Mind mourning

osho226.jpg picture by pemerytx

Osho

 

The ghost of the old guru came to me as a mourning dove, plump on the branch outside my window.  The dove’s hollow pan flute sound felt so near and tangible it seemed I could have pinched the notes with my fingers.  My bristling soul began to be soothed and my mind turned to see what was going on.  The dove cooed, “Inquire within, ‘Why the tears?’”  And in the shock of the dove telling and me asking, the movement of my mind ceased altogether, and I was left in the moment at hand to function without it.  And without it I could find no good reason for sadness, for tears.

 

I looked at the dove with wonder.  He fluffed his feathers, cocked his head and squinted at me.  “Thank you,” I said aloud.  And he flew away.  I stared out the window after him in blissful silence, the glowing, brilliant colors of joy oozing out of the tree branches, the leaves, out of every cell my body, out of my chair, my desk, the walls, the pictures on the walls. 

 

Then my mind began to sputter and whir.  I felt it wobble and persist and pick up speed. And as soon as it was spinning full tilt, it realized I had been visited by what it perceived as the spiritual realm.  At first it was all bustling and flustered like an old crone incensed that someone had shown up on the doorstep unannounced.  Then it rushed ecstatic toward its logbook to jot down every tittle of detail so as to be able to recount this prodigious event at every appropriate future opportunity.  Then it slammed down its pen and turned in my direction, “You!” is all it could say, it was so inflamed with anger.

 

The realization had dawned on it that I had done nothing to revive it during the whole dove scene, and it began its menacing posturing.  I remained unruffled.  I saw no need to provoke it further by telling it how utterly and inconceivably pleasant and vividly beautiful and peaceful everything had been in its absence.  Admitting to my mind that I consider its chattering, extracurricular thinking the cause of the majority of my unhappiness would only bring it a sick sense of joy and accomplishment.  So I just smiled and went back to what I’d been doing before my mind had interjected its tearful thoughts. 

 

“What are you doing?” it asked sharply.

 

“The work I brought home from the office,” I said.

 

Hearing this, my mind became comically enraged.  It scrambled awkwardly, Quasimodo-like, to the very top of my head just so it could holler downward, “Hellooooo!  I thought you understood when I told you that you shouldn’t have to do that.  If you can’t get your work done at the job site, then the job’s not right for you and you simply need to find another more suited to you!”

 

I just shrugged and continued working. 

 

By now my mind could barely stand the disregard I was showing for the control it was trying to exert on my behalf, and it upped its holler to a desperate screeching, “Did you not hear a thing I said before?  What about your dreams?  You unwitting fool, your life is passing you by at light speed!”

 

I didn’t flinch.  “No it’s not,” I said, and kept on working.  “This is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing in this moment.”

 

WHAT?“ my mind about blew a rad hose.  “Pray tell how you figure that!

 

“It has to be,” I said, “If I was supposed to be doing something else, I’d be doing it.”

 

My mind was so exasperated, so balled up with that ridiculously illogical, ungraspable concept that it almost stopped again.  Its fierce, hot rage is all that kept it from freezing mid-thought.  Its determination not to allow its guard to be dropped ever again is all that kept it from popping like a soap bubble and disintegrating into nothingness.  It was powerless to say more.  It was done for the time being.

 

I continued with my work and my mind skulked off muttering something about keeping an eye out for the guru bird and how by god nothing would go unnoticed around here going forward from this very point in time.  I smiled to myself and felt the colorful glow come up again.  This was the first time I’d ever won.

 

dove.jpg picture by pemerytx

 

EPILOGUE

 

After that incident my mind continued to maintain a strict guru bird vigil.  It perched atop its steely watchtower overlooking its self-made stalag, a figurehead in denial.  The guru did show up again, on many occasions, whenever he was needed, wherever I happened to be, but my mind could never make it all the way through a visit.  It was clearly wearing down with the continual defeat, and after awhile became possessed only with knowing why the guru continually chose the form of a mourning dove.  My mind insisted I ask the next time the bird showed up.  And again, in the asking I could see that the guru is not a ghost, not a separate entity, but the still, ever-present silence within me that is unaffected by circumstances.  It’s the thing that keeps me afloat when I don’t care if I drown and lifts me high whenever I can see the possibility of flight and open myself to it.

 

Fini

 

4th_Eye.jpg picture by pemerytx

 

PHOTO CREDITS

 

The photo of Osho came from his library site when I had access to it.  I’m using it without crediting or permission.  Osho wouldn’t give a rats ass about crediting and permission, anyway.

 

The mourning dove was snagged from  http://www.dnr.state.wi.us/org/land/wildlife/images/hunt/dove/dove.jpg

 

The meditating monk with his third eye looking at a feminine eye above him is something I drew a couple of years ago for a website.  I later adopted the feminine eye as my avatar.

 

Image hosting by Photobucket 

    

 

The above was spun off the Sunday Scribblings prompt “#120 – ghosts.”  Click here for more on prompt #120 from other Sunday Scribblings participants.

Advertisements

11 responses to “Mind mourning

  1. oooohhh and ahhhhhhh and rich and creamy and decadent and i love it — how great is it that the mind just loses now and again than that we just lose our minds at regular intervals??? – detail so rich and vibrant:”the glowing, brilliant colors of joy oozing out of the tree branches, the leaves, out of every cell my body, out of my chair, my desk, the walls, the pictures on the walls” –
    “WHAT?“ my mind about blew a rad hose” – and morether and morether too, i be rewriting the whole piece in the comment block, woman! — bravo for the disconnect so artfully scribed and the art of the meditating monk — another winner for the bad ass miss a!!!

