Monday, February 13, 2017

What I Learned About Myself By Furiously Scribbling on a Piece of Paper


As far as I can tell, I've got a pretty weird brain. Often, when I fall asleep, I "wake up" about 20 minutes later, but I'm not in the realm of reality as we know it. I'm in some sort of place where spirit and body meet. It's a jungle of unexplored consciousness. The colors are more vivid, emotions more intense. And the room is full of visible energetic patterns that I usually can't perceive in waking hours. On one of those nights that I "woke up" in this other-dimensional reality, I saw a strange orb-like structure hovering about 4 feet above me. I was alarmed at first, but that quickly melted into intrigue. The structure was unlike anything I have ever seen before. It was incredibly intricate, with crystallized patterns that can only be compared to a snowflake (although that comparison doesn't quite do it justice.) The crystals fanned out in every direction to create a three-dimensional spherical structure. Its beauty was unparalleled. I reached out to touch it, but as I did so, it moved to the corner of my room and faded into light. And then I fell asleep.

Months later, in "real" life, I was looking at a piece of white printer paper. And a pattern stared back at me. I scrambled to find the nearest pen so I could trace the pattern before it disappeared. At first, I traced little abstract shapes. Soon the entire paper was filled. And then! More layers appeared before my eyes. So I traced those as well. Some spots on the paper had denser patterns, others had looser, freer ones. Some spots had fluid lines, others had rigid ones. It didn't take me long to realize that the patterns I could see on the paper were reflections of my own consciousness.

And so the experience transformed into a bootcamp of self-discovery. I could see the spots where I had firm, unmoving beliefs. I could see the spots where my beliefs were in transition. I could see my past, and some of the darkness from it that still haunts me. But I could also see my future, and the joy that it brings. As I continued the frenzy of tracing the patterns, faces began to appear. I saw the faces of everybody I ever knew, and everybody I would ever know. I saw faces of people I hadn't met yet; I saw the face of my future child. And then the faces slowly transformed into words and phrases. I saw names, I saw messages of hope such as "all will be okay." All I could do was continue tracing.

Then- catastrophe! I made a mistake. I drew a line that looked out of place and was quite mismatched with the beautiful patterns surrounding it. What could I do? It was too late. I drew it with pen. It was there, unmoving. Stubborn as I am. And then it clicked. Mistakes are part of the big picture. I wouldn't be me without my flaws. In a sense, the imperfections are what make the whole perfect. I accepted the flaw on the paper, and in doing so, accepted the flaws within myself.

As I accepted who I am in my entirety, not just the best parts of myself, I felt a profound connection to my greatest potential, or higher self. The me without ego, without personality. The me that is just joy and love and pure energy. The me that just IS. I had never identified with the phrase "I AM" until that moment. As I surrendered my ego and my limited view to this higher self, my higher self took over as the most loving and understanding teacher that I can imagine. It taught me that no matter what happens, all will be okay. That I was exactly where I needed to be life. That I am worth loving no matter what. That I am consciousness; that I am life; that I am reality itself; that I am the universe.

I no longer felt connected to my body. I knew it was there and I accepted that as a perspective of me. I saw my personality structure and loved it and accepted it as a perspective of me. But I was also the room. I was the pen; I was the paper. I was the drawing. I recognized that my friends who were physically in the room with me were mirrors of me; that they were characters in this story of my life which I am authoring; that they are the actors in this dream of reality that I am dreaming. And I loved all of it.

The ancient Greeks used the word "genius" not to describe a person, but a sort of supernatural energy that enters human vessels who are prepared to let it enter. This waterfall of creation can induce a trance-like state where potential can be fully unleashed. In that moment, I let the genius flow through me and onto the paper. I wasn't moving my hands anymore; this energetic stream was doing all the work. It knew where the lines should go and how they should look.

The thought crossed my mind of "what if this drawing never matters to anyone?" I laughed at my ego fighting so hard to surface and regain control. Of course it didn't matter if the drawing matters to anyone. It was everything to me; it WAS me; and that is enough. The greatest success one can ever have it to be as authentic as possible. It doesn't matter one bit whether other people agree that you're successful or accomplished.

After tracing the patterns for three hours, I wondered when I would stop. Could I ever stop? Would I stop when the pen ran out of ink? Would I stop when my arm muscles were too fatigued to go on? I realized that I could trace the patterns forever. There will always be more to discover about myself. That's why we live; to learn and grow and progress. There is nothing to fear because all you can ever find is more of yourself.

At one point, however, I just stopped. I looked at the paper full of patterns and lines and faces and words and signatures and decided it was enough for that night. Now, I have the picture framed in my bedroom. It's my background on my computer and on my phone. I have it everywhere to remind me that I am the universe and the master of my reality. To this day, I count my creation of the drawing as the single most spiritual experience of my life.

I often stare deeply into it to peer into myself. Recently, I've been doing all that I can to stay on a spiritual wavelength. Most days I'm feeling overwhelmed with joy and love, but on other days I am confronted with the darkness that will forever abide within the construct of my personality. For years, I pushed away the darkest parts of myself, the parts I didn't want to look at. I imprisoned them in the deepest abyss of my soul, the Tartarus of my consciousness. And I thought that took care of the problem. But much like the Titans (who were the prisoners of Tartarus), the darkness was unleashed. This time, however, I'm using the darkness to discover more about myself. I was sucker-punched with the realization that without darkness, I could not have ever created my drawing. I drew with black pen on a white paper. The patterns could not be seen if I had drawn with white. It took darkness to create the image. Now, as I battle the darkness that lives within me, I will not sentence it to a dungeon. I will use it to reveal more about myself; it is an integral part of the journey that is my life.

In the moment that I created my drawing, I recognized that strange orb that hovered above my bed so long ago. The drawing is a splicing of that crystalline structure. The orb-- and the drawing -- is what my consciousness looks like. It is me.

And though it has imperfections, it is perfect.

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