when I stopped for a big stick in the way. When I picked up the stick to throw it aside, I immediately realized I could have plowed over it. Once I had stopped, there was no moving forward or backward--though I tried--and only wound up going side to side until my car was thoroughly stuck at an angle, wedged between the two large snow banks on either side of the road . I hadn't even gotten to the hill yet. So I got out, climbed over one of the snow banks, got my bag of clothes out of the trunk, and strapped it on my back. Climbed over the other snow bank and started hiking. Amazing how heavy a bag of pajamas and sweats can be.
It was cold and the wind was blowing. It felt intensely isolated and pristine, in the most comforting of ways. Contented, I set off trudging along in the bright and bitter air, slipping on ice and stomping in snow. I soon came upon fresh paw prints of a large animal, maybe a bear? Froze for a moment and listened intently, heart racing. Wondered if the creature could be far off. (Mantra: “I'd rather be eaten by a bear, than fear being eaten by a bear.”) After the initial panic and ensuing calming thoughts and breathing, I resumed my journey determined to keep my heart open to it. When Durga saw the prints later, she said it was probably a cat, a mountain lion maybe, as the prints were smaller than a bear's. Further, bears are hibernating now. Duh. But still, I wouldn't want to tussle with a mountain lion, especially with 30 pounds of clothing on my back.
This place has deeply drawn me with its beauty, peacefulness and pure, clean energy. Water bubbles up in springs throughout the property, bringing a bright, fertile and healing essence to the land. I've often contemplated these springs and the power of gentle yet persistent water to force its way through rock, soil and gravity to bubble up sweetly and generously, bringing us pleasure and health. Once above ground, water will effortlessly form its path with no care to obstacles, simply flowing around them with no desire for anything different. And what are we? Pretty much water. So how can we personify these powerful yet gentle and life-affirming traits of water? Would love to figure that out. It's a great meditation for me, sitting next to these sparkling springs and just trying to “soak in” the essence. Lao Tzu, in the Tao Te Ching, said the best way to live is “to be like water. For water benefits all things and goes against none of them. It provides for all people and even cleanses those places a man is loath to go. In this way it is just like Tao.” Love me some water. (Seriously, I must love it. Vic and I visit a natural spring 45 minutes away and bring back 60 gallons of water between us, rather than drinking the disgusting municipal water. That isn't even water, really. Should be called “clear, chemically enhanced liquid” or some other name. It's an insult to real water. We get notices from the city periodically, that small traces of carcinogenic substances have been found in the water. But don't worry! It's not enough to cause cancer in humans! Oh, and they kindly add a prescription drug to the water—Fluoride--so that everyone who drinks it is forced to consume this chemical. Pisses me off. Poor water. Poor people. Wow, this rant felt good. Very nice distraction.)
Today was my first and only glimpse of this landscape buried in snow, as this is my first winter knowing Durga. I saw her car halfway up the hill, by the horse pastures. Rested there for a while in the sunny, snow-covered field, where there was some respite from the wind. Just stood there, looking around, taking in the pretty view and silence. Then it was up into the steep and icy dark curves in the pine forest. Walked slowly and carefully, taking my time. Started sweating profusely in the freezing cold, feeling more and more uncomfortable with every step, the heavy bag dragging me down. All the while I tried to allow the beautiful scenery to distract me. I was determined to open my heart to the beauty and avoid resisting the moment, the experience. Shinzen Young (wise Zen meditation teacher) has said, “suffering is pain multiplied by resistance.” Felt true to me as I focused on melting the resistance to this icy, blowy hike with my heavy load.
Eventually I saw the telephone pole at the top of the hill at Durga's house. Hallelujah, I was almost there! And around the bend was the tidy white house that looks deceptively small from this view, where just the garage doors and peak of the upper floor windows are visible. As I approached the house, the peace and beauty of the mountain overwhelmed me yet again. The fresh, purifying and nourishing atmosphere of this home and mountain, and the person of Durga, never fail to enliven me these last three seasons since I've known them.
