Into the Mist

It seems that a lot of angst would be spared if the spiritual path—and life, in general—had an undeniable standard pattern that could guarantee we were ‘on track’. There would be an invariable voice of the intuitive, heard by everyone—that you could compare with what your friends heard, just to make sure you were tuned into the right channel. Maps could be acquired in advance of any planned spiritual progression, to do away with all the years of meandering through endless forays.

 So much effort is required to first determine if the mounting need within should be responded to as a worthy motivation or merely (as we are often told) a chance to mature—in the real world a word frequently implying a directive to ‘neglect,’ ‘deny,’ or ‘rationalize’. Once certain we have a true calling to this path, we must next determine from just where the voice of one’s guiding intuitive will emanate. What language will we use to communicate with it—service, art, and dance, even words? What environment will most likely evoke its presence? 

For me, one of my most powerful connections to the Absolute—the Tao, or whatever you may call the unified intelligence—has turned out to be through just the right story: something that takes the form of an extended mantra, imbued with a rhythm and symbolism resonating so personally that it seems surely to be a direct manifestation of my intuitive self. Such a ‘chant’ lures me beyond my imagined limitations, to allow me to unreservedly embrace an otherwise untouchable identity.

That being the case, I guess I should not have been surprised when over time, I became aware that whenever my higher self, spirit guides, or other such familiars have been unable to otherwise get a piece of learning across to me, one of their choice tools is to bring it to me in the form of a story—even if I am the writer of that story. No matter what I have in mind, or am working on, I find my writing activities are suddenly hijacked along a previously unanticipated path. If I am in the midst of a neglectful sabbatical from writing, my mind becomes so inflicted with an unfolding tale that I must write it down to free myself from its clamor. 

These playful friends of mine (my muses) are quite talented. For, as soon as they force me back to the keyboard, or by the moment that I realize that we have taken a “wrong” turn (if I was currently in a writing cycle), my conscious mind has already been seduced into gladly following their whimsy. 

As a rule, once their intended lesson is conveyed via the resulting story, I am amazed that I was not already consciously aware of the information they have presented. Quite often I am such a complete convert that I cannot imagine how I could have been unaware of this particular information previously. Sometimes I suspect that I merely want to have as much as my instruction as possible delivered in this, my most favorite way.   I can’t offer any reasonable excuse for why I have periodically withdrawn from writing when I know that is the fount of so much valuable instruction for me. The most likely justification that I can offer is what flows before me is sometimes more than I was prepared to stand up before: sometimes “the truth may be recognized before the peace to live it is realized.” 

The last time I had the good fortune of a being redirected along a path of instruction, I was making my way to rework a long-neglected bit of writing: doing preparatory exercises of short stories. Without warning, one of the stories—that soon became my novel, Sacred Vow—lay hold to my attention, far exceeding my intentions. I pursued, curious about what passed before me. After hour upon hour of following this new lure, I came out of my little 3×5 writing closet in a deep meditative state. Clearly, this story would be no mere preparation for another.

Shortly afterwards, my job was downsized.

I now had no excuse not to follow with abandon. My writing closet—so small that I must turn the chair away from the desk to be able to stand and open the door to leave—may be an appropriate environment for inducing a meditative state—sitting in the dark for long hours, staring at a single light before me (the computer monitor). But I think there was something more going on. For ten to twelve hours a day, over the next several of weeks, I followed where the experience led. I was enjoying the story unfolding before me, but I was ecstatic from the sensation of extended periods of being connected to my higher self. My wife said that I possessed a radiance when I walked into the house during breaks in the writing. True, I typed in the text, but I did not initially imagine their meanings.  

Weeks later, hiking with a friend, I told him of some of the views of reality unfolding in this new book. After listening attentively, he said: “Do you really believe this is the way it works?”  

We continued deeper into the woods, as I gave his question thought. I was a little amused at the answer I finally had to admit. I said, “Until I saw this information in the story, I can’t say that I had any such ideas. But now, yes, I think this is a truth.”   

“You know how tarot cards unveils truth depending on the way the cards fall?” he asked. “Perhaps just such an auspicious falling of words on your screen is unfolding the same way.”  

For just such moments of clear connection with my higher self as the writing of Sacred Vow, I gladly pay the cost of the once seemingly endless attempts to connect with my unique path and intuitive voice.

 Copyright 2007 CG Walters  

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the mystical, metaphysical, and mythical insight that we all possess.  He see fiction not as something less than truth, but something akin to a mantra…a means to induce the reader into comfortably ‘allowing’ their personal truth—a living, ever progressing truth, fit to their need at any given time. His current novel, Sacred Vow is first and foremost a metaphysical love story, a tale of soul mates—twin  flames—a journey toward our one true love…in its infinite expressions…bringing together two individuals from disparate realities—but one spirit—to heal the rift in the Collective Consciousness.    

Request a full length FREE PDF of Sacred Vow by going to www.cgwalters.com/spirit_story.htm   and clicking on the link in the page to send an email request. Purchase a signed paperback copy from http://sacredvow.dragonsbeard.com – or buy from your favorite brick and mortar, or online, store.    

For a recent interview with CG, listen to the KarmaCaffe Spiritual Hour archive at

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/karmacaffe/2007/10/18/Karma-Caffe-Spiritual-Hour   This copyrighted article may be freely reprinted as long as the entire article and complete by line is included.

This excerpted article is from the novel, Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical). There is a rift in the Collective Consciousness because people are not bonding one to another. The Sisterhood of Crones (a description of the order, not their name–as their name is without word) is about to perform a ritual to receive a message from the Collective Consciousness….

Prologue

Choice of the ritual location was dictated by nature just days before. Hundreds of people had roamed hill and field, dowsing for the place possessing the energy necessary for their purpose. The intended process could not take place on one of their customary ceremonial sites, but only the spot identified as radiating the strongest flow of earth energy at the anticipated time of the rite.        Three ley lines, channels of the land’s energy, crossed a wooded hillside in a small patch of flat ground. Two ancient hardwood trees, one standing on either side of the rear of the opening, leaned forward before the rocky slope that bordered the backside of the level area. Their leaves filtered what little light could make its way from above.        Between the trees, at the base of the slope, there was a large greenish-gray stone. Its jagged face rose some twenty feet in the air. Three small streams, swollen with recent rains, flowed down the slope, marking the perimeter of the flat plot of land in front of the stone, before converging and flowing downward over a small waterfall. The stream-encircled ground was carpeted with a thick, soft moss.        Once the location had been identified and verified, the holy women who would use that place and its energy consecrated it. On the appointed evening, shortly after midnight, a ceremonial procession of The Nine—which consisted of the Crone Mother, leader of their mystic order, and eight more of the wisest women of their society—Katerina, understudy to the Crone Mother, and their considerable entourage made their way to the location. For several hours, from their village to the south, those who remained behind could see the winding line of torches, and hear the repetitive chants as the group made their way to the anointed site.        Once the group arrived, still in the dark of the night, attendants placed torches around the perimeter of the chosen site. Then they spread seating mats in a large circle on the ground for those who would perform the ritual, with the Crone Mother’s back to the large boulder at the head of the flat ground. Katerina took her position, in the center of the circle, facing the Crone Mother. Once the members of the ceremony were seated, their retinue withdrew some distance from the site, in order not to disrupt the proceedings.

This copyrighted article may be freely reprinted as long as it is reprinted in its entirety, along with the by-line.