The moon is new, its thin curve slicing into the darkness. My cocker spaniel buddy, Cinco, sits on this curve alongside me looking out into the infinite darkness of nothingness that stretches out into eternity.
I sit there, legs swinging below the edge of the moon, my arm around the warmth of the wee body next to me, in the awesome presence of that which has no words, sensing its omnipotence and power. I’ll call it Life Itself for now.
What I know about this place – that isn’t really a place – is that it seems far removed from the day to day experience of my life on planet earth and at the same time, it is at the very heart of that life, deeply embedded in this physical existence.
What I also know is that the stories mind tells me about that existence color it uniquely, and determine how that existence is perceived and lived. It is those stories and beliefs that dominate my day to day experience – until awareness of that infinite beingness begins to surface, enabling all those tired and worn stories to fall away.
And yet…it wasn’t always so.
The exact same picture of me sitting on the curve of a new moon, looking out into the velvety darkness of nothingness, trusty cocker spaniel companion at my side, came to me around 10 years ago. Only this time it was a different trusty companion – her name was Jazzy – and the circumstances that had brought me to this place were vastly different.
Back then, deep, dark bouts of depression were my experience and on this particular night the feeling was that I had come to the edge of some aspect of consciousness. I was looking out into the darkness wondering if I should jump or not – a desperate desire to escape the torture of those bouts that so plagued me.
Words came to me – Come to the edge they said. Jump they said. And I did, and I flew.
Research unearthed quite a few versions of this poem by Christopher Logue. Here are a couple I really like.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We’re comfortable back here,” they said.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We’re too busy,” they said.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“It’s too high,” they said.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We’re afraid,” they said.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We’ll fall,” they said.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
And they did.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.
Christopher Logue.
“Come to the edge, he said.
We are afraid, they said.
Come to the edge, he said.
They came to the edge,
He pushed them and they flew.
Come to the edge, Life said.
They said: We are afraid.
Come to the edge, Life said.
They came. It pushed them…
And they flew.”
― Christopher Logue
In hindsight that was probably a turning point all those years ago. I drew the image as best as I could in the back of my journal and it wasn’t until experiencing a meditation with Dr. Joe Dispenza last month when the same image came to my mind, that I remembered the first time I had seen it.
Mind is so afraid of that vast, unknown and uncertain void of creation and yet soul is eternally at home there. Which makes for a huge conflict until mind can feel safe enough to let go of its fear – or is forced to by circumstance.
There is no doubt in my mind of the depths of pain and suffering that can arise from the torture of mind’s thinking and stories. There is equally no doubt in my mind of the enormous, unbounded relief and joy from being able to recognize and let go of that thinking and those stories. A space arises in which inspiration and solutions and Life Itself can flow, unimpeded.
Dr. Joe’s meditation focused on vibrating at the higher frequencies where solutions exist to challenges we face in our lives. We don’t know what those solutions are nor how we might achieve them, (otherwise we would have already enacted them), so we focus on how we might feel once those solutions are revealed.
Perched on the moon I can look out into the no-thingness of creation and know that reality as who I really am. And when my focus is on the essence of solved challenges instead of the pain those challenges can pose, inspiration and solutions are drawn into my life in the most surprising and rewarding ways.
Of course, in truth, not the moon, my dog, nor I as a physical body exist in this no-thingness, it is mind that likes the idea of sitting on the moon with my dog.
This morning I look out into a landscape of peace and perfection. I am parked in my RV in a fairly remote Army Corp of Engineers campground. I have no immediate neighbors. Birds are singing, grass, wildflowers and vegetation quietly grow after last night’s rain. A distant lake sparkles in the morning sunshine. A sense of oneness and belonging reigns. My world is full of the colors of nature. There is no darkness.
Yet I can close my eyes and drop deep inside. The deeper I drop, the more the senses of the outer world fade away. I’m once again sitting on the curve of the new moon, my arm around my wee buddy Cinco, looking out into the vast nothingness. Mind cannot grasp what this means. No thing, no place, no time, no one, no where. I’ve jumped, been pushed or fallen, I know not which and it does not matter.
There’s just me, my dog and a brand new moon.