And there she was, just leaving the house to look for me. She was all bundled up and rosy-cheeked. A thick hat tamed her head full of wild, corkscrew curls. We hugged and kissed and celebrated our reunion. I've been unable to get up here since winter hit hard three months ago. We dropped off my load inside. I peed. Then we headed right back down the hill for the rest of my stuff. Durga had some bungee chords and a tarp attached to her garb, in order to help us get my stuff up the hill. It was strange for us to be together, it seemed awkward. I got the sense that she hadn't been around people much lately and didn't quite know how to participate in this interaction.
The gusty wind cutting into us now chilled the cold sweat on my body from the hike up, as we headed down. Neither of us seemed too excited about the concept of a two-mile hike round-trip, with a pile of crap to lug up. She was quiet and I was chatty, nervous about my venture and even a bit nervous to be around her, which sometimes happens in spite of all her best efforts to make me comfortable. Sometimes I feel that all I do is take and take from her as she guides and supports my spiritual efforts. The Tao Te Ching says that taking and giving are the same things, which is a nice way to think about it. Meanwhile, I've never known a relationship like this, where I receive unconditional love and open (albeit sometimes painful) honesty. She is the only true grown-up I've ever known.
Soon after I met Anandita, she took me up to Durga's for the first time last April. She'd been raving about Durga as a friend and spiritual/meditation teacher. She knew I was in an intense spiritual crisis, triggered by the change in my relationship with my “boyfriend” (dumb word for grown-ups) Vic. She should have known, since she had become involved with Vic at the time. The second time we were supposed to go, Anandita bailed on me. I went up alone, feeling hesitant. I didn't know Durga or anyone else living in the house at the time, but I was in so much pain and knew I needed help. The Universe provided the opportunity and I took it. During that visit, I found myself still unfed by Durga at 9 PM. I opened the fridge and started pawing around in there. When she saw me, she said, "It's about time." She greatly appreciates me as a visitor, as I quickly learned that all I'm supposed to do here is whatever I want to do. This often involves me hiking alone through the private woods, meditating by spring-fed streams and rhododendron, or prancing in the pine forest, sometimes naked weather permitting. It's a great gift from the Universe to me, to have her guidance and her space. It feels magical here. This week would be different though, because I would be fairly dependent on her for food, therapy, guidance and pretty much looking to her to support my every need. And I'd be sitting in the dark. Taking. Needing.
Durga was surprised at just how short a distance I managed to get my car up the driveway. She decided she might as well get the mail while we were down there, so close to the road. She hadn't made that trip in a few days. Upon returning to the car, she strapped my big bag of fruit on her back. I strapped on the soft insulated cooler, wisely taking out the now unnecessary ice packs before the schlep. Inside the cooler were eight 16-ounce jars of superfood pudding, a superfood raw organic brownie (yum!), a salad and a few other things. It was heavy as hell, as was Durga's load. Both the cooler and the re-usable grocery bag of fruit had terrible handles, as they were not meant to be used as backpacks. The handles cut into our shoulders painfully.
Can't imagine eating a friggin' thing now. When I stop writing I'm overwhelmed by tension and fear and a general yuckiness. Food is the last thing I want in here. Better keep writing.
Durga rigged a huge satchel out of the tarp and bungee chords, into which went my pillows, bedding, and other odds and ends. We each took a handle and dragged it up the mountain, with the loads on our backs. We made small talk as we slowly trudged, resting frequently. For the most part, the huge sack glided up the ice fairly effortlessly, but we had to pace ourselves together as we were basically shoulder-to-shoulder. And the heavy packs on our backs had to get re-positioned and adjusted often, as they were extremely uncomfortable.
