ACMindworks

Tag: writing

  • Contemplation of the Online Mirror

    May 18: Clearly it’s been a while since I last wrote a post for this blog. There were some facets involving my family I needed to engage with, as well as a deeply personal experience to undertake. Such things are not meant to be shared in so public a place. In fact, I would say that bringing that kind of attention to those experiences would fundamentally disrupt the kind of alchemy being undertaken and impact the results trying to be achieved.

    Outlets such as these blog-spaces, social media, and other technological platforms present a totally unprecedented affect on the development of mental/emotional flow, providing a constant temptation for attention and external validation. It’s very clearly proving to be something of a substantial issue in regards to the effective functionality of human consciousness. I can’t help but feel we are collectively sharing way too much, way too easily, far too quickly, without allowing the proper internal processes to actualize before bringing concrete definitions of said experiences out into the world. There’s a tremendous fracturing effect that can come from oversharing oneself online, the sense of self overly orienting towards the response of others rather than the actual embodied experience.

    I won’t say much on the subject of my experiences these past few months beyond that it was incredibly intensive and deeply profound, changing much of how I feel about myself and life in general, very much for the better. I do not believe I could have achieved that had I been sharing of it here (or any other public forum) throughout. Even talking about it to those I am very close with and know me well proved to have substantial limits.

    All of that leaves me with the thought that we are essentially losing touch with these deeper, intensive parts of our individual totality through excessive digital expression, distracting our awareness away from authentic self-understanding through the inescapably synthetic nature of online life, whether through the fixation on a curated expression of self or the similar presentation of others. Even in this moment as I write these words, attempting to capture the thoughts and feelings running through me in relation to this idea, I can sense the disruption of full spontaneity as I work to calculate this idea through words I know will be read by others. In order to craft this, I must, in effect, go out of myself, and thus become disconnected from the intimate immediacy of my holistic present experience.

    I can’t help but wonder if we are truly benefited by this immensely all-encompassing technological influence. What are we sacrificing by directing our consciousness out of manifested life and into the biologically disconnected realm of technology with such frequency? I’m honestly not entirely certain what to think about that right now. Clearly I am continuing to engage with it, directing my mind and awareness into this very blog post, and as it stands I do not foresee myself ceasing in this particular stream of creative exploration.

    There’s no question it affords a unique method of connection and communication within the human experience, but there’s also no doubt (in my mind) that it’s essentially a solely human experience. Trees do not post pictures of themselves on Instagram. The wind doesn’t upload its tones to Spotify. The stars can’t speak of their silent wisdom on Twitter (or X or whatever). I have to wonder how much of the divine is actually able to be translated and transmitted into whatever layer of existence lies behind the screen.

    Obviously this is all speculation without any easily discernible answer, nor an overtly measurable effect, but I personally see value in pondering subjects and ideas awash in uncertainty and ambiguity, and with the increased pace that technology is interfacing and effecting the way in which we think— AI already threatening to overtake our own inbuilt capacity for creative and critical thinking, and the world slipping more and more into baffling, dissonant forms of conflict and confusion by means of digital discourse—I think it’s well worth pondering these things, even without an obvious answer. I suppose after coming off of a period of decreased online engagement and increased communion with the innate flow of lifeforce, both personal and environmental, the distinction in the energetic, sensory experience feels a little more pronounced right now, and honestly somewhat disorienting.

    Perhaps healthy balance and honest self-regulation in relation to technological orientation is the key with this. That strikes me as making the most sense currently. But I fail to see a healthy and honest relationship to technological affect taking place in our world, and I can’t help wondering at all that is being implied by that. And considering implicit wisdom seems to be losing ground against explicit presumption in the online sphere, I wonder if we’ll ever resolve those imbalances…

    But on a rather contrary note, part of the positive that I feel is taking place in my own world is an increased faith in the operations of spiritual or divine processes, so despite however this all unfolds, I find myself easing ever more into a belief that it’ll all work out in however it needs to, one way or the other.

    I often like to think of the internet as an increased expression of the mirror of Narcissus, so perhaps what it’s really doing is affording us the opportunity to see ourselves, in all the beauty and ugliness, chaos and consideration, and the straight up idiosyncratic nature that has always been innate to the human condition in a way so visceral and direct, we might finally see ourselves reflected back with a potency that spurs us on to become something better.

