January 13, 2021

My friend, Alison, loaned me Carl Jung’s Red Book and I’ve spent time reading through it over the past couple of days. It’s clear he was visiting the Imaginal Realm when he wrote it but his experiences are very dark and terrifying. His inner lens was distorted by his personal unconscious, his religious upbringing and all of his unresolved ego issues. I’m not saying that my lens isn’t distorted, too - I’m sure it is! It’s just a matter of learning how it’s distorted and holding what I’m experiencing lightly and with skepticism. Still, I can’t help but think all of the work I’ve done over the past 25 years on my digesting and understanding my ego has helped. And, equally important is the development of my soul’s inner guidance, Diamond Guidance as we refer to it in the Ridhwan School.

My active imagination is a big reason why I find journeying in the Imaginal to be relatively easy. When I was a child, I developed an imagination that was quite vivid. I abandoned it for a time in my adult years, discarding it as childish fantasy. Over the past fifteen years or so, though, my imagination has experienced a renaissance of sorts. I have been writing fantasy stories since at least the age of 35 and both my writing and my imagination have developed considerably in that time.


When you combine this development of my imagination with the development of my soul’s inner guidance (and simultaneous metabolization of my ego structures), you have the recipe for journeying into the Imaginal. It was like Diamond Guidance was itching to take me there and wasted no time once I allowed my rational mind to relinquish control.


Maybe it’s my own distorted lens but sex plays a big role in the encounters I’m having in the Imaginal. I guess it sort of makes sense, given it’s the realm of unrestrained Id and libido among other things. And many of the beings I meet are languishing after being essentially forgotten for god knows how long. It stands to reason that they would want the comfort and intimacy of a human embrace...as well as a good fuck. 


Sex in the imaginal is trip! It’s similar in many ways to sex in the physical world but also more of a full-soul coming together. It’s erotic and pleasurable and astoundingly intimate, more intimate than any sex I’ve had in the physical world. There are also fewer rules because our forms are so changeable. We’re not restricted by the limitations of the human body.


Last night, I couldn’t sleep and decided to meditate to calm my mind. I was kind of hoping that I’d just have a regular meditation. You know, the kind where your mind is clear and empty. I kind of wanted a break from the intensity of the Imaginal.


True Nature had other plans, although I can say that the meditation was one of the more relaxing I’ve had recently. In retrospect, the source of the symbols and images that I encountered in my meditation was clear: I had been reading about Jung’s experiences during World War I and how the dead besieged him at one point, clamoring for surcease. I also recall an episode of an Aussie TV series I saw once where a dead soldier from WWI comes alive and one of the threads of his story is that he discovers he’s a big homo which, of course, was taboo in Western Europe and Australia at that time.


So, take this latest foray into the Imaginal with a grain of salt.


The common theme of my journeying into the Imaginal is that I follow a thread of truth as it is revealed by my inner guidance. It’s the same process I use for following the thread of my personal truth about my personal history and it never leads me astray. Inquiry in the Imaginal is the same process: Follow the thread of truth. My heart responds by quickening and my curiosity sharpens and my full faculty of perception comes alive when I inquire. It’s a beautiful and mysterious process but also an unerring one.


My spirit guide - looking back at these entries, there always seems to be one - this time was a reindeer. Just that. A simple reindeer. And it didn’t take me anywhere. We just stood there in a winter field looking toward the twinkling lights of a town. I don’t know why but I got the sense the town was in England, Scotland or possibly somewhere in Europe. It was an old town that hadn't changed much over the years.


As I stood there, watching the lights of the town, I became aware of another onlooker. Seasons and years seemed to pass with the earth quickening and then sleeping beneath our feet as the seasons changed. The streets of the town were glistening rain one moment and the next they were frosted with snow. The spirit standing next to me had been there watching the town for a very long time.


Gradually, the spirit realized I was there and turned to me, revealing who he had been: A young man in the flush of youth who was killed during World War I. He was so young that he hadn’t experienced much of life yet and was still very connected to his home village. He longed to return there but, of course, could not. He was very lonely, lost and hurting. I stood there with him, offering my sympathy and my love. He responded to this offering of love with a burst of joy. It had been a long time since he had met a living human who recognized him and he was aching for contact. I opened up to him, inviting him into my heart and my mind, inviting him to share in my memories and experience my life.


He was very awed and curious about my experiences as well as grateful to be seen and held and welcomed. He opened to me in the same way and I bore witness to his life before the war with its innocence and simple joys. But it was the war and its horrors that occupied most of his attention. At one point, the entirety of his platoon seemed to amass around us in a silent army of the dead. I reached out to him and held him in my arms and murmured soothingly to him.


The grave.


Instantly, we were in the smothering darkness of the grave where his body had been buried before his spirit even came to terms with his death. He was choking on earth, his body broken and decaying. His flesh being gnawed off his bones. It was a horrific image but I didn’t shrink from it. I offered love and acceptance to him, inviting him to share everything with me. There would be no judgment from me, only love and acceptance.


Gradually, the horror receded and we were alone again. It was then that he became curious about physical intimacy. His clothes were gone and so were mine and we were naked together. He hugged his naked body against mine, savoring the feel of skin against skin. I don’t know if he died a virgin but he certainly didn’t have much experience with sex. His advances were boyish, shy and hesitant. I didn’t push him but rather invited him to explore my body. Our coming together was tender and sweet, almost chaste.


He marveled about homosexuality and how it could considered so normal now. It was not something he had ever conceived of when he was living and it both thrilled and confused him. Gradually, though, he became bolder and more open to exploring my body and opening his to me. He was very intrigued by the butthole. It was a part of his body he found shameful and desirable at the same time. I invited him to show me his butthole and to explore mine. From here, it wasn’t long before we were fucking. I was fucking him up the ass and he was howling with forbidden pleasure, amazed I could be turned on by such a dirty part of him. I found it incredibly erotic. He had a very desirable body, young and tender yet taut and muscular. Raw and ready for fun.


Afterward, we lingered together, my cock still lodged inside him, our bodies sweaty and stinky and awash with the profane ecstasy of butt sex. I invited him to stay with me as long as he wanted. My life and spirit and all within it are open to him. There is no rush, nowhere to go right away. We had nothing but time.


Curiously, Griffin did not make an appearance at all during this inquiry. I would have thought he would be there, especially given the raw sexuality of our coming together. It seemed like the perfect place for him to, ahem, insert himself. For reasons beyond my ken, though, he was absent. Maybe at some point, I’ll learn why. I don’t get the sense he has abandoned me...I still feel very connected to him. He isn’t always right there at my side during these journeys, though.


If the imaginal is where lost spirits linger after death, I can only imagine how many there must be there. If True Nature is serious about redemption, there must be armies of beings like me deployed to find and offer redemption to these lost souls. It makes my tiny efforts seem paltry; I can only visit one at a time. What about the legions remaining?


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