by Dan Millman
What followed goes far beyond words. I can write that “I was One with the Light,” but such words fall like dust on the page, because there was no “I” to be “One” with anything, and no one left to experience It. Trying to describe this experience has challenged and frustrated the mystic poets for centuries. How do you draw the likeness of a van Gogh painting with a stick in the mud?
The universe had burned me to cinders, consuming me. Not a trace remained. Only Bliss. Reality. Mystery.
Now I understood the Taoist saying “He who says does not know; he who knows does not say”—not because the wise don’t speak, but because It cannot be spoken. Words fall as short of It as a rock thrown at the stars. And if these words sound nonsensical, so be it. But one day, and that day may not be far away, you, too, will know.
I REENTERED TIME AND SPACE—whirling, disoriented—as if I’d fallen out of an airplane in the night sky, still kneeling before Mama Chia’s funeral pyre, set against the clouds that floated past the moon. The ground glistened from a fresh rain; I was soaking. The rain had doused the last embers of the pyre that had consumed her. An hour had passed in a few moments.
The others had gone; only Joseph remained with me. He knelt down next to me and asked, “How are you doing, Dan?”
I couldn’t speak, but I nodded. He gently squeezed the back of my neck; I could feel the love and understanding through his fingers. He knew I would be staying a while, so, with a last look at the charred pyre, he left.
I took a deep breath, smelling the wet forest, mixed with the lingering odor of smoke. None of it seemed completely real anymore, as if I were merely playing my role in an eternal drama, and this dimension was but one small practice hall in the infinite theater of God.
Slowly at first, questions trickled back into my mind, then came in a rush, as I fell from grace, back into the mind, into the body, into the world. What had it all meant?
Maybe this had been “the place beyond space and time” Mama Chia had told me about. At the time, her words had sounded abstract, empty, because they had been beyond my experience. Now they were a living reality. She had told me, “In that place, you can meet with anyone you wish.” I wanted so much to go to that place again, just to see her one more time.
I stood, shaky and stiff, staring into space until darkness covered the forest.
Then I turned and started to follow the path taken by the others, back through the rain forest. High above, I could just make out the flow of the torch-lit procession.
But something wouldn’t let me leave. The feeling was clear, so I sat down, and waited. I sat through the night, occasionally nodding out, then stirring again. Sometimes my eyes closed, as if in meditation; other times they just opened and stared.
WHEN THE FIRST RAYS OF SUNLIGHT cut through the forest and shone upon the remains of the pyre, Mama Chia appeared, tangible but translucent, standing in front of me. I don’t know if any of the others would have seen her, or whether her image only appeared in my mind.
But there she stood. She raised her arm and pointed to the hillside on my right, gesturing toward a thick glade of trees.
“You want me to go up there?” I asked her aloud. She only smiled, serenely. I closed my eyes for a moment against the bright sun. When I opened them, she was gone.
From my altered—or perhaps refined—perception of reality, all this seemed entirely normal to me. I got up slowly, and went where she directed.
Still disoriented from the recent events and revelations, I wound my way through the thick bushes—caught once or twice on sticky vines—before the foliage thinned out and a narrow path appeared before me.
CHAPTER 23
Lessons of Solitude
We must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and
silence, to find that enchanted place where we can dance our
clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song. But in that dance,
and in that song, the most ancient rites of our conscience fulfill
themselves in the awareness of being human.
—Pablo Neruda, Toward the Splendid City
THE PATH LED TO A TINY HUT, about eight feet on each side. I entered and surveyed the darkened interior. Only a few rays of sunshine penetrated the thatched roof and log walls. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw, coming down through the ceiling, a long, hollow piece of bamboo that carried rainwater, gathered on the roof, into a large wooden tub sitting in one corner. In the opposite corner of this spartan room, I could make out a hole in the ground that served as a toilet and a nearby bucket for flushing. The earthen floor had a bed of thick leaves to one side for sleeping.
From the design of the hut, I assumed that it served as a place of isolation and retreat. I decided to stay here until I received a clear sign about what to do next.
I shut the thatched door behind me. Weary, I lay down and closed my eyes.
Almost immediately, I sensed a nearby presence, and sat up. Mama Chia sat in front of me, her legs crossed, as if in meditation—but her eyes were open, and bright. I sensed that she wanted to communicate something, so I waited in silence, not wanting to disturb this tenuous apparition.
She gestured with a sweep of her arm, and I heard her say as her image began to flicker and fade, “Everything is a dream within a dream.”
“I don’t understand, Mama Chia. What does it mean?”
“We make our own meaning,” she said as her image dissolved.
“Wait! Don’t go!” I cried out. I wanted to touch her face, to embrace her; but I knew that this was neither appropriate nor possible.
