Imaginal Journeys in the Underworld

  The teaching these days is about how the nondual embodiment of the Truth is transformative. When the soul not only awakens to Truth and knows itself as Truth and embodies Truth without schism or separation, it not only transforms but it becomes transformative to those around it. This is most obvious in the spiritual realm, less so in the physical world which is the realm of ego and rarely does the ego allow itself to be transformed. Its nature is to always go back to the way it was and change is very incremental. In the spiritual realm(s), though, this is not the case. Ego can’t survive long without a body and, if it does, it can easily be transformed. I see that the soul is not only a portal but is catalytic as it wakes up. So, it may open onto different realms but anything that comes through is transformed in the process. I understand now that this is why I am called on. It is rare, it seems, for a soul to be awakened. There are many, many entities in the spiritual realms but few a

  I met a ‘desire demon’ today for the first time, although the truth is probably that I’ve encountered many over the years. They seem to feed off the sexual instinctual drive, encouraging people to indulge in their deepest, darkest fantasies so they can grow stronger. This is just my hunch; I don’t know anything for a fact. As you know, I’ve been trying simply meditate during my usual morning time but sometimes the visitors are too insistent and I can’t push them away. This morning I was feeling kind of horny while I was meditating so it’s not surprising that I was visited by a dude with a steroid fetish/body dysmorphia. Given how big and bloated her was, I’d say he died suddenly of a heart attack, probably because the ‘roids weakened his heart. It’s hard to say, though; all I know is that he was dead and stuck in the liminal space. At first, he appeared as puffed up with himself and not just because of the steroids. He was clearly proud of his mutantly large muscles and got off on th

  It’s been pretty quiet for the past week but this morning I was visited by the same shaman I met a couple weeks ago. He appears to be a relatively young guy and I think he’s indigenous American, at least that’s the way he seems. I can tell he’s young because he runs hot and is full of youthful passion. I think he’s gay, too. There was a definite attraction between us when we met the first time and I had a feeling I would meet up with him again. This morning, he showed up and was full of desire, burning hot. He was also full of hatred toward me, I think because I’m white. He seems resentful that a white guy should be doing what I do and can’t quite believe that I am not a fraud of some kind. In any case, our coming together was intense, full of passion, desire and hatred and mistrust. It was volatile but I stayed calm and didn’t push him. In fact, when he came at me in the form of a vicious animal/bird, I was quite submissive. I wasn’t worried about being hurt; there is nothing he can

  The difference between regular imagination and the Imaginal is vividness. The images in regular imagination are mental pictures for the most part whereas the experiences in the Imaginal had a much deeper impact. They hit me in the heart, especially, and are usually extraordinarily vivid. Last night when I was drifting off to sleep, I had a strong image present itself. It was in a cabin in the woods, somewhere in the upper Midwest. It was night and the cabin was mostly dark. A young, voluptuous and stylishly-dressed white woman reclined on a leather couch. She was wearing clothes from the late 1950s or early 1960s. She seemed unconcerned. Seated in the shadows was a young black woman. She was equally stylish but far from unconcerned. In fact, she was terrified. I got the sense that she and the other woman were performers. Perhaps the white woman was also a prostitute but the black woman was not. I am pretty sure she was a mother. They were waiting for someone, someone who would most l

  I saw an ermine at the crossroads in a winter scene. The ermine had the blackest eyes, a portal to liminal space. I entered through the eyes of the ermine, finding an old knight wearing the white robes of the Knights Templar. Beside him was a white shield emblazoned with the red cross of the order. This knight had died in betrayal and was still reeling with the shock of it. He had lived his life true to the dictates of the order, had been virtuous, devout. And still he had been killed in the end as a traitor. What could I say to him? I could tell he was basically a good guy, although we were worlds and ages apart. No doubt he would have been scandalized to know about me and my life. Still, I was there to help him and I told him that it was time to leave this place. He had been true, therefore no one would judge him harshly. He could leave with a strong heart, with his faith intact. When we came back to the crossroads, the ermine was still there as was a sainted lady. She was dressed

  Today, I meditated for my usual length of time. After the bell sounded, I opened to the entity that was trying to get my attention. A human this time (I think) - this time a young guy who appeared as a vampire with grey skin and pitch black eyes. He fancied himself undead and inhabited a black city. It was clear that this vampiric guise and the city were a defense, something he wrapped himself in to feel better about himself. People stuck in limbo often do this; they invented a world and a persona to inhabit. The problem is that it’s a lie. It’s also quite lonely because this place they have created contains only them. It’s pulled out of their imagination and therefore is recursive - it’s always self-referential. People inevitably become lonely and these places become prisons, yet often they are unable or unwilling to leave. Perhaps they don’t know how? What did I do? I led him back to his heart. This is the doorway, the only way to exit such a prison. And it requires feeling a lot o

  Not for the first time do I feel like I’ve totally gone off the rails with these experiences. I am glad this is a private journal because I would be really embarrassed if people who knew me knew what I was writing. Ugh. Every time something like this happens, I think I’m confabulating or suffering from an overactive imagination. The problem is that these experiences line up and make a certain sense, even if they defies rationality and logic. The other issue is that they seemingly come out of nowhere and usually bear no resemblance to anything I’ve been thinking about. Still, I suppose I could be guilty of ‘scrying’ - meaning that I think I see something and then my brain gets busy constructing a story around it. Still, I often think I see something or try to push myself to see something, only to have my preferences scuttled. Whatever wants to be seen has a tendency to get its point across, regardless of whether I like what I see or not. A few days ago, I encountered an African shaman