Journal Entry - August 8, 2011

     All that I do seems to be an expression of an endless, infinite spectrum—-shadow-light, shadow-light, shadow-light—-this side of the Absolute. Never purely dark, never purely illumined. I need the oscillation to catapult beyond, into immediate, trans-dual, impersonal seeing. Why are we taught that shadow is bad? Why taught to prefer the light? Why do I still look over my shoulder for someone looking back over at me, in anticipation of being scolded over one wrong step, blindly obeying what I'm told in rote behaviorism?
     My biggest fear is the possibility of punishment as the result of such failure, so I order my life (and my mind) around obsessively ensuring it never happens. I wag my tail so you'll pat my head and cower for your approval. The truth is that this has produced a stalwart body-mind-persona complex that everyone loves!—-at the expense of not loving myself—-and a talented, capable facade that does everything right, white-knuckling through the performance with a smile. I have contrived a way in the darkest of shadows to be "good at stuff" in order to earn praise and accolade--out of darkness comes a distorted light. Or is it distorted at all?
     What's so skewed about wanting to be liked and wanting to be proud of accomplishments? Nothing if it's not an addiction. Nothing if it's not an aversion. Nothing if it's not running away. Nothing if it's not all-consuming. But so it has become for me: The object of desire promises happiness, and when received refuses to give it. The poisonous need for affection, esteem, attention, and affirmation is actually never satisfied, and thus forms a toxic co-dependency where both of us--me and the need-—are left wanting. Left wanting even when I get what I think it is I want. Wanting and wondering what I did wrong or what's wrong with them for not noticing. The options are clear: give up, surrender, try harder, make it worse.. Has the shadow brought me to where I now am? Is this an auspicious grace? Is this new awareness the first step to redemption? I pray this be a true glimpse of freedom and not just a decorated prison cell.
     For the first time ever, I am intentionally putting myself in situations that evoke my insecurity, trying new things that I don't instantly excel at and that don't feed the loop of "what they think of me and how to sway their opinion." This is the furnace of transformation induced by my will against my will, by the strength of my hand despite the squirming underneath, all guided by an inspiration and sustained by a Presence far greater than I can say. Can I stay here until the dross is burned away? Until all attachment is released? Until the clinging become an open hand? Can I learn to rejoice when I am not given the object of desire? When I don't draw attention for how special and gifted I (think I) am? May this become a beautiful crown of thorns, my drops of blood adorning the path of suffering all the way to liberation.
     In this way, there is no such thing as a misstep or a mishap, for all is returning to the Source, and Love is driving the whole display. God has lost Himself in the world of form and is steadily finding Himself again. When all the layers have peeled away, nothing is left for fixation--nothing to be, nothing to have, nothing to hold, nothing to need, nothing to fear—-and all is seen clearly from the place that cannot Itself be seen. Mysteriously I am a part of this somehow, like it or not, a part of this force that's forcing me to let go, praise or no praise, success or failure, into my own transcendent obliteration. Who Am I? God finding God, even in these pages? Who am I to think different? Who am I otherwise? Who am I when all that I have known myself to be is gone? Who Am I. . .? Who Am I. . .? Who Am I. . .?