by Matt Licata
Mindful decentering, defusing, and returning into the body, dropping the story line and returning to the present moment, to the physical sensations, and the breath can be powerful medicine to cut through habitual thinking and conditioned patterns of suffering. A lot has been written about the power of meditation, both in the scientific and popular literature, and I encourage nearly everyone I work with to learn and practice mindfulness, given its effectiveness in regulating attention as well as helping cultivate acceptance and self-compassion. And in its highest potential, mindfulness helps to cut through unnecessary suffering and reveal a freedom always, already here as the birthright of all beings.
From another perspective, some are called by way of curiosity, fascination, and a real interest in the content of the dream, not just the discovery that we are in fact dreaming. From this side of things, we’re not focusing on how quickly we can “wake up” from the dream (an interesting and valid journey, to be sure), but deeply curious about the images and figures and about the precise landscapes that psyche has sent to us by way of the dream. You can ask questions such as: What is the soul trying to say to me? How have I come to imagine myself and my life, others, and the world? What is the mythic or archetypal ground from which I am living my life? How are these images and figures, as they appear in fantasy and dream, inviting me to enlarge my life, live more creatively, beautifully, and in a way that honors what my soul truly wants? The metaphor here is one of illumination, to bring light, perspective, warmth, and space to the stories, images, and beliefs that shape the way we navigate the world. For from this illumination and compassionate, clear seeing we can then make a conscious choice to update the narrative, discover a new myth or tale to live by—more inspiring, creative, and alive. We can dream a new dream and weave a more cohesive, integrated, real-time, kind, magical, imaginative story. In this way, we do not merely rest as the witness of our experience (which can be quite healing in its own right) but become artists of a new world. We become a poetic, engaged, caring witness and a fully embodied, messy, and glorious participant simultaneously.
Part of the challenge and potential shadow side of practices and orientations organized exclusively around returning to the background field or context of awareness is that we can lose touch with the richness of the inner world, the wisdom and creativity in storytelling, in the figures of the dream, and in the sparkle of the imagination. And as a result, we can lose touch with the richness and unique landscape of our own subjectivity and radical uniqueness. Yes, we might find some peace, clarity, and acceptance, so very important and healing, but in my experience bringing together these approaches provides the most effective and powerful foundation for a life of depth, creativity, and meaning and allows us to connect with others and to help them in ways we might not be able to imagine ahead of time.
One of the concerns about working with the narrative (i.e., the way we’ve come to articulate and make sense of our experience) and the lenses through which we have come to perceive ourselves, others, and the world is that it can become overly mental or theoretical and pull us out of our immediate, embodied experience. The worry is that we spend so much time interpreting and understanding our experience that we lose touch with the magic of just one present moment, with the aliveness of the senses and more intuitive knowing. This is a valid concern. For me, the work with narrative is embodied, imaginal work rather than merely cognitive or thought based. This is not to say that the mind does not join us on our inquiry; it very much does and must. Being able to use the mind to vision and think clearly and creatively is essential. There is a strong antimind tendency in contemporary spirituality worthy of deconstructing, or at least examining, in a more nuanced way. In large part, through imagination and creativity, a new poem is received, a new story is able to tumble out of the stars and into, through, and as our lives.
The spiritual journey by its very nature is radically unique and will never assume a one-sized-fits-all approach. The territory of psyche and the heart is just too vast to conform to any prefabricated practices or beliefs and must be explored by way of primary, first-person experience. The contemporary landscape is filled with all sorts of ideas and concepts about what it means to be a “spiritual” person, and we must find the courage to question even the most sacred of these ideas, trusting the path of direct revelation as we come to have more and more confidence in our own unique experience. There are an infinite number of ways to open to, touch, and enter the mystery, and the right way for us might look quite different than that of our friends, family, or even our spiritual teachers. It can take an incredible amount of experimentation, over a lifetime, for the path to unfold and reveal its fruit.
In the final few sections of this chapter, I want to invite you into a shift in perspective, into a vast field in which you might open your senses, listen, feel, and attune with the aliveness of this sacred now moment. Here, you need not make any effort to understand or enhance your present experience; you can take a break from the seemingly unending journey of self-improvement in all its forms. Here, you are invited to step into a whole different container or vessel altogether, one that is emergent, dancing, playing, and expressing itself and its qualities in the shimmering here and now. The remainder of the chapter is an invitation in Being itself, oriented not in improvement or even understanding but in the mystery and beauty of the unfolding now.
At some point on our journey, we might hear a call to set aside the beliefs, teachings, and practices we’ve gathered throughout our lives, for just a moment, and rest. The call asks that we hit the reset button and take stock of where we’ve been, where we are, and where we’re headed. This “rest” is not passive, cold, or resigned but lit up from within, fiery, engaged, and caring. Without making the activity of seeking wrong or making some grand heroic decision to “stop searching,” we open to a more paradoxical invitation that comes roaring out of the thundering silence. For just a moment, some trance is broken, a spell that has had us leaning into the next moment is undone, and we come face-to-face with what is always, already here.