    Whatever the case might need to be, consider me a strong proponent of switching oneself off from the online sphere from time to time, and really sinking into the greater flow of present, direct life in order to allow the cultivation of connection between the authentic interior and the embraced exterior. I certainly feel myself as having been greatly benefited by doing so for those past few months.

  • Short Story: A Walk in the Woods

    Upon awakening one morning, the sudden inspiration to go for a walk lit up the mind. Following the whim of this impulse, the self left the cozy confines of its heavenly home. Carrying a bag stuffed with supplies, the feet guided the self down the path, out into the wide unknown. A forest was soon found, and the self was struck with a strong need to enter it. At the outskirts was a path, well worn and offering a wide opening into the dense, green space. An odd sensation surged through the self as it passed the threshold from outer to inner, but the mind paid it little heed beyond a fleeting curiosity.

     The fresh, warm light of the rising sun gave way to the dark chill awaiting inside. A shiver descended down the self’s back, quickly followed by an ascent of invigorating enthusiasm, elicited by the rich affect of dynamic lifeforce abound within the forest’s bonds. Giddiness and glee tumbled out from the self, quickening the step and adding a touch of swagger to the gait.

     Looking about the trees, the self saw their youthful strength, felt their vivid vitality. Loud laughter lashed out from the mouth, the self taken by the joy the trees seemed so alive with. Entering even deeper into this forested domain, a luscious tapestry of flowers began to carpet the ground all around the path, filling the nostrils and intoxicating the senses with their sweet fragrance. Oh, how glad was the self in that moment at having followed its whim towards this fabulous forest. How so deliciously alive it was, and how potently alive it caused the self to feel.

     The enthusiasm for the experience increased within the self, somewhat softening the hardness of the mind, stimulating the senses of the form, and evoking a feeling to flow freely and uninhibited with it all. The memory proved to be rather hazy regarding the exact events that then followed, save to say that the sense of it felt very good.

     Ultimately, what brought the self back down from this exalted state was when the eyes began to see the odd tree branch littering the path, broken from their mother trunk in a way that gave an impression of violence. Then the self noticed the flowers living so lovely along the path’s edge were damaged and disrupted by careless footsteps. Worse yet, whomever the source of this woeful indignity was had taken to plucking the flowers and thoughtlessly tossing them aside once they tired of their beauty and fragrance.

     This influence of ignorant chaos only increased the further the feet walked forward, increasing the fires of anger rising within the self’s core. This unknown other had the gall to disrespectfully leave their waste strewn about the path. Plastic wrappers, metal scraps, empty cartons, scraps of paper and crumpled bottles were haphazardly left all over, and their own foul defecations deposited without regard.

     Anger boiled into rage in response to this blatant impudence. Who could dare to do such a thing? What awful manner of other proceeded the self upon this path? What ill regard informed their malintent? The feet quickened their pace, the self righteously motivated to apprehend this horrible other and reveal to them their blatant sins with all the harsh fury that could be mustered. As the self progressed down the path, the irreverent sight became more upsetting, and so too did the severe judgement burning in the belly increase along with it. This shameful other ahead had much to answer for, deserving no mercy for their heinous crime.

     And then the self noticed something rather odd. Laid upon the path where the feet tread was a broken branch that looked suspiciously familiar, both in shape and placement. So too were the footprints stomped throughout the poor flowers arranged in a previously seen way, and the garbage ahead appeared to be the exact same as what had initially infuriated the self.

     With a sinking feeling of dawning realization, the eyes inspected the footprints within the flowers from a closer vantage, and upon comparing them to the soles of the feet, horror struck with the revelation that they were a perfect match. It was not some other awful self who had so thoughtlessly disrupted and disrespected the peaceful beauty found within the forest. It was this self.

     Of course, denial flared up, the foolish ego attempting to absolve itself. “Surely I am simply misreading the signs,” the ego thought. “I could never cause such harm. I am a good person. It is only ever the other that enacts such sins.”

     But such refutations were obviously in vain. There could be no mistaking who the true culprit was. While overtaken with the state of enthusiastic rapture, the self had wound up on a path that circles upon itself, thus allowing for the influence and effect of its ignorance and indulgence to be revealed. The self immediately felt darkened with shame, contracting into guilt, and suffered the blowback of an ill-earned self-esteem now so suddenly ripped away. Overcome with enormous self-pity disguised as self-loathing, the self fell to the ground and wept, intending to remain there until death took its due.

