December 19, 204
Continuing with the ‘a feature, not a bug’ theme is today’s meditation. No matter how many times I am reminded of it, I always go back to feeling like something is wrong with me because I’m so sensitive. Life in the everyday world is a challenge for me because I feel barraged by the knife edges of everyone’s ego. I experience on multiple levels just how effed up people are. The present world is crazy, filled with crazy people doing crazy things. The particularly twisted part of this is that most people are oblivious to the depth of our psychoses.
Believing that I am the flawed one rather than it is society that is flawed strikes me as a juvenile way of thinking. After all, children tend to blame themselves for their family’s toxicity, believing they are the cause of it somehow. Perhaps I am not so different?
This morning, the silver fox spirit that I encountered a couple days ago reappeared. He seemed to feel gratitude to me for helping him out and offered me a reward. He led me through his nighttime realm of snow and ice to a gloomy estate. It was a Gothic manor constructed of black basalt rock. There was a snow-covered garden in front, surrounded by a heavy black stone wall. The manor itself was ‘infected’ with blood, seemed to be pulsing with unholy life. I recognized this same blood-red aura from other recent trips.
I should point out that the blood red and crusty blackness of the place didn’t feel evil or even necessarily wrong but it did feel out of balance. I feel like balance is a better way of looking at these experiences. Some realms are more balanced than others.
I approached the garden, realizing there was an immense egg-like opal in the center. Its surface was a nacre-like substance that pulsed with red and black. As I approached, the thing ‘hatched’ revealing an angel contained within. She had long black hair and was quite tall. As she emerged from the cocoon, she towered over me and glowed with the black light of the Absolute. She extended her wings and instantly I was drawn into utter darkness. It was not frightening, though; on the contrary, it was deeply peaceful.
Gradually, the blackness gave way to a glowing white, the same quality of light I associate with the place I call The Crossroads. Before me was a coffin made of white ice. There was a clear slab of ice on top that I pushed aside to reveal none other than the sleeping body of the one I call the Woman in White. She awoke from her slumber as soon as I lifted off the slab of ice covering her. She was smiling.
I cried with joy upon seeing her again. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her and I harbor deep feelings of love and affection for her. We embraced and I asked her how she happened to be locked away in this icy coffin. She laughed saying, “Just like you have retrieved lost parts of yourself in this place,” meaning the Imaginal, “there are fragments of me locked away here, too. Thank you for freeing a part of myself!”
She swept out her arms and we immediately were in the snowy forest of the Crossroads. It was radiantly sunny, everything on fire with white, and we were surrounded by many of the souls of those I’ve encountered during my travels. The atmosphere was one of celebration and happiness. Even the great, white stag appeared–he’s the psychopomp I have encountered most frequently since losing touch with the Woman in White–he was also happy, although he doesn’t show his emotions and mostly appears as somewhat withdrawn and dour. While he’s as powerful as the Woman, he also couldn’t be more different temperamentally.
This pleasant scene didn’t last as darkness encroached and I found myself back in a hellscape of crusty black magma shot through with brilliant blood red. It’s like a wound that hasn’t healed and I suppose this is exactly what it is. It feels like the ever-expanding continent of negative karma humanity is accumulating.
“Why am I here?” I asked the Woman. “It’s so awful!”
She laughed again. “The fact that you’re here is a tremendous gift. Don’t you see?”
“I don’t.”
She hugged me, laughing, and then drew me in for a kiss. I cried so hard! I’ve longed for her presence!
When she released me, she instructed, “Look behind you.”
I did and saw that everywhere my feet had stepped, fresh, green grass and tender white flowers had grown up. (The flowers were snowdrops.) They had sprouted on the bruised and bloody landscape, leaving a trail everywhere I had been.
“You leave a path of hope wherever you go,” she explained, still hugging me. “It leads to the truth, just as you are drawn to the truth above all else. Simply by walking through here, you have helped innumerable people and beings to find their own pathway to freedom. That is a gift.”
If I’d been crying before this, I was balling now.
“Don’t you see how being here is a gift, not only to you but to all beings?” she asked. “The mere fact that you can find your way here is hope. You can go anywhere, see anything. It is something only a handful of beings can do.”
As she said this, the hellscape dissolved and I was standing on a hillside covered in new grass and white flowers. The sky was blue overhead. White clouds scudded along, blown by a warm breeze. It was incredibly beautiful and everywhere I looked, I could feel the loving presence of the divine.
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