Upon entering the house, Durga gave me a quick tour of the area where I would be living for the next seven nights, the little apartment in the basement. The stairs were dark as we headed down, due to a huge sheet of insulated cover that had been stapled up over the bottom stair landing to minimize the powerful light that otherwise would seep in from under the door up top, once the lights were off. The top door always had to stay closed to keep Jaya (Sanskrit: Victory) the cat out, due to my allergy. Once we slid past the cover, I saw the sweet, small apartment space. It had been cleared out of all unnecessary clutter to reduce the potential for tripping and walking into things. Durga was rightfully proud of how she had set things up to assist me in navigating. She showed me how she had lined up the area rugs to work as a guide so I could follow them with my feet to navigate the space safely.
Most of the apartment is an open living area shaped like an “L”, except for the hallway to the bathroom and small kitchen. The stairs are at the toe position of the “L”. At the bottom of the stairs is a space without much in it, the size of a small room. The ionizer is sitting under a small table in there, nothing else. This space leads to a dresser and the bed area.. The bed is in the heel of the “L.” The fireplace is at the head position of the “L”. Between the foot of the bed and the fireplace is a clear area for yoga. There's an upholstered arm chair to the right of the fire place, to the left of the short hall. A few feet down the hall is the tidy little bathroom with a shower. At the end of the hall is a small kitchen. She showed me the electric tea kettle and fridge, which has no light bulb in it.
I took a shower and enjoyed climbing into some clean sweats, as my street clothes were drenched in perspiration. Hung them in the closet until I leave here next weekend. Unpacked with care as I knew that keeping things in order would be essential in the dark, if I wanted to find anything. Vic had just finished his retreat in the dark, and he often had difficulty finding things, becoming disoriented at times. So I neatly folded pants and shirts and put them in a drawer. Put at least 10 pairs of thick socks in another drawer, along with undies. Placed a heavy fleece sweater on top of the dresser for easy access, along with two different hats—my ugly red toboggan and my fancy, soft fleece bowler-style which comes way down over my ears if I shape it so. The red hat is for sleeping since it form-fits my head. The nicer one is for awake time. It would be too lumpy to sleep in but it's more comfortable in general. Figured I'd be cold down here in the basement in the dead of winter.
I put my Theracane massage stick on the dresser, also for easy access. The dresser top was getting a little too crowded for my taste, knowing I'd be groping blindly for everything soon. Put the blindfold on the little bedside table on the far side by the wall. Vic had borrowed this high quality meditation blindfold from a friend, and in turn loaned it to me with her permission. It was very useful for him as periodically light can be an issue, like when someone comes in and out of the dark space. Next to the blindfold went a roll of toilet paper (forgot to bring tissues), “organic” chocolate-scented skin lotion, and “all-natural” lip balm. (Probably the same old chemical cocktail of ingredients, but I'm making an effort here.) Set my toiletries up in the bathroom carefully. While I tried to stick to just the basics for health and hygiene, I did have quite a lot of stuff to be organized on the small table in the corner of the bathroom. Sanitary pads. A second lip balm. Toothbrush and no-fluoride/chemicals tooth paste. Cotton swabs. Brought medication of all kinds for every conceivable symptom, including allergy, headache, cramps, hemorrhoids, etc. While I rarely use medications due to great health, I would be screwed if I needed something in here and didn't have it. The nearest store is 30 minutes away when the roads are clear, and there's nothing open 24 hours out here in the country. During one visit I had a debilitating asthma attack due to my cat allergy and other mental issues. (Namely, I was tired and headache-y, but forced myself to stay up with Durga and some other friends, causing myself misery and, I was later sure, asthma). Had to wait until nine o'clock in the morning to get medication from the local pharmacy. That was a very long night, and a similar incident could derail this whole endeavor. Tried to arrange everything in such a way that they'd be easy to find in the dark, tallest items in the back, shorter items up front. Durga had spent a night in darkness down here, after she set the space up. She cracked her nose open when she lost her way in the bathroom, and stood up and slammed right into the sink. I solemnly respected the need to be cautious in the bathroom and elsewhere.
