memoir
transformational arts
Descent

"The way there is long and painful," they warned, "but once there, once awake, you will know a rich and deep joy in a kind of detail that you have never been able, even now you cannot imagine because of the difference in the molecular arrangement, to fathom. The detail is what brings people back. The detail and the pain."

With those words, they disappeared, leaving me to wonder exactly what they meant. They never joked - not about things like descent and materialization in the presence of one who was about to make the journey. Something I couldn't imagine? That in itself was hard to imagine. Something about the difference in molecular structure.

I set about preparing. I fixed in my mind all that I held dear: the clouds, the colors of our radiance, the rippling ascension that kept me buoyant, cell by cell; my beloveds, the dance, the companions whose smiling essence affirmed me always; and my journeys into the Waveform. As I moved into these awarenesses, I felt myself rise and become lighter. The first stuff was packed.

I thought of the fragments whose cries had sailed into my heart, and I saw the floating whole suggesting itself holographically above, around, and even graphically in their midst. I couldn't imagine that I would become like those fragments, forgetting everything in the trance of becoming. I looked forward to emerging in their midst and urging their eyes through the mist they saw as solid barriers. I had had so much training. I knew I could help. It was my destiny - my myafora. I felt myself beginning to exult and let myself disintegrate just a little. It felt so good.

"When you're there, there will be other things like this," I heard. "There will be the temptation to disintegrate a lot. You have to be careful, because there is a lot of resistance there to the effects of disintegration. People who have been there for a very long time, even some from this level, become upset, they solidify around you, make it difficult for you to continue. It's where a lot of people lose the long focus, forget.

It's not like disintegrating here. There, other people get very attracted to you when you disintegrate. It's appealing, particularly to people in desire, or to people who like to manipulate. They don't think very much of people who stay focused. They've created an environment that really promotes fragmentation."

I was beginning to get bored. I knew all of this. It was the main thing we all focused on:  Don't disintegrate there. Stay focused. And then, of course, was the other mandate.  Play.

So I pulled myself back into my colors, into the Waveform, and into the mantra which had shown itself to me, the one that I knew must be unspoken until. I didn't know any more than that. Just until. I saw the spiral begin to form. I began my descent.

I was pulled, a feather in a vacuum cleaner, through everything I had ever been aware of - every cellular memory, every chaotic moment of becoming, every brilliant explosion of awareness as consciousness burst through old membranes which shattered and fell apart, crying in desperation and raging in wrathful indignation and complete terror.
Breath was gone, the pulse of being had magnified and drummed in unbearable decibels through layers of tissue that lay heavily and close around me, were me but not me. I panicked.

"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" I screamed inside myself. What was this craziness? 

A momentary relief blew into my awareness - my colors in a musical scheme that was Mother.

A river of calm wound through my fear, a broad, slow, paley opalescent, murky bluish white that was empty of agenda. I floated on it awhile and felt myself carried into lifetimes of ease and friendship. Would this continue? Was this real? Was it something I could count on? And if so, when, And if not, why?
 

Sadness seeped up through me and pulled my bulk  down into this matrix in which I floated helplessly, comforted and powerless. Oh, where was life? What had I done? There was nothing here - emptiness echoed in endless seeking through the pale ectomorphic resonance. This was something I didn't know. I knew I had prepared thoroughly for this. How was it that there was something I couldn't place? Dim memories of warnings about forgetfulness popped shallowly inside my head, ghosts of something - a rich exchange between student and teacher, somewhere. Who was I - the student or the teacher? When would I be I again? Did I have to wait through this whole journey to feel like me again?

I fell. Suddenly and steeply, my self shot down, pulled again by something I had not foreseen and could not stop. A dark and wind-ravaged abyss pulled me down, shrieking. I knew I wasn't making a sound, and I was shrieking inside my being, splitting myself into disparate, angry pieces I could not identify. Oh my God, oh my God, help me. Help Me!

The wind became one long mourning sound. The fall became one smooth ribbon of darkly solid substance strong enough to bear my anger and the weight of my sorrow and almost comforting. It was bitter, though. As I traveled in it, on it, I shuddered with its bitterness. I wanted out. I wanted home. I wanted whoever I was. 

Had I made this up? Was I in charge? No. This could not be. This was foreign to everything I knew or could imagine. Grief opened its dark blue mouth and swallowed me. I closed my eyes and tried to disappear.

This is the way many people feel all their lives. This is why you decided to descend. This is not your path. Do you still want to go?

It was over. Everything was normal again. I lay gasping inside the fibers of my  translucent, beautiful shell of pastel allegro. I wept with relief and rose spontaneously and fast into the golden shaft. I felt my radiance around me, shimmering with familiar blessing, the way I was supposed to be. 

Now that I have gone and come back, I can tell you that it felt like almost drowning and suddenly popping up out of the water, desperate mouth open for the breath that one had come to believe would never come. Oh, my Creator, how You become.

I slowed my drift and attended to the question which was the order of the moment. I pulled in and focused on the hell I had just been in. I saw it, and I saw its format and matrix, saw the tube in which it had formed and the dark corner which it kept alive by its intent. My radiance now flowing in its familiar ripples gave access to thoughtful consideration of the question whose answer must be truthful.

 Always the beautiful answer the more beautiful question.

I saw the horror, I saw myself small, dense and totally overwhelmed.

"Will I have to feel like that?"

"You won't have to feel anything you don't want to. But you may not know how to control what you want."

"Will there be others from home around me?"

"There will always be home around you. You just have to be aware of it. "

A long pause.

"That's the challenge."

 I heard the endless wailing of the place. I opened my arms toward the vision and moved closer so this wounded moment could suckle at my breast. I nursed and felt the rush of peace. I let the sadness move into my opened heart and felt it push out of my throat, felt it roll down my cheeks. It tasted sour and afraid. I looked at the moment in detail. The falling, the denseness, the complete terror, the disavowal of self. I saw it all and I could not help but love it.

"Well, yes. What else am I going to do that will be as effective?" I said.

They smiled.

I went to sleep.

(c) Leiah Bowden 1998

Leiah Bowden
Lightspeak Transformational Arts
Spiritual Art: Seeing and Painting Chakra & Aura Colors
(518) 374-4388
yes@lightspeak.com
TM