I’m reading a great book called After the Ecstasy, the Laundry by Jack Kornfield. It’s about what happens when we eventually must take our mystical experiences and apply them to life. For example, we can meditate or pray, but eventually we are going to have to get up and eat, or pee, or take the kids to do something, or whatever. We are going to have to rejoin life and bring the message down from the mountaintop.
For many, probably a vast majority, after a great mystical experience, an awakening of some sort to the divine and miraculous nature of our being, there comes a period of great suffering. Maybe not right away, as the ecstasy of a brush with God can sustain one for quite some time, but eventually we have to balance our accounts. We cannot sustain a state of grace while we insist on holding onto a bag of dung (by that I mean our attachments, our dysfunctions, our wounds).
Eventually we must come out of the ashram, church, mosque, or temple, out of our safe place with God, and we must face the unknown of the formerly known. And in a single moment of unawareness, one can go from elation to misery.
This ‘fall’, so to speak, has happened to me many times. I expect it now even. I go to spend time with my spiritual teachers, and I am in an environment where I have not a care in the world. I can let go and…and…and nothing. I can let go. I can Be.
But after that, I go back out into the world in my elation or pain (depending on the work we did and whatnot), and I have to figure out how to adjust the places in my life that are out of alignment. I don’t even have to look for them. The Universe shows me. It comes loud and clear, and without effort!
Cartographers, mapmakers, in the old days, when there were lands unknown, would write on the maps, “Here there be dragons.” That’s what it’s like to go back to the old when the old no longer suits. It’s like a shoe that used to be really comfy, but suddenly no longer fits and you don’t know why. Dragons.
I go on, both forward and back, searching for dragons to befriend. I jump off the cliff to see if I can fly. Sometimes I can. And sometimes I fall on my face. Sometimes the space I tread is completely unknown to me because I’ve never been there, and other times it is unknown because I have tucked it so neatly away.
I fall down and cry, and then I get up and stubbornly move forward again, step, step, step.
At first on my spiritual path, I didn’t really know how to get back up. My teacher helped me up each time. And then as I became stronger, I was forced to get up on my own or stay stuck in the mire of self-pity. My choice. Eventually I got a ‘bring it on’ sort of attitude. I dared God to take its best shot, and I even learned to enjoy the knocks. I looked forward to them. I’d grit my teeth and growl as I plunged headlong into the dark places in me. I tapped into my inner Pat Benetar – Hit me with your best shot, fire away! Knock me down, it’s all in vain, I’ll get right back up on my feet again. I thought for sure I could be just as stubborn as God. After all, that’s the stuff I’m made of, right? 
Some people can learn softly, but I wasn’t one of them, not then at least. I’m getting better. I think. Maybe. Or not. I’m not sure. Mmm, you’d have to ask my teacher, come to think of it. He’d tell the truth about it for sure. If anyone has suffered my stubbornness as much as me, it would be my teacher. I owe him one for his dedication to this soul.
I feel my consciousness being drawn into a new realm of the unknown. I can’t help but wonder what dragons may await me when I emerge. I hope they’re friendly.