Just what this is must be discovered by each of us in the fire of our own direct experience, and we cannot take anyone’s word for it. It is a rest and an aliveness that is not the product of a future movement in time, further understanding or realization, or improvement of ourselves or our circumstances in any way. In this moment, we’re taken inside a dimension of experience in which we remember to participate in the miracle of being able to see, to hear, to feel, to breathe, and to know that we are alive. Here, we connect intimately with that part of our selves that was never unhealed, untransformed, or unfree—not in a way that is dissociative, dismissive, or in denial of the real struggles we face but in honor of the entirety of what we are, recognizing in some mysterious way this moment already contains everything we could ever want or need. It is a moment out of time, really, and might last for less than a second, but we are drawn to bring more awareness and more care to this dimension of experience, at times even feeling a longing or ache that pulls us into itself. Something mysterious, magical, alive, and sacred is wired into this moment by its very nature and carries the fragrance of the holy.
Feel your feet on the ground, open yourself to the sky above and the earth below, listen to the sounds as they arrive as visitors from some other place, touching you and opening you to the fullness of now. No need to take on some new belief or metaphysical orientation. Just slow down and open to the completeness of this moment. There is something precious here that is not the product of further searching or improvement. This moment need not be fixed, cured, or healed but attuned to with senses wide open.
In these now moments, in which the search is temporarily surrendered, something else is granted permission and space to emerge, some causeless miracle already wired into this moment exactly as it is. If we observe carefully with cleansed perception, we might discover that it is not us surrendering, as if that were a choice we were making or an action that we could take, but that somehow we
are participating in a great surrender always, already occurring. We are not surrendering as an act of will but being surrendered by something vast. Although we cannot “do” the surrendering, we can prepare ourselves to participate when it appears.
We are like the alchemist no longer able to tell: Am I inside the vessel looking out? Or outside looking in? Or am I the material itself, being shaped and woven and crafted by the Beloved One, helping him or her or it or they to provide a spark of light or a particle of love to actually make it here into the world of time and space, to help this place in even some small way?
We each have a unique way to help another, through taking the risk to give our art to this world. Whether we “believe” in it or not, or whether we feel broken or whole, within the very center of the broken shards of the heart the illumination awaits. This turning Home, this risk, this work of releasing spirit from matter that the alchemists, poets, and mystics model is never done for ourselves alone but for life everywhere. For suffering everywhere. For the ancestors and those carrying lineages of intergenerational trauma. For the ones we see here with our physical eyes. For the ones not yet come, waiting for conditions to ripen. And for the earth herself, the waters, forests, moon, sun, and stars.
It’s important to remember, as I stated earlier, that for me these references to “spirit” and “matter” and their relationship are all metaphors and images we can work with, inside, and around rather than metaphysical ideas to believe in or takes sides with. For the alchemist, there is a fantasy that spirit is found within matter; the alchemical invitation was to realize the ultimate nonseparation of spirit and matter, to “redeem” the spirit within nature, to see the spirit alive there. In this realm of imaginal experience, we “materialize spirit,” ensoul and embody it, while we simultaneously “spiritualize matter.” But again, the main point here is that these are metaphors, images, and fantasies we are invited to play with as we sense which doorways are most resonant for us. As always, we’re invited not to take these ideas and this language literally, necessarily, but as portals into a deeper, richer, and more nuanced exploration of the dimensions of soul.
At times, we will need to exert effort to remember, to cut into a busy day of external doing and ruminative, repetitive thinking in response to becoming hooked into emotional reactivity or caught in the seemingly endless to-do lists of the inner and outer worlds. We remember to remember, pause and breathe deeply, open our senses, and reenter that state of pure wonderment. Yes, you might even have to schedule it! Perhaps set an alarm (a mindful-sounding bell, of course) on your mobile device or computer to remind you of a possible miracle unfolding nearby. A background hum is always sounding and dancing just beyond the spin and madness of the world, revealed in one moment of pause and pure listening. This listening, however, takes place not only with our ears but with our entire bodies, our breath, and our hearts. Only you can discover what this extraordinary listening looks and feels and smells and tastes and sounds like for you.
Beyond Self-Improvement
This deep, embodied listening and attunement reveals an ancient invitation to take a break from doing; from trying to become a better person or desperately improve our lives; from needing to understand, accept, transform, or heal, for just this moment. It doesn’t mean permanently ending the search for a transformed life, for a better world, or for healing and awakening. But just for now, see what it is like to stop trying to be at peace, to figure out what is wrong with you, and open to the completeness of this moment as it is, even if “what is” is intense, disturbing, uncertain, and unknown. Stop thinking about your life and begin living it, for just this one moment.
The intimacy, connection, and meaning we long for is found in living, not in orbiting around the life erupting out of the center. This is not to say there is no place for thinking about our experience; there very much is. The invitation is to allow ourselves to experiment with multiple modes and ways of being—at times interpreting, analyzing, and evaluating and at other times resting in being itself. To really see and feel this difference in an embodied, experiential way can bring great insight, creativity, and aliveness into our experience.