After showering and unpacking, went upstairs to talk to Durga before turning out the lights. We relaxed upstairs in her living/dining area for a few minutes. She had made a sunshiny-cheerful habitat for the birds on her back porch. She had dug out some snow, covered part of the area with a board and thrown the old Christmas tree out there, with plenty of bird food. The birds were plentiful and lively, twittering about happily, protected from the biting wind. It was hard to tear myself away from such a delightful, sunny spot. I was dragging my feet about heading back downstairs, not eager to descend, more nervous than excited about what awaited me in the dark. After many good-byes and hugs and worries from me and encouragement from Durga, I headed down the stairs into the little apartment and took one last look around. It was weird taking off my glasses and putting them away for the week. Have used corrective lenses for 35 years or so. Tucked them into a safe corner on the dresser. Flipped off the lights around 4 PM. Just that easy.
It wasn't long before my first summons to Durga, calling her name up the stairs. After reminding me that the space was the same as before the lights went off, she led me in a beautiful meditation. Reminded me to breathe deeply. Reminded me that when we breathe in, the breath is not ours but for a moment and then it's gone. She had me open my eyes and breathe the darkness in through my pupils, letting it settle deep into the core of my brain. The meditation was effective in calming me down and grounding me. Seems like Durga is always able to help me calm down, just takes longer sometimes than others. I often show up (or call) pretty messed up, and Durga knows just how to calm me by recalling the Infinite within. The Unchanging. Today Durga reminded me that the miracles of the Infinite are still there, even if I can't see them. In fact, the miracles are within me. Then she taped up the holes, as mentioned earlier, and we talked of air filters, ionizers and the thermostat, among other things.
There really is no escape from me in here. Best to try to keep my shit together. Keep breathing. Keep reminding myself that the signals have been clear for me to do this. No question that I have been led here to this moment in the dark. The amazing way it's unfolded over the past ten months tells me that I am meant to be here now for some reason. Quit resisting it. Be open to it. Receive whatever comes. While it does conjure up fears of dying, it is somehow beautiful, too.
Have already made and consumed a cup of tea successfully. There's a problem with the electric tea kettle and it needs to be unplugged to turn off, the switch isn't working. Sparks a-plenty in the dark.
Am figuring out how to write. Just before I came downstairs Durga asked me if I had thought about how I would do that in here. “Yeah, sort of.” “With a pen and paper,” I thought, as I hadn't given much more consideration to it than that. She suggested using a straight edge to guide me across the page, and demonstrated with a second note pad held horizontally, while moving down the first one vertically. Gee, never thought of that. So now I'm using a second notebook to make sure my lines are going straight across the page. Hopefully. I'm folding down the top right corners of the written pages as I go along, so I can know what pages are written on and which direction I'm going in the notebook. Just realized I have no way of knowing whether this pen is working. It feels scratchy as I write, like maybe it's dried out. Oh, well, let's see if the Universe wants this to work. I often reflect on an idea set forth by Eckhart Tolle. He says something about how the intelligence of the Infinite Universe is giving us everything we need to wake up. Whether or not we like it at the time is a different story.
Speaking of stories, I would love to write the story of how I got here, to this moment in time and darkness. There's the urge to document the amazing wonders of the Universe. It really does feel like the Universe has guided me along, in spite of my dumber judgment, or because of it. And yet, I can't help but wonder if the urge to write the story down is just more ego-tripping? Or is it the desire to control the uncontrollable? Make real a dream? Forget the futility? It really does come down to the ego, one way or the other, it seems.
Maybe I'll just breathe some more and see where that takes me. Writing is a bit of an effort but it seems to benefit with practice. It seems to help me keep my head together. It's funny how hard it is to remember what I'm writing—even mid-word—if I'm not fully focused, without being able to see. Maybe the story will unravel over the course of a week. Or maybe I will.
I have finally moved off the bed after how many hours I know not. I know it's morning because Durga yelled down to see if I needed anything. I said, “No, I'm fine, thanks.” What can you give to the gal who needs everything? I heard her walking around. Her body wakes up around 4 AM to meditate each morning, but I think it's later than that. She probably sat for a while in meditation and then started puttering around. “The morning breeze has secrets to share. Do not go back to sleep.” That's Rumi again. And that's Durga.