     So lost to the domineering drama of inner angst was the self that it hardly heard the soft word whispering to it from afar. An ear managed to lift out from that rather embarrassing stupor to hear the message being imparted.

     “At least clean up the mess you left,” it seemed to say. “And if you really need to feel sorry for yourself afterwards, by all means do so.”

     The self had a few moments of debate with the mind whether or not to actually heed the message, but ultimately there was no worthy argument against it. The self managed to get back on the feet, despite the emotional weight bearing down. The self then proceeded to collect up all the broken branches and neatly pile them next to a pair of thick, older trees; cleaned up the flowerbeds as best as could be achieved, replanting the flowers that yet held a chance for life and placing the rest next to the pile of branches; collected up all of the garbage into a plastic bag that had been discarded on a bush, storing it in the bag hanging on the shoulder; and finished by digging a hole to bury the most shameful of what had been left.

     The self did indeed feel better after having taken responsibility for the mess, but guilt and shame still hung heavy in the heart and mind. The self no longer felt worthy to remain in that special forest.

     But again the voice spoke. “Well done cleaning up after yourself. Of course, you may leave if you so wish, but why not instead come a little deeper into the forest. There is a trail, hidden to the eyes of those who do not wish to see, that you would do well to walk.”

     The self hesitated to acquiesce, but a certain curious sense spurred the action to do as suggested. The trail was indeed found, not so obvious or well tread as the path it branched off from, but unmistakable now that the eyes knew to look for it. Walking this trail required more care, as it was largely grown over, and the self was very mindful not to impart any more harm to the copious plant life growing all about. It proved to be a long trail, and one made all the darker due to the density of foliage. An odd apprehension grew within the belly as the self ventured ever closer to the the trail’s end. What was found there took the breath away.

     A wide, open meadow, alight with the sun’s radiant warmth, had laid hidden in what the self intuitively knew to be the heart of the forest. An astounding variety of flowers grew everywhere, their colors vivid, their geometry inspired, and their fragrance sublime. Running through the center of the meadow was a stream, continuously singing a sweet, burbling song. Next to the stream was a figure, robed in white, their back towards where the self stood. As the figure turned to meet the eyes with their own, the self was forced to look away, the splendor in their gaze beyond what the self could bear.

     “Welcome, child,” the figure said, their voice all comfort and melody. Yet still the self could not match their stare.

    The mind was immediately overwhelmed with the thought that it was not for the self to be there, and the heart hurt in reply. The thought continued, claiming the self should leave, that they were not to stay. Considering all the harm the self had already done to the forest, there was a fear for what more might be imparted.

     The self was about to turn and leave when a gentle hand was felt upon the chin. That warm hand lifted the face, bringing the eyes to meet a golden pair emanating such a depth of love, pouring it out abundantly through their gaze. Immediately tears arose. It could not be said whether the figure was male or female, only that they were beautiful beyond belief, their features almost childlike yet their essence ageless.

    The tears soon began to flow freely, flavored with such sorrow. As the figure beamed a wondrous smile at the self, the tears turned to joy. With a soothing tone and a healing lightness, the figure uttered the most powerfully affecting phrase.

    “Welcome home.”

  • Heartfelt Reflection

    Jan 31: (Editor Aodhan here: I feel the need to add some thoughts to what was initial written. As will be noted, I wrote what will follow this introduction over two weeks ago, yet haven’t been compelled to post it. Not only that, but I haven’t felt any pull towards posting to the blog in general lately. Reflecting upon that fact, as the sense to finally put this up is activated within me, I am able to recognize with a clearer awareness that there are aspects and facets of this life experience that cannot be shared so openly or easily; that they are not meant to be shared.

    There are parts of our own inner alchemy that fundamentally require a kind of internal hermetic solitude; thoughts, feelings, emotions and experiences that can only be truly processed and integrated in the safe sanctity of our own inner hearth. Much of what my attention and intention have drawn me towards lately are rooted in such processes. For now, the best I can say about it is that the narrative progression, or archetypal equation, I’ve been running through my system, ie the dynamics correspondent with Venus (Mary), the Sun (Christ), and Saturn (authority/hedonist split), have lead me towards a greater emphasis of importance upon the state and operations of the heart. Love really is the key, and the heart is the sphere that is the most in tune with that particular note.