  2. Osho wouldn’t give a rats ass about crediting and permission, anyway. ahahah

    I loved the ending to this post, it’s so good. Your description of that constant something is perfect and believe it or not I thought about this “ever-present silence within me that is unaffected by circumstances” even today. I did! Lately I realised how important it is that I find it quickly, or that I’m aware of it…because I’m oh so moody and irregular.

    And, in the line of your previous response to my comment (on the last post), I also feel that this is very autobiographical, how you describe your demanding and always alert mind ;)

  3. An amusing allegory with a realistic ending. I think you have described meditation colorfully and well. I remember an admonition when being told how to meditate (not by a guru but by a doctor): “Just gently push thoughts away.”

  4. Your writing is so vivid and wonderful! I felt like I could reach out and hold the words in my very own hands. You and your stories are an inspiration! It reminded me of the time I was visited by an owl. I stood outside watching the lunar eclipse when I huge owl flew down and landed on a branch only 5 ft away from me, I remember vividly how it made me feel. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the owl, except for a few glances up at the beautiful moon going into disguise.

  5. Danni: I loved your thought on the mind losing vs. losing the mind! :-)
    Thanks for being here, you bad ass commentor, you! ;-)

    The Divine Ms. M: I’ve been on that same thing lately, too, trying to facilitate noticing early on that I’ve become caught up in the chaos, and to stop. Stop and tap into the always accessible river of silence running underneath. It seems a matter not of forcing this, but of simply desiring this to be our bent, in hopes it becomes first nature to check in with the constant something at the first sign of disquietude. Difficult with my whip-cracking mind, as you noticed. ;-)

    Granny: I like it! “Just gently push thoughts away.” Similar to what a spiritual teacher might offer, to simply bring our attention back to the meditation as soon as we become aware the mind has wandered, become distracted. How refreshing to hear from a medical doctor!

    Hi Crafty Green! I actually never thought of it, the mourning dove being ideal, and I find myself wanting to know why you think so. I wonder if it has to do with the soothing pan flute sound and the innocent, peaceable nature of the bird. I liked that you interjected that. Made me push further into it :-)

    Welcome, Tanya! Holding the words, maybe like the dove’s notes could be pinched. Like the owl so near, co-communing with you, in a universal prayer of sorts.
    Loved the usage in the “moon going into disguise.” :-)

  6. Sorry for coming in so late on this: we’ve been down at Port Aransas since Monday, flirting with Dolly’s antics farther south.

    …and lifts me high whenever I can see the possibility of flight and open myself to it.” About fifteen years or so ago, I started feeling feathers on my back, near the shoulder blades. Not so much now, but it was pretty vivid then. I was convinced it was a reminder of our ability to fly.

    I have this strange thing about heights and precipices. I used to think it was standard issue acrophobia, but it later clarified to me as “fear that I will attempt to fly again.” The temptation of that primordial consciousness is damnably intoxicating.

    I like this scribble a lot, and that is one awesome avatar. Namaste, MissA.

  7. From the very first sentence, this meditation on meditation flies! I always thought meditation was about letting go of consciousness, but this suggests it’s more about exploring and connecting, perhaps sustaining awareness at a higher level. What is it about birds? Every once in awhile a bird flies near, and I feel brushed by spirit.

  8. Aw, Paschal, you know, the way things are all slo-mo for me lately, you visiting here has become like when I visit you and you tell me “it ain’t no race here, cher.” I like that. Anyway, I thought as much, that you’d be having something to do with Dolly, if not caught up in it yourself but bein’ one of Mayor Hardberger’s good citizens ;-)
    I liked your recounting of feathers and flight. Have you ever read Dr. Michael Abrams’ book, “Evolution Angel” or Brian Weiss’ “Many Lives, Many Masters”? The content of both made all the sense in and beyond the world to me. You must be a very old soul, maybe a winged thing once, during one of your learning experiences :-)

    Hi Beth! Welcome. I was glad to find breadcrumbs to your path-brushing raven, a complete soul meal in just two satisfying stanzas. And birds…I dunno…maybe closer to the heavens than us…definitely freer! LOL! Thanks for visiting :-)

  9. it is a blessing, to step out, and literally dissociate ourselves from the mind that again , is ‘ours’ so to speak, and the narrative is brilliant, as always. your posts are getting spiritual in nature, and i am loving every bit of it.

    it is wonderful also to accept things are they are, as if they are meant to be, and to live in the comfort that we are but instruments in serving a larger purpose, that more often than not, is incomprehensible owing the the limitations imposed by our varied conditionings, on the very same mind!

    tis a poweful and extremely tricky ‘tool’ that we have been bestowed with, our mind.

    i was also quietly smiling the bit about ohso and crediting, for i took it as a dig at all those who make such a hue and cry about copyrights. sometimes i wonder if anything, anything at all is original…it seems to me at times that thoughts are but random pieces of snow flakey entities fluttering about in the cosmos, and this mind or that, owing to the way it is ‘attuned’, picks up something, the way radios pick up signals. this belief is reaffirmed when i come here, and read stuff like this – which is almost what i have wanted to say, but would NEVER find the words like u have, and rest in the assurance that well, theres missA, so why struggle anyways :)

  10. I read Weiss’ book shortly after it came out. A good part of my last few years as a therapist was spent doing past life regressions. Interesting journeys all round. The energy was always very powerful.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s