September 25, 2021

 Take this entry with a grain of salt. I’ve been aware of my superego again, fussing in the background, sending me messages about being too isolated, too much of an outlier that I no longer have much to relate to ‘normal’ people about. This is a common theme of superego attacks, convincing me that I’m such a loner that I’ll end up alone in my old age, probably choking to death on a chicken bone and my body won’t be discovered for weeks. I defend against the attacks, of course, and also realize that (as I’ve pointed out before), my superego has a vested interest in keeping me in the range of ‘normal’ behavior. It has no clue about spirituality and all this business with the Imaginal seems at best like an overactive imagination and at worst as downright dangerous to my superego. I’m sure it hearkens back to my childhood when I was often ostracized and attacked for being weird. My superego learned its lesson well from those years and is doing its best to goad me back to the safety of the conventional world.

I can’t really blame it. I mean, it’s only trying to protect me. Still, its methods are cruel and remorseless and I can’t just let it keep hammering away at me. Even if I feel compassion for it, that compassion needs to include the strength and will to not let it continue beating me up.

This morning, my superego was particularly keen to keep a feeling of loneliness from arising. Failing that, it used the loneliness as a cudgel, saying, “See? This is what happens when you turn your back on the conventional world: You’re all alone. No one cares about you.”

After defending against this attack, I sat down for meditation. After a while, the loneliness arose once again, only this time without the superego, the experience was different. I was all alone in utter blackness. Unlike the Absolute, though, this blackness felt deficient and full of despair. I was reminded of Hameed’s description of the ‘death space’ that arises when people are approaching the death of their bodies. He described the death space as almost spooky, a total sense of deprivation. That was it...almost. It didn’t feel spooky or eerie but it did feel empty to the point of deficiency. Deprivation is a good term to describe it.

In this utter, deprived blackness, I gradually became aware of a soft glow. I followed it, zeroing in on it. As I approached, I realized the glow was coming from an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes. I knew immediately that this was the Christ child. The glow was like the welcoming shine of a star, the holy light come to earth. The star of the east was clearly the Christ child, not an actual star.

I remember seeing this child before. I don’t know if I’ve written about it in here or not - I would have to go back read through over a hundred pages in order to find out - but it seemed familiar. I couldn’t help but falling to my knees and bowing before it, tears falling from my eyes. As I knelt, I knew I wasn’t alone. There were countless others from different cultures and backgrounds gathered around me. We were all gathered in the warm glow of the Christ, this little one who was bringing light to a darkened world.

While all of this was happening, I was aware of the heat and grip on my hand of the mysterious, nameless entity to my left. This entity was affected by this viewing of the Christ child, too, although in what way, I can only guess. I still have the sense that this entity isn’t a Christian entity; he feels Islamic more than anything else. Nonetheless, I know that Muslims revere Christ as a prophet even if they don’t see him as the savior of humankind like Christians do.

This experience wasn’t quite as strong or as vivid as my previous experience of Christ. For this reason, I’m left wondering about its authenticity. Was it wishful thinking? My imagination? Or was there a thread of the truth here? I still don’t know. This is why I say to take this entry with a grain of salt.

This could just be hormones...

As I knelt there before the Christ child, I became aware of an interloper. I knew immediately this was the soul of someone who was dead. His presence was unmistakable - a brash, young, swaggering and not terribly educated guy. Someone who was quite full of himself. I’ve met the type many times. Those usually straight guys who are overly confident to the point of arrogance. Even though I recognize their brashness as a defense, I can’t say that I don’t find it appealing. I’ve been a sucker for this type of charismatic, macho man all my life. Some things don’t change, I guess.

This guy seemed oblivious to the Christ child and the crowds around him. Instead, he seemed only to be aware of me and honed in on me quickly. He could tell that I desired him and seemed to derive smug satisfaction out of this knowledge. He couldn’t resist puffing himself up and strutting even more. I was the beta to his alpha and he enjoyed being dominant. Like I said, I can’t say I didn’t find this attractive.

While I knew that he was dead, I also knew that he didn’t know it yet. He was still so wound up in himself that it would take time for this knowledge to seep in. I was in this curious position of being both in his thrall and aware of something he didn’t know. 

I don’t get the sense that this dude is gay but he definitely is in love with himself and enjoys the attention. He also likes being dominant. Again, I’m not complaining. We experience a visceral coming together, sort of like being tackled. It was one of those tacklings that bi-curious dudes are famous for - is it wrestling or is it sexual? Plausible deniability is the rule here. In any case, we came together and merged and I can still ‘feel’ him ‘inside’ me, right around the solar plexus. If this isn’t just a sex-crazed fantasy and there is a thread of truth in it, it could be another one of those times when I ‘carry’ the deceased inside me until they’re ready to come to terms with their death and either strike out on their own or a guide appears to help them along on their post-life journey.

I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.


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