I remember an instant when, imprisoned in a type of space-age room, companions to the left and right of me, I knew that I had to find darkness in order to free myself. The only issue was that my captors knew of my ability and they knew how to prevent me from finding that much sought after pitch black. The companion to my right, a stranger to me, had managed to free my hair from its ties, and the length of it and the thickness, allowed me to throw my hair forward. My companions had tried to cover my eyes before, with their cupped hands, but they had been discovered and their wrists were now tightly bound. My hair now hung over my face and the light that was shining directly in my face, was muted and I could close my eyes and enter the darkness once again. A place of supreme solace and eternal options, I slipped into the shadowy corridor that would again lead me to the where I wanted to be. . .
The serenity of the internal compass, once engaged, is an almighty power that seeks to evade all those not worthy of it. No man’s slave, the compass dodges the ambitious and ego orientated minds that burn to capture it. That serenity is the compass . . . let no man tell you otherwise and it is not a complex mechanism that boggles the senses, but rather a simple state of being that confounds the foolish. In its simplicity, it is hidden in plain sight in a place where very few wish to look. The cost for such an endeavor – everything! The hidden expense is not delivered in an invoice that the mind can mull over for a decade, while it searches for a loop hole or a short cut. There is no bargaining for this hidden access and there is no compromise whatsoever. It is an ‘all or nothing’ deal or – walk away.
Once the price has been paid and access is granted, the void is entered with hesitation at first. The void, mystical and serene, sees none of the activity that was once a desperate part of the active physical life. No finger needs to move and the egoic patterns and desires faded and reduced to nothing. Guardians stand invisible and immovable as the to’ing and fro’ing commences and the old life ceases to exist. The hierarchies of traditional power remain resolute within time or space. . . . or both, and the struggle for life releases its grip on the one who paid the ultimate price. The intoxication of desire and individuality, now vanished, allows the true aspirant to take a legitimate step for the first time.
No seeking for the little self, ushers in the greater self and with it the authentic power, not the egoic grabbing at all costs kind of power . . . the good stuff, the power that legends are made of, that move mountains and create worlds. Until that moment when true humility – the naked and innocent kind – is embraced, man mocks God with his feints and stabs at the throne that is empty. Uneasy lays the head that wears the crown, for a lifetime of servitude follows, of posturing and prancing, villainy and judgment, bestowing and graciousness . . . and all for the chance to be at the top of world affairs. To pretend to live where eagles fly, but eagles don’t subject those beneath them to hardship, robbery and despair and so they grow feeble just like ordinary men, and they end just like the beggar on the street, only dressed in fine clothing amongst insincere mourners. At least the beggar has adoring mice that watch in truth at the passing of a great sage – a traveler of life who has spent a lifetime being prepared for the next where, stripped of ego, the beggar enters the kingdoms of grace and majesty. Content with nothing, the sage has everything and having everything, has no need for anything.
And so darkness brings opportunities to leave the world of men and mice, and slip away from the expectations of others, and the mocked up version of light.