Something changed these past few weeks. I got bored with my mind. It feels like the final baton hand-off from my head to my heart. The reign of mind is over. Phew. I’ve been trying to figure it all out. The big IT, ie. what is it all about? Who are we and why are we here? I thought that if I could figure that out then I could finally relax and just be. Be ok with the world as it is. Only then could I really play. The baton pass was catalyzed two weekends ago at the end of the spiritual seeker rainbow, the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, CA. It was there in the 1970s that Huxley, Maslow, Leonard, Murphy and others gave the finger to conventional society and explored the big IT at every level. I was there for a weekend retreat called The Return, led by the Founder of Esalen’s son and healer in his own right Mac Murphy and Zach Bell, an experience maker and entrepreneur. Together they are curating a conversation around the next chapter of the Human Potential Movement. It was magical and idyllic and hot springs full of naked people.
One morning we went on a guided hike into a canyon where our guide, imagine Hemingway goes to Burning Man, placed each of us in a “special spot” under the trees to meditate and write on the question, “How can community support our individuality?” The first ten minutes of my hour meditation was spent paralyzed by a voice inside my head pressuring me to, “BE PROFOUND!”
Then I gave up and wrote:
“You call this a “special spot”? Pfff. This spot is a mound of dirt and I can feel rocks poking me in the ass. This spot is right on the path with loud hikers and two kids shooting a sling shot. Is that a freeway I hear? This is not the spot I imagined. I’d like an aesthetically pleasing spot that really inspires reflection and truth please. A picturesque spot I can Instagram #unfiltered. The perfect spot would be completely private and covered in soft, plush, bug-free moss. Nature’s mattress without the pea. In this spot I could rest, quiet the mind, take off all my masks, and be free. But not this spot. No, definitely not this one. I want a luxurious pain-free spot with occasional back-rubs and a view of the ocean. In that spot I’ll find enlightenment and total freedom. In that spot I will no longer care about what spot I’ve been assigned! Who says I need to take what I’ve been given, fuck that! I deserve a better spot. There is a spot by the river where someone just left. Maybe I should take her spot. Can I ask for another spot? If I tell you I want another spot you will judge me as superficial and spiritually retarded. You will tell me I am suffering from victim consciousness and tell me to leave and demand I find another spot elsewhere. Then, I’ll be alone. (Tiny pause) Wait, who are you to tell ME upon which spot I should sit? Do you know who I am?! You have no idea the badass spots I’ve sat in. The spots I have seen. Wow, such incredible, mind-blowing spots. How lucky I’ve been. Ugh, you are right, I should just appreciate the spot I’m in. I’m being an asshole. Listen to that creek you selfish little brat. Suck it up and be grateful for this spot. I probably don’t deserve it. Who complains in a glorious cathedral of ancient trees? I wish I could tear this part out, the part for which no spot is ever good enough. Wait, do you smell that? It smells like pancakes! Whaaat? Where are the pancakes? I’m in the woods! The smell of pancakes and a perfect sunbeam hitting the green leaves to my immediate right. This spot rocks!”
Once I allowed the mind to swing from one extreme to the other, I was able to break from the rabbitty mind fuck of ego/judgement itself. Ugh. I’m exhausted. I could smoke the proverbial cigarette. Ha. The idea that one spot is greater or lesser, a five star portal to freedom. As I sat in the space just outside the mind spin I could feel the undercurrent of fear fueling it. The tension of deep longing to connect completely to you Soulmate, to community, to God and the equal terror of losing my perceived “special-ness”, my individuality, my me-ness. And under that of course is the fear of death and a sweet layer of grief that is worried that if I’m not special and no special soul remains, then there is nothing left of my father. He wouldn’t be special either. And that I can’t abide.