In the darkness, I heard her final words, echoing from far away. “It’s all right, Dan. Everything will be all right … .” Then silence.
SHE WAS GONE—I could feel it in my bones. What would I do now? As soon as I asked the question, the answer appeared: There was nothing to do, except stay put and wait for clarity.
Surveying the narrow confines of my quarters, I took stock of my situation: I had no food, but I had dealt with that before. My Basic Self was no longer afraid of not eating, and the wooden tub contained plenty of water.
After a few lumbering stretches, I sat and closed my eyes. Soon, bits and pieces of memories, sights, and sounds replayed themselves in my mind, as I relived my entire adventure here in a random montage of fleeting images and emotions.
I recalled that Mama Chia had once told me, “Outer travel at best only reflects the inner journey, and at worst substitutes for it. The world you perceive only provides symbols for what you seek. The sacred journey is inside you; before you can find what you’re looking for in the world, you have to find it within. Otherwise, a master may greet you, but you’ll walk right past without hearing.
“When you learn inner travel through the psychic spaces of the world, your consciousness will never again be limited by space, or time, or the confines of the physical body.”
Although I had heard this before, only now did I understand it. Before I could continue my journey in the world, I had to journey within my psyche. Would I be able to accomplish this? Could my awareness go so deep within that it contacted the gateway beyond my physical senses?
I considered this intensely, that night and the following day. I had found Mama Chia in the forest. I knew that I had hidden capacities, as we all do. But where were they? What did they look like, and feel like?
Socrates had once hinted that there was “more to imagination than meets the eye.” He said it was the “bridge to clairvoyant sight—a first step. As it expands,” he added, “it becomes something else. Saplings grow into trees, but imagination is like the caterpillar—once set free of the cocoon, it flies.”
I would begin there. I closed my eyes and let images float by: kukui trees and Kimo’s underwater cave, the palm outside Mama Chia’s house, and the thick, twisting trunk of the banyan. Then my daughter, Holly, appeared sitting in her room on the floor, playing quietly. I felt a bittersweet sadness at the karmas of this life, and I sent a message o
f love from my heart to hers, hoping that, in some way, she would receive it. I sent Linda my blessings, as well, and let go.
I SPENT THE ENTIRE NIGHT in vivid dreams—not surprising, considering recent events. I visited other places, worlds, and dimensions of color, clarity, and feeling that filled me with awe. But, of course—or so I thought—it was just a dream … .
As one day followed the next, day and night ceased to have much distinction for me; the dim light of day only gave way to the darkness of night.
THE MORNING OF THE FIFTH DAY, as well as I could track time, brought a deep sense of lightness and peace. My hunger pangs had vanished. As I did a few yoga postures, the walls of the hut caught my eye as specks of sunlight penetrated the darkness like stars in a night sky. I used the specks of light on the wall as a meditation. As I breathed slowly, deeply, the stars began to fade, until I saw only my mind, projected against the darkness like a magic lantern show, a carousel of imagery and sound that played on and on. I spent the entire day gazing at the wall. Boredom ceased to exist as my awareness tuned in to finer, subtler energies. When you don’t have TV, I reflected at one point, you find other things to do.
The days passed one like the next, yet never the same. I stretched, breathed, and watched the show. Rays of sunlight, then moonlight, swept slowly across the dirt floor like a pendulum of light. Time passed softly, with infinite slowness as I adjusted to the subtle rhythms and floated on an ocean of silence, disturbed only occasionally by the flotsam and jetsam of my mind.
At one point, something shifted; it was as if, in the face of my persistent awareness, a barrier fell away and a door opened. I understood how the Basic Self and Conscious Self, working together, provided the keys to motivation, discipline, healing, visualization, intuition, learning, courage, and power. In a few moments, I felt as if I’d digested an encyclopedia of metaphysics.
However, like the sorcerer’s apprentice, I didn’t know how to turn it off. Images flooded my mind until it went into overload. My lungs began pumping like bellows, deeper, faster—the energy building until I thought I would burst.
My face started to tighten; I felt my lips curl back and, to my surprise, I growled like a wolf. Then my hands spontaneously moved into mudras, or postures, like those I had seen in India.
In the next moment, my mind stopped, and I found myself in the forest, face to face with the three selves: the childlike Basic Self, the robotlike Conscious Self, and the Higher Self, a being of radiant colors—swirling pink, indigo, deep violet hues. This being of light reached out with open arms to the other two.
Then the three selves merged.
I saw before me my own body—naked, except for a pair of shorts, illuminated by the pale moon, standing with arms spread wide. A reddish glow shone from the belly region, the head was a ball of light, and above the head iridescent colors swirled—reminding me of my vision on the beach so many weeks before.
