Sunday, August 3, 2008

Get Him Out Of Here!

My yoga school hosts a guided meditation class that I've been attending. The leader is a poet, and he uses wonderful language to guide us on a kind of journey. Often, the imagery he uses involves white light, which is a potent image in my own personal mythology.

Tonight's meditation began with us picturing ourselves sitting on top of a beautiful, lush mountain. There is green, green grass that moves with our breathing, and there are roots that dig deep in the earth. We are breathing with those roots, and we are a part of them, and we are a part of the earth...and then the leader guided us through the earth back out to the water, and we felt the water running all over us until our skin felt like liquid. We kept breathing and being one with the liquid, and we became air, and then we were so much a part of the air that we were the entire atmosphere, which brought us up to the sun. When we touched the sun, we became fire, which is where we started talking about white light.

I love white light shit. It works for me. My limbs felt heavy, but filled with warmth and light. My mind was open. My breath was full. It was beautiful, until the meditation teacher said:
Over the horizon, far in the distance, you see a boy. He's coming closer to you, and you realize he's about 15 years old. He's very, very angry, and he's coming into your beautiful, peaceful space. He keeps walking, and he walks right up to you. He stops in front of you.

"NO!" shouted my inmost self. "Get him out of here!" The last thing I wanted in my beautiful world of peace, serenity, and white fucking light was an angry adolescent male. Fuck that guy. If I wanted to spend time with that guy, I could have gone home! And the teacher continued:

You know what you're going to do about him? You're going to give him what you've got. You're going to take the best of yourself--Your peace. Your beauty. Your talents. Your humor. Your health. Your serenity. Your happiness. You take all of it, and you give it to him. You rain it down on him. You take all that warm, white light that's in your heart, and you put it in the dark space where his own light should be.
"Fuck that!" says me. He's taken enough! I'm working hard to make some white light for myself, and I'm not giving him mine!

And don't fight it. You give it to him. You open up the dark place in his heart, and you put your light in there.
I scowled and resisted and cajoled against the teacher's voice, but he promised it would be ok. He promised. He promised that compassion for others was the way to finding more compassion for ourselves, that sharing our light can drown out the darkness.

And that's what got me...the part about pouring my light into the darkness. I spoke with Mantra on the phone a few weeks ago, and she kept telling me that the way to fix myself and fix my husband and fix my home was "to white light the shit out of the house." If I want my space to be filled with peace, it's my job to FILL IT WITH PEACE. So I opened up my white light supply, and I let it shine down on that pissed off 15 year old boy. I let it shine so bright that it dissolved him, and it dissolved me, and it dissolved the heap of dung that was suddenly there between us.

It was a powerful thing.

I stayed after to ask the teacher about the boy. I asked him why there was a boy tonight. He said he felt we needed to see the boy, that we all seemed to need to manifest compassion tonight. I kind of wanted to hug him, and I kind of wanted to slap him. I came home feeling a little lighter, and that's all I know for now.