It is early morning. I write in my journal, “Help me stay open and present today, not to be so caught in the details of the moment that I forget the truth of who I am beneath the surface.”
My wish comes from a desire to be less fragmented. I often feel I live in two worlds: the material and the immaterial, the ego and the higher self, the physical plane of cause-and-effect and the timeless flow of consciousness.
These two work together. The material world gives me circumstances to further my spiritual development: challenges, problems, dilemmas, bewildering dead ends where logic and analysis fail me. The immaterial world gives me tools to navigate my circumstances: contemplative insight, levels of perception, subtle energies, access to wisdom, fathomless layers of love.
Neither is effective without the other. Material alone is acquisition and animal survival. Immaterial alone is abstract until it is made manifest. It strikes me this is the purpose of the human journey with all the drama, the sacrifice, the triumphs and tragedies, the noble and the petty – to marry these two worlds.
I sense these two are actually one, their dual appearance a wrinkle in my perception. But at this stage in my growth, I tend to experience them as separate, oscillating between them, centered mostly in one or the other at any moment. I find that recognizing this is useful. I look for small moments when the wall between grows thin, as if my brushing against it might let the light break through.
It is evening. I open my journal and read this morning’s intention. I recall times during the day when I was pinched by a small fear or raw emotion. I reflect on how the small self wants to be soothed in those moments, and that my higher self seems far away. It’s easy to say that challenges are fuel for growth, but growth seems impossible from inside the tiny storm.
I write some thoughts and close the book. My purpose in writing and reflecting is not to arrive at today’s answer. I am tilling the garden and planting seeds. I trust that fruits will come, nourished by my open attention, tended by my willingness to wait.
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