On the Pathway

Years ago now, some of the people who participated in early Lazaris sessions and groups with Peny asked her if she would write something about her own spiritual experience. She responded with the following piece, written in the third person. Some of us on staff at Concept: Synergy have carried this piece in our notebooks for what is now more than 14 years -- its blue pages faded, its edges tattered and worn from pulling it out to read over and over again. For us it is a cherished touchstone, an inspired and resplendent fractal of a spiritual life profoundly well-lived. ... It is at the "extremely energetic" requests of the staff that this piece is included in the library.

There had been a time when everything seemed like a brilliant confusion. Learning had always happened easily, and winning had always come almost as easily. Once a favorite teacher told her, "I feel sorry for you. Between your good luck and your natural intelligence, you'll never know the satisfaction of accomplishment over a difficult challenge."

At this time the purpose of life seemed to be learning the rules and then realizing that you were expected to know when and how to modify the rules without getting caught. They had told her that the point of life was to be virtuous, good, and polite ... and always to be at the top of her class. They hadn't realized that too often the intelligence it takes to always be the top will expose the stupidity of the moral philosophy they simultaneously hope to instill. And then the confusion escalates.

The confusion is long past now, and only rarely does a piece of it drift to shore again like a torn plank from a long-sunk galleon. Sometimes when she tried to explain how she got from there to here, the paradoxes and octave shifts and reality blends would get so entangled she'd want to just throw up her hands and laugh. How could she tell them that the way to get to the far shore might have to involve letting your initial vessel sink and then having to trust the sea goddess herself to transport you back to solid shifting sands?

The focus of her world now was love, and she fully realized the saccharine threat of trying to talk about it. She knew it was difficult for people to understand the love between herself and Michaell and Jach, but it was so alive and real and even flexible that they themselves regarded it as a conscious friend. And, shifting another few octaves, was the dyad love she shared with Michaell, a state of being that still made her catch her breath as she watched it grow and stretch like a sentient molecule realizing it can evolve into a star.

Everything in her life centered around this warm pyramid of love and the pyramid itself, like a candle-lit Bedouin tent in the black night desert, gave her courage and energy to meet the Universe and its Dance of Chaos head-on. She didn't care anymore about being the top or winning or even what others thought of her. She did care about the love, and, as for the rest of it, she found it difficult to explain.

How could she tell them that it really is only all illusion on this planet? And, worse yet, how could she tell them that the trick of handling the illusion is to concentrate on one piece at a time and change it before your very eyes, and then realize you can't pat yourself on the back because you only magically transformed an illusion! The problem didn't keep her worrying, though, because she had long since realized she didn't owe them anything, and she knew she'd only dance the dance as long as it was fun.

She remembered the strange period when she'd realized, past the point of refutation, that reality was an illusion done with holograms and mirrors. The freedom of the realization had quickly darkened with a sense of meaninglessness that crept across her playground like the lengthening shadow of twilight. For awhile it looked like the night would win; for awhile it looked like her entry into Chapel Perilous had finally over-extended her wherewithal.

She was well aware of her dilemma. She had finally gone too far. She had broken all the rules of censorship and restriction "for your own good" and, like an errant child catching daddy dress up as Santa Claus, she had stumbled onto the emptiest and freest of understandings -- there's no one out there to rescue me.

The abyss offers no tour guides. You do your own research. So, she studied what she could find on the few who had stood there, and confusion almost ended the search. It was Blavatsky, of all the loving spirits, who finally forced her to see that there were only, after all, two options. The cosmos supports simplicity without exception.

The options are layered in paradoxes so thick and convoluted that they end up looking identical at the surface. At the surface they both say "surrender." But underneath one lies sheer insanity -- the insanity of giving away your power in order to have someone else do it all for you, the insanity of apathy and meaninglessness and eternal boredom and fear. That option has the prettiest facade, though, because it beckons you with pictures of idyllic childhood, and it is exceedingly tempting.

She had picked up this pretty little picture and considered signing up. She had stood there holding this tempting option like a beautiful music box begging to be listened to, and she had leaned out into the icy winds of conclusive evidence at the abyss and felt the pull of the yawning void, the space and shape of consciousness that is epitomized on the physical plane by the astronomical black holes of space. And just at the critical moment, when the first few notes of the mechanical music box reached her ears, she began to hum her own song instead ... and the lights switched on.

She created a complex and very, very magical world full of present-tense activity. A world of art and books and music. A world of communicating with "dead" entities like Anais Nin and Colette, a world of playing with long-forgotten goddesses like Isis and the Crone, a world of swirling creativity that clearly recognizes self-pity and boredom as the enemies and cheerfully reckons with them.

The "how" of it all is not as important as the "why," and she was extremely wary of anyone who told her not to ask "why." First you create the type of space you want to play in, and then you manifest the toys. Lazaris had told her that so many years ago, and she laughed with delight as she saw the space taking shape.

Sometimes, very late at night when she was having a session with Lazaris, she felt the love between them like sheer voltage, and she thanked herself again for setting that beautiful music box back down again at the edge of the abyss so long ago.

I love you.

Peny

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ON THE PATHWAY ...

by Peny North