I'm tentatively settling in after lots of panicky moments. It's all very tentative in here, especially in the kitchen. So afraid I'll break something or knock something over, and then the world will come to an end. It's not like I don't have all day/night/week to clean it up. Yesterday Durga knocked over the jar of water for the ionizer and insisted on cleaning it up in the dark. She said it would be “no fun” to use the lights.
Now I'm sitting in the armchair by the little hall to the kitchen and bathroom, very cozy with a hot cup of chaga mushroom tea to drink. Tentative. Am I okay? Seem to be. For the moment. The tea is comforting. The chair is cozy. The moment is tolerable, even nice, if I don't think about the next one.
Durga has spent the whole winter here, pretty much alone. Her daughter and granddaughter come every so often. Usually it's just Durga on the mountain, alone in the snow with the birds. She's so happy, reading and meditating the days away. When we re-united yesterday, I asked her how she was doing up here alone. She looked at me with bright twinkling blue eyes and said, “I am so lucky. So lucky.” I am so lucky. I thank the Universe for her.
It's strange to think that just twelve feet away from me, straight ahead, is the bright, powerful sunshine lighting up the snowy mountains. No nook or cranny is completely immune from the sun's kiss. And just two or three feet away is a light switch that could illuminate this interior world so simply, easily and finally. Yet I'm choosing to sit in the darkness. It's not an easy choice but it helps to remember that it is a choice.
What exactly am I doing in here? Sometimes it seems so intensely silly. But I can already feel the power of this decision. Hard to describe how, exactly. It would be very easy to bail, and yet I still sit here, seeking something in the darkness. It feels like a powerful effort. I thought I was coming here to forge a war on my ego, that weak and delusional false inner voice that seems to make up the character of me. My ego seems to want me to remain ever weak, scared and disconnected from the God force. The sleepwalking automaton, identifying herself as Carrie, acting and reacting as Carrie. Sick of her shit. And yet I must say that even my ego must want this, too. It often feels like it's willing to kill itself so this being can connect with the energy of the Infinite. Maybe it knows how fucked up it is. Or maybe it knows how dumb it really is, and wants something else to be in charge for a change. Or maybe my spiritual journey is just my ego prancing around in disguise. Quite possible.
One thing I know already is that this experience is going to help me learn to accept each and every moment exactly as it is. How could it not? I'll have lots of time and opportunity to practice in here. I'll have to accept every moment or quite possibly go insane. Not that I have anything against insanity, sometimes it's the only way to propel forward. Jed McKenna, my current favorite spiritual teacher/writer, claims that it's actually a good thing to be depressed because there is a lot of shit to be depressed about when you're sleepwalking through existence. He says that the deepest depression feels so extremely horrible because we've had a glimpse of the true condition of the sleepwalking state. It's like we finally and honestly see how fucked up we are, and so the desperation is a valid response. Something like that. Even as a young person, I knew that pain was somehow beneficial. I thought it would make me stronger, and maybe it has in a sense. But now it feels like when I'm disgruntled and dissatisfied with a moment, I'm blocking my connection to the Infinite, blocking my connection with That which gives me every moment. To trust completely in the wisdom of the Wisest beyond imagining.... To trust the condition of perfection of everything, instead of believing that I know best how it's supposed to be.... To trust and know the guidance of the Infinite, which created and creates and will create forever.... To trust and allow the Flow to unfold, with no pretense of control or resistance.... To trust in and surrender to That instead of my own weak and delusional mind.... To trust.
It's impossible to trust the higher guidance if you can't hear it due to the commotion in the head, though. It's been said that when we pray, we're talking to God, and when we meditate, we're listening. It's impossible to listen with a head full of thoughts, fantasies, judgments, expectations, beliefs and fears. Durga says we already know all that is needed. It is the Unchanging, Eternal essence within all things and ourselves. Many wise teachers say that what we seek is already there. Maybe we just don't know we know. Or maybe there's just a huge pile of crap that buries the knowledge.
