Groundless Clouds: A Journey Through the Astral Realm
In the middle of the clouds, I sit cross-legged, feeling the soft billowing air move through me. My nose perceives the sweet and sharp hybrid scent of vanilla bean and sunshine daffodils, bringing my mind to a time months ago. A time when the thought of living amongst the clouds, living groundlessly, was as dreamlike as unmanifested desire. Here I sit, ankle bones jousting with the floor, watching the clouds flow like water. En masse, both directionless but with the conviction only known to those practicing daily, meaningful ritual — with a certainty of spirit reserved for those who live by their essence, never even thinking to forsake their divinity for some less-noble cause.
As the sky brightens and I begin to feel engulfed by the soft depth of these clouds, by the loving and compassionate embrace of the divine, I feel myself soften. Cloud bursts dance away from the group, reminding me that I determine how high I fly. Even two pointed structures from the beige mosque stories below seem to direct themselves upward, encouraging me to fly higher, salute the sun, and become love in the skyscape of the groundless clouds.
I slowly close my eyes, reluctant to separate my gaze from the scene before me. As my lids meet, eyelashes coming into a welcome embrace, I begin to feel myself lift off of my seat. I feel so light, so separated from the density that is my body, my home. The tenseness I often feel in my neck and shoulders is replaced by the observation of that tenseness. Yellow. Puckered. Warm. I can now animate these physical nuances with colors and textures to describe how my body is feeling. As I float higher and, at the same time, deeper, into myself, I am caressed by what I can only assume are frolicking clouds, inviting me to play. My physical eyes remain closed, but I see as I never have before. The warmth of vanilla bean still tickles my nose as sunshine and daffodils personify themselves, brightly lighting my head and brushing against my feet.
In the distance, I think I hear a sweet tune. Or is that the memory of a tune? It's so sweet, my salivary glands begin to activate, bringing my attention to my mouth. I want to speak, I want to comment, but I can't shift my jaw. "I wonder what that's about," I say, somehow, through my inner knowing. Things are happening to me that I dare not question for fear these experiences may drift swiftly away like dreams shortly after waking. In an attempt to sink further into this world, this experience, I draw in a deep, cooling breath. As my physical body moves to accommodate this fresh air, I begin to buzz and circulate around myself. In some pocket of my existence, I can sense darkness; there is a corner of myself shrouded in grey. Without motioning to approach the area, I know this place is cold, neglected. I can sense that my uptightness and resistance live here. Heat begins to prickle my skin, and I know this because I can sense myself evaporating. "Is this fear?" I question, in awe at my immediate somatic reaction to my simply recognizing a shadow within myself. Knowing I have limited time to investigate the shadow before my grasp of this experience slips out of reach, I steel myself, preventing my own re-entrance into my body, my home. It's not time yet.
To my surprise, my body holds stronger resolve than I'd thought possible, willing me to re-enter. I sense my body struggling, calling out to me, attempting to move its limbs, but I know it remains still. All that willful energy only exists telepathically. My own energy remains directed at the parts of me that need light, though those parts seem to be fading into themselves. Fading into me? I know what's happening — my experience is beginning to mistake itself for an imagined scenario, preparing me for re-entry into a body and consciousness where I hold a limited belief of what's possible within and around me. With decisive strength against what feels like a more opaque version of myself, I crystallize a nugget of insight — a bookmark for me to return to when I wake in my three-dimensional reality.
And with those thoughts come my final descent and landing back into the here and now. I touch my fingertips to my shoulders and stretch my back deeply, somehow exhausted and exhilarated. Formless clouds still swirl around me, and by now, I can no longer feel my legs. For sure my ankle bones and the floor have melded into one another. What has also become enmeshed is my immediate physical reality and the plane of existence I just traveled through. I struggle to believe what I sensed was real; was I actually capable of separating myself from my reality, neutralizing previously threatening thoughts and emotions, even if said threats only existed as dull bass notes in the soundtrack of my life? With some new understanding, I realize those dull bass notes, though difficult to perceive at first interaction, comprise the foundation and depth of my experience as a human. So I pause my thoughts in order to cross worlds over the inner-outer membrane. I begrudgingly stretch my legs, allowing the rush of renewed energy in blood form to course through once again. The sense-making part of me still fights for knowledge to fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle, but I decide to wade through the now-fading clouds around me and fill the kettle — somewhat out of habit. I'm pulling a box of teas from the cabinet, but part of me is detached, intrigued, sleepy, unable to gather more and mold earthly understanding from information from the groundlessness of the clouds.
I fill my mug and watch as the water transforms from clear to murky to a soft green. I touch the handle, unnecessarily startled by the heat transmitted to my hand, and decide to set my tea and myself down to stare out the window once again.