For just one moment, allow the quest for understanding and improvement to shift into the background and provide sanctuary for the emerging experience of now. You can return to transforming and healing in a future moment; it will all be waiting for you.
Just as an experiment, open into this unknown landscape for a few hours, or for a day or a week, not in some reaction against improvement, as if it were “wrong” or “unspiritual,” but as an archaeologist of soul, to experience yourself afresh and to listen, to sense, to feel what is wanting to be met in a new way, as participatory research into your own heart.
It can be a disorienting and alive place because it can feel so groundless when we are not organizing our experience around improvement of ourselves or of the moment. That has become such a familiar axis around which we spin. Paradoxically, it can reveal the earthiest ground, where we are already being held by something vast. It can feel like we have come home, but in the next moment we can feel completely lost.
When the urge to improve, resolve, transform, or heal becomes overwhelming, take a moment to marvel at how amazing the power of this habit is—with no shame, no blame, no judgment, no attacking your vulnerability. Just gently return to the ground and see that even becoming “lost” is a sacred experience we are given out of love in order that “found” can emerge, only for “lost” to return yet again. The cycle of lost and found is not some grand error or cosmic mistake, but the unfolding of the beloved in the world of time and space.
Love does not have some grand bias for “found” over “lost” but sends each as an expression of its essence to reveal to us one of its magnificent and unique qualities. The question, then, is not how to replace “lost” with “found” but to what degree we are willing and able to participate fully in “lost” as it appears, not to dismiss or reject it but to care deeply about its fragrances and contours, curious about its nature, its meaning in our lives, and what it has come to show us.
Slowly, over time, you might notice your center of gravity shifting, but just what it is shifting into remains a mystery, an emanation of the creative, quantum unknown. The invitation is to commit to forty-eight or seventy-two hours without engaging in any inner work or improvement practices. For this short period of time, no meditation, spiritual books (including this one), mantras, affirmations, attracting, or manifesting. No effort to accept yourself, to forgive anyone, or to become grateful. No visualizing, breathwork, tending to your chakras, or trying to understand or improve yourself or this moment in any way.
For some of us, this can be an incredibly disturbing (and fascinating) experiment. We might discover in an experiential way how much of our time and energy is oriented not in fully participating in life but in our attempts to improve the moment (or ourselves) in one way or another. If we are not improving, will we cease to exist? Who are we if we rest in this moment? If we do not “heal” or transform ourselves or the moment, what do we find? The invitation is not to “answer” or resolve these questions but to break open to their mystery and depth as we step into the unknown, where new vision is found.
It can be disorienting to remove the reference point of organizing our lives around improvement, transformation, and healing because we are left naked with ourselves. Even sitting in a room for thirty minutes and doing absolutely nothing, we can be tempted to start subtly doing yoga or qigong, breathing in a certain way, chanting softly, entering a meditative state, practicing gratitude, discovering laws and secrets, calling in our soulmates, and manifesting abundance. We might even begin to notice how “just being in the present moment” can carry with it a subtle agenda. Just who and what are we if we allow ourselves to step outside all of this, not permanently, but for just a short time?
The Space Around Our Experience
Especially for those of us committed to transformation and healing, it
can be quite a discovery to see how much of our life energy is put into the creation and maintenance of a process relationship with life, as opposed to actually living it, how much we are used to doing, interpreting, getting somewhere, and resolving something. Attending to our inner projects. Fixing ourselves. Remedying some fundamental flaw in what we are. Mastering things, empowering ourselves, completing inner to-do lists. Attracting things, replacing other things, shaming ourselves for not doing it right, and operating on the present moment.
I want to make it clear I am not asserting that there is anything wrong with our seeking, our desire for improvement, for healing, and for spiritual awakening. Not at all. In fact, I see it as perfectly natural, wired into us, and a sacred aspect of our human nature. No shame, no blame, no self-attack. The invitation is just to see with more subtlety what we’re doing, what’s motivating us, and the unconscious beliefs underneath it all and to love ourselves enough to slow down, even to stop for a few days or weeks so that we might see what is happening with new perception. Just a simple experiment. Nothing more. Nothing new to believe in; you’re not being asked to give up your practices forever. With curiosity and compassion as your guide, just see.
As we experiment in this way, at times we might notice ourselves becoming more curious about the space in and around our thoughts and emotions rather than their specific details and particularities. It’s as if our center of gravity shifts from the content to the context of our experience, or to awareness itself. What a strange experience. On the one hand, totally fresh, spontaneous, and unfamiliar. Less heavy, more open, and expansive. Alive. Not so weighed down by the burdens of the past or the worries of the future. On the other hand, we might recognize this way of being. Perhaps there is an ancient memory of this deep level of rest and nourishment from another place or time. In ways that language cannot really touch, somehow awareness becomes foreground and content becomes background. The bottom drops out from underneath us as well as out of the top and sides. We’ve arrived home, but it is not the home we thought. It is a home crafted of space, not one oriented in improving but in just being here and in recognition of the majesty of that.
