Sunday, July 31, 2011



        I was looking at my profile  some place and I saw the words: "Singer, Poet, Mystic, Rhythm guitar." And maybe it was early in the morning before my coffee, or maybe it was a low blood-sugar moment, or an instant of terminal guilt, but I thought the word, "mystic" was pretentious, and I removed it...
        Then I was thinking, "Jesus, the word, "poet" can be pretty pretentious, too!" And hell, yes, that's right - some people are poets some of the time, but are there any people who are poets all of the time?  Certainly not me. And not anybody I've ever met or read about, read, or written about either.... No.... Yeats worked pretty hard at it, and all in all you'd have to sum him up as a poet, but he was an idiot some of the time, just as I am.
         Willie Shakespeare, well there's a guy who almost thought entirely in poetry, but he had his dark spots, too - moments of really, angry, hopeless despair. But read his sonnets and tell me he's not a poet, well. no one's going to tell me that. And Coleridge, look at his essays
on various forms of meter, and he's a duck you really have to call a poet; just look at the focus and concentration he put into his trade. He got pretty good results, too.
         So the word poet fits, somehow, but the word, 'mystic'?  Who on God's Green Earth
would ever be presumptious enough to call himself/herself that?

          Well, take my time in Bali, for example.
           Bali is a beautiful mostly green island in the midst of Indonesia. Indonesia is a huge Moslem culture,  and marketplace in south east Asia.
             Bali is primarily Buddhist; and the people of Bali consider their Island to be the centre of the earth, maybe of the Universe
             One of the most sacred sites on Bali, however is the bat cave. Apparently the bat cave runs the entire length of the island and there are millions of bats in it (no exaggeration). And these are not North American sized bats, these fellas are quite a little bit bigger and faster.
              My friends and associates were throwing a big party on the beach, lighting a large bonfire. There was to be live music, lots of good food, wine, rice wine, hallucinogenic substances from natural sources, dancing, swimming, a real hoe-down to watch the tides come and go on the beach and the sun set and rise and set again... Lots of attractive women, etc., etc..
               Did I go? No!
               I sat outside the bat cave with water and nuts and a small pillow, so I could sit very still. I was there two hours before dusk, so I could see millions of bats swoop off and leave the cave. I sat fifteen feet away from an altar which was just covered in bat shit.
               The mouth of the cave was about twenty (20) feet in diameter. And when evening came, I sat very still and watched an unbelievable outpouring of bats out of the cave. I must admit to feelings of deep fear and terror. I put a rag between my teeth and bit down upon it
to stop myself from making horrible sounds.
                The outpouring lasted well over forty minutes. When I stood up, finally, my legs were shaking. I walked over to a steep hillside and watched the party from a distance. Two hours before dawn, I was sitting again and I felt the wind of an almost solid stream of bats returning to the large cave opening.
                 Once again I sat very still for hours.

                  Now you might think only an idiot would do something like that, when there was a perfectly good party going on nearby. I certainly was considering the nature of my own idiocy for a good part of the night.
                   But when the bats were flying, there was no time for such thoughts - my "piggy-back consciousness" had entirely disappeared. And I have to say, something touched me that night, more than just bat-wings. Perhaps I was waiting for the Voice of the One Who Is Creating Us to whisper something in my ear.
                    At any rate, I pulled vigils like this at different places all over the planet - a sacrificial platform on Easter Island, the steps of the burning ghats at Varanasi, well before dawn. And I have to say, at some spots, vision did come. And other places nothing much arose.
                    One thing I can say for sure is that "places of power" exist on this planet.
                     And it turns out there is such a place, here in my own back yard.

                      See Article - Archeological Find at Trout Lake, northern Ontario, Canada.
                       Now, let's be honest. The above noted attempt at mystical Realization is an example, of a young man still in the kindergarten of the School of Mystics, if there were such a school in the West, which there is not. (Although there is quite a reputable Zen Temple in Rochester, New York).
                       This article is so silly, I'm going to have to stop writing it.
                        Caveat Lector.

No comments:

Post a Comment