There is a deeply loving, flawless intelligence that guides all of nature. I remember being aware of this perfection, even in the days when I thought I was an atheist. I remember being brought to tears at times, in gratitude of the vast miracles evident in all aspects of life. I remember vainly struggling to describe the sensation in writing, trying to capture some aspect of the experience, exactly as I do now, scribbling in the dark. It seems like the human mind—the so-called “conscious” mind—is the only entity that struggles against the natural flow of life. We are ignorant of the wisdom that guides the natural world in all aspects of life and death. Or maybe we just don't trust it because we are so domesticated and unfamiliar with the perfection of nature. And our feeble, limited minds think we know everything. The indescribable intelligence of the Universe is visible everywhere in all the abundant miracles of life. In the natural world, the guidance of this intelligent programming is observed to perfection, with no complaints, questions or whining when life hands out a beating, or when its time to return to the earth. Watch the heron as it serenely focuses on catching it's next meal. It's not worried, “Gee, whatever will I do if I don't catch a fish?” Or, “Damn that drought for making this job more difficult.” Or, “Those bitchy fishes are probably just taunting me because they think they're better than me.” No, the heron focuses all it's sensory perceptions on fishing (as well as avoiding any predators) and simply is a heron. It knows all that is necessary and nothing more or less. It manifests the “heron-ness” of God perfectly. If we could only recognize and appreciate that Intelligence, and allow it to flow within our own experience, maybe then we would become our own perfect manifestation of the “us-ness” of God. Maybe then we could experience a Love that is far beyond the standard understanding of that word. A Love that I don't pretend to begin to understand, but desire. So THAT is what I want to tap into. I want to flow with that Intelligence and quit thinking there's any way my mind could know better than THAT. I want to manifest God in perfection, as me.
As I sit and curse my ego, I'm painfully aware that I don't even know what it is, really. What am I fighting? Many people call the ego the “false self.” I have a theory about the ego, to the extent that it seems to be the role we're playing, a character, an all-consuming viewpoint. A package deal of sorts. It's like belonging to a cult. There's little chance of escaping the cult and all it's beliefs, agendas, stories, rituals, biases and needs. As members of these cults, we've been deeply programmed by a monumental set of beliefs about every conceivable matter. We cling to the “rightness” of the cult, above all other things. There's little chance for any free thought or free will, because the head is ingrained in the culture of the cult, resisting all other possible experiences. The focus of the cult is always fixated on its own survival. We'd rather swallow the poisoned Kool-Aid than ditch the identity of the character we're playing, and all its supporting baggage.
But the weirdest thing about the cult is that it only has one member. The cult of the ego is a one-person show. So I have to battle my way out of my own cult, de-programming my own self because no one else can. And the battle is waged at the top of that giant cliff, so even victory is a dubious objective. If we successfully battle our delusion of self, what the hell is left? And let's not forget that there are nice things about the cult as well. There are relationships with other cults. There's the ability to function in a world of cults. There's the comfort of knowing how to relate to this experience on earth, within the identity of the cult. I used to feel a comfort in thinking or imagining that my cult had some control over the experience, but that sense of control was lost along the way. Good riddance. Now it feels that the only thing the cult is controlling is me. It's limiting my one and only experience here in this body. Enslaving me in a prison of my own making.. But freedom is an overwhelming and scary notion. Be careful what you wish for.
Vernon Howard said it so well. “It's a true miracle when a man finally sees himself as his only opposition.” That's the issue: by remaining in the cult, we can't move beyond our self-imposed limitations. He said, “All forms of self-defeating behavior are unseen and unconscious, which is why their existence is denied.” So this cult, this ego, has us held hostage with our experience restricted. Free will is a dream, a delusion. We don't know that we can awake to actual consciousness by dropping all the programming related to the cult. Outside of the confines of the cult is a free world, with the most clear, intelligent guidance imaginable. Mr. Howard encouraged us: “Freedom begins as we become conscious of it.” That's a beautiful notion.