This time, I entered the physical body that stood before me. I entered it fully, feeling the unity of its form. I felt the power of my navel, the purity of awareness illuminating the mind, and the inspiring call to ascend up into Spirit.
My long preparation had brought completion; the three selves had become one. There were no inner battles, no resistance within or without, so that my attention rested naturally and spontaneously in the heart. Whatever thoughts or images arose were dissolved there, in feeling and surrender. I became a point of awareness within the domain of the heart, rising up toward the crown of my head, to a point above and behind the brows.
I felt the healing, loving light of the Higher Self surround me, embrace me, pervading every cell and tissue down to the atomic structure. I heard its call, and felt a bridge of light stretching from that point of awareness that I am to the Higher Self, standing above and behind me. I felt its strength, its wisdom, its tenderness, its courage, its compassion, its mercy. I became aware of its connection to past and future, in the eternal present.
It called again, and I felt myself as that point of light, moving up the bridge, into the consciousness of my Higher Self. I moved within that form of light, watching over my physical form, below. My awareness and that of my Higher Self began to interpenetrate one another. I took in all of its qualities of serenity, strength, wisdom, and compassion.
I now knew what it knew, felt what it felt, as ecstatic waves of unbounded love flooded through me. I saw how angelic energies had crafted the body, and I understood the full opportunity that physical embodiment represents.
Just then, I became aware of other beings of light around my physical form. Waves of happiness washed through me as I realized I had known these beings since childhood, but had somehow ignored their presence. Some were fellow students, others were familiar images from forgotten dreams—angelic energies, healers, guides, and teachers—my spiritual family. I felt their love, and knew I would never again feel alone.
An angel of destiny stepped forward then, and raised its hands to offer symbols to guide me. I couldn’t see its gifts until the hands of light came forward, into my vision, and opened. First I saw a bolt of lightning, then a heart. Then a golden eagle appeared, holding a laurel wreath in its talons. I recognized these as symbols of courage and love, the signs of the peaceful warrior.
Then, as its final gift, the angel revealed the shining image of a samurai warrior, his sword at his side—not standing, but kneeling in a meditative posture. Though I couldn’t see his eyes, I felt they were open, and shining. Then the image faded. I thanked the angel of destiny for these gifts, and it, too, stepped back and dissolved.
From this place within the Higher Self consciousness, I knew that angels of wisdom, healing, and clarity are always available. I could look to the future, or past, and send love to anyone in the universe. And from this place, I could extend my vision effortlessly, beyond the physical body, and soar like an eagle.
With this revelation, I felt a pull back to my physical form; I felt my awareness ride down the bridge of light into the center of my forehead, and once again I became aware of the sounds of my nervous system, and of the beating of my heart.
Refreshed and at peace, I opened my physical eyes, feeling a rising wave of energy and bliss. In this state of deep reverie, I scratched a message on the floor:
There is no way to peace;
Peace is the Way.
There is no way to happiness;
Happiness is the Way.
There is no way to love;
Love is the Way.
IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, even in relatively normal consciousness, I started seeing clear images of places outside the hut, and in the world. My “imagination” could now take me further than I’d ever dreamed—to any world, any reality; the physical realm was only home base, the grounding place.
The universe had become my playground—filled with an infinite number of dimensions, times, spaces. I could be a knight in medieval Europe or a space adventurer in the fifty-eighth dimension; I could visit other worlds, or spend time within the molecules of a copper penny, because the awareness that we are can never be limited by time or space.
After this, I traveled every day—flying through the forest, or around the world. I visited my little daughter every day and saw her playing with new toys, or reading, or sleeping. No longer limited to the physical body, I now perceived it as only one of my domains. I could never again feel imprisoned by any walls, or by flesh and bones.
And I remembered what Mama Chia had told me: “You can speak of ‘my body,’ because you are not the body. You can also refer to ‘my mind,’ ‘my selves,’ ‘my soul,’ because you are not these things. You manifest as pure Awareness that shines through the human body, yet itself remains untouched and eternal.
“Awareness diffracts through the prism of the soul to become three forms of light—the three selves—each with a different kind of awareness uniquely suited to its purpose, function, and responsibilities.
“The Basic Self cares for and protects the physical body in
cooperation with the other selves, providing support and balance. A foundation and vehicle for the soul’s journey in the world, it connects the Conscious and Higher Selves to the earth like the roots of a tree.
“The Conscious Self guides, informs, interprets for, and sometimes reassures the Basic Self, as a parent would a child, educating it to best serve this embodiment. But this parent must cultivate loving ears to hear that child, respecting that child’s individual spirit and growing awareness. Parenthood is a sacred training ground.
“The Higher Self radiates love, reminding, inspiring, and rekindling the spark of light within the Conscious Self, drawing it up into Spirit. It accepts the process of the Conscious Self, and waits, eternally patient and understanding.