    There is another archetypal image that emerges when a deeper consideration and exploration of that sphere is undertaken, and that is of a largely hidden figure most easily, on a collective level, identified as Vesta. There is good reason for her to remain hidden, and it is only through personal meditation that it is revealed as to why this must be. No more needs to be said on the matter, nor can be in any useful means.

    I’ll finish this drawn-out intro by saying I feel blessed with my current circumstance, satisfied with the way things are moving in my world, and I’m largely happy and whole. What’s to follow here is an expression that emerged from this process of heart work I’ve been engaged in, and while it almost feels a little too vulnerable to share, my past self obviously felt compelled to do so, and thus my now self wishes to honor that. Perhaps this is all part of my own heart healing. Perhaps that is at the core of this entire blog. Perhaps that is the core need of the collective healing. It certainly seems like it in this moment I type out these words. Anyways, enough of this preamble ramble. I’ll let my past self take over.)    

    There’s something of a pattern that has begun to emerge in the way I’ve been approaching this blog; a pattern that reveals an aspect of how I tend to operate. My initial intention with this online space was to let it be a place where I could share in my own, personal thoughts and feelings; a means to externalize my personal experience through the written word. While that has indeed been the case, I’ve noticed myself leaning further and further into abstract formulation and contextual calculation with these writings rather than an emphasis on sharing of myself. I tend to do this in general, focus my attention on the larger picture and ultimately lose track of myself. I suppose this post is going to be an attempt at bringing the focus back to my humanity.

    It would seem I’m just far more comfortable with the abstract rather than the tangible; the ineffable rather than the ephemeral. I’ve gone through long periods where the human world, with all it’s impermanent presumptions and self-serious structures, felt so incredibly irrelevant to me. Like grasping at vaporous mirages for meaning and purpose. But despite my preference (and perhaps over-fixation) on uncovering the metaphysical undercurrents, a need for the physical, the material, the tangible, and the human remains.

    Much of what I have been writing in this blog is rooted in my efforts to restore that part of my nature, to settle my awareness back into the fleeting form of human experience. To find a means by which to love that experience despite its imperfections and dysfunctions. I cannot deny that a degree of struggle, and perhaps hesitancy, yet persists in achieving that state of being.

    When looking out from my internal universe onto the external world, it’s very easy to see much that obscures inspiration, chokes out faith, or paints in hues of ugliness and corruption. It takes conscious, continuous effort to hold love in this realm. To keep it burning in the heart even when the icy winds of apathy and selfishness work to snuff it out. And what more important place is there to ground that love than one’s own material aspect? Therefore, my capacity to love humanity is tethered to the degree of love shown towards my own humanness.

    It’s funny, many people I know seem to feel a kind of heavy gravity in regards to the world, their attention and awareness  being pulled down and deeper into it, losing faith or hope or belief in a higher influence. I seem to work in reverse, a gravity pulling me away from the world and into an abstract, intangible awareness of higher beauty and order. The temptation to forego my humanity and assimilate myself even greater to that higher state is strong indeed. However, as I said, there yet remains something that keeps me anchored to the human; keeps me curious to engage; motivated to love.

    That notion seems to be what is leading me to my experience of the Christ essence, and the idea of embracing life as an act of divine love, rather than disregarding it due to its ridiculous nature. Perhaps that touches in on why I can find it challenging to speak more readily about my subjective experiences here, despite that being the intended purpose of this blog: I don’t entirely understand what it is I am experiencing myself, through whatever it is I seem to be attempting to enact in this world. That much of my personal thoughts and feelings are rooted in what could be an unspeakable emotional experience of reconciling the willful ignorance of human arrogance and the subtle, quiet glory of a force far beyond left brain comprehension.

    Even as I make the effort to write this rather odd and disjointed mental/emotional experience out, I’m not sure any real, relatable sense is emerging from it. But I suppose the attempt to share and connect, even these hard to define and express things, is itself an act of love, known through the sincere effort. I will keep trying. I will keep making that effort to bring my own, human experience to light here, regardless if the end results always work.

    Chances are I will always and inevitably start leaning towards contextualizing abstractions, but I’ll make more of an effort in returning the attention back to my personal experiences and sharing them here. I think that might be a good way to maintain a love for my lower self, and hopefully cultivate a greater love for all of life as a result.