Further Down The Path (Week 7)

For the week of May 20th to 26th

I read a lot this week, wrote a lot, painted a lot; I spent time in nature and reflected on the seasons. I worked and I gardened. It was all very lovely, but it didn’t go beyond the regular scope of daily life. So, instead of a topical recap, I’m going right for the finale; for what I really want to talk about is spiritual growth.


Meditation & Trance Work

I feel as though I’ve broken through a barrier with my meditation. I am able to hold focus with little effort and for longer periods of time. I am beginning to really feel a shift in my consciousness.


Camille Flammarion.  An illustration depicting the known universe and the shared human desire to see further; to get closer to (the) God(s)/Goddess(es.)

Camille Flammarion.
An illustration depicting the known universe and the shared human desire to see further; to get closer to (the) God(s)/Goddess(es.)


It happens almost suddenly, much in the way lucid dreaming has been unintentionally triggered for me before. Despite having my eyes closed, I feel like my vision loses focus allowing me to see deeper into the darkness in front of me. There is movement there, a slow turning that I can manipulate until it becomes a window into the cosmos. The inky blackness moves and I, in turn, rush in, while still being totally aware of my body and my breathing. I summon roots, directing them to break through my thighs and sprout from my tail bone, reaching downward toward the soil. These roots are strong, chewing through man-made construction and the bedrock below. I can feel the sudden coolness resonating from the earthly waters, which appear to me as a deep, dark lake amid a giant underground cavern. Yet there is light, glowing faintly from some unknown source (maybe bioluminescence?) There is also sound in this cavern; a muffled rushing as countless underground streams and rivers empty into the lake.

I send down my roots, which descend through the empty space between the rock and the water. The moment of impact is almost tangible; the water is ice cold, like early spring glacial runoff that hasn’t yet been warmed by the sun. The water feels intelligent and old, very old. The tips of my roots are raw and beaten from eating through so much debris, yet the moment they enter the water they are instantly soothed.

As I rest my roots in the Well of the Earth, I straighten my spin and gently flex my neck so my face turns towards the daylight. I feel the celestial light wash over, swirl around me in the wind, or through me if the sun or moon meets my countenance. I rest a moment, present in body and open to the experience, as I reconnect with my roots and focus on my breath. Then I search for my star.

Despite the narration of The Two Powers meditation, I never feel or see my star directly above my head. I find her (for some reason she feels innately feminine) in a direct line from my third eye chakra, deep within the galaxy. She is deceptively small, as the distance makes her but a speck in the sky; easily overlooked as the brighter astral bodies swirl around her. But we see each other and for a moment that connection is stark, like finding a familiar face on the other side of a crowded room. I approach her with respect and admiration, letting her swell towards me in response to my call. Her light begins to grow, steady and warm, until a slightly unfocused golden beam falls from the sky. As the beam hits me, I shiver. My feet and thighs are cold from the contact with the earthly waters as my face and shoulders start to flush in the warm beam. I hold both sensations, both powers, tethered to me.

This is when I call the waters. I imagine my roots become permeable and instead of the waters moving around them, healing the surface, they now take the waters in. Up the water travels, back through the bedrock until it winds around the sewers, pipes, and foundations of the city. I let some of the water trickle out from tiny offshoots, sharing this power with the sleeping seeds and life, both plant and animal, that may need it. Finally, the water reaches my base, but instead of pooling it starts running through my veins, mixing and diluting my blood. The tips of my fingers tingle and my skin reacts to the sudden coolness and, despite the warmth from my star, I shiver.

I feel the water most in my heart, as it pumps effortlessly, moving the water through my body, healing and strengthening. I open my mouth slightly and let the light pour in, illuminating my lips and my chest, until it reaches my heart. I see it, this reaction, like champagne bubbles or a sprinkling of salt in vinegar – it effervesces in me and quickens. And greedily, I hold onto this feeling as long as I possibly can.

But slowly it fades. My roots are the first to retract, withdrawing from the primal source of water, like retractable talons they stiffly recoil back within. I flex my toes and my lower back. Next I breathe deep once more before letting my breath return to normal and I begin to release the light of my star. Each time I feel it’s vital that I learn her name, her purpose, her representation – like she is the astral body of a Goddess or an Ancestor, yet nothing so far has been made clear to me. I offer her my gratitude and feel her final light as blessing as she turns away. Yet, on some level, I need to know her name.

Sometimes I just sit and let myself slowly return, like waking up from a deep sleep. Other times my eyes open immediately, like I’ve been kicked in the stomach and instinctively gasp for breath.

Seven weeks to make progress, but like all new things, there is that moment of understanding. I feel that I’ve had that moment, where I’m no longer uncomfortably fidgeting and fighting the impulse to check the time or tuck a lose strand of hair behind my ear. I feel calm, settled, like I’m on my way to understanding the trail of crumbs leading me to wisdom.

This week has been extraordinary.