Chakra archetypes and other bats in my belfry

Personifying my Chakras has given me deep insights as well as providing me with the aligning rituals which stem from the relationships that develop with them.

We all bring back our own boon on our unique hero's journey, as Papa Campbell was wont to say. We make our own myths. Here is mine:

In the belfry where my bats hang out, in the control tower, in the League of Justice Headquarters, in the Secret Garden of my soul... whatever...

It just so happens to appear to me as a golden domed room with an oculus at the crown; similar in architecture to the Pantheon in Rome, with ceiling frescoes as Michelangelo may have sketched in the journal he kept hidden under his mattress where the Pope wouldn't find it: (It is as I first saw it on a guided meditation lead by Slade Roberson's Automatic Intuition course.) Around its gilded walls are pedestals upon which my guides and angels stand during my internal rituals – they don't hang out here. They are too busy. This is just the tableux of the ceremony during those times I am able to deeply meditate and meet with them there.

Some of the pedestals are occupied by shrouded figures, whom I have not yet met. The one to the right of the doorway as you enter is occupied by my Asher: Our relationship is too sacred to speak of here. (Good lord, that sounds pretentious. Just go with it, 'kay?) However, the first time I entered this room, he assumed his position and I realized he was one of many. (Whether they are their own entities or are expressions and aspects of myself is immaterial, as in my theology everything is the one thing.)

I have since come to know some of them as Chakra guides. I first saw them in the state to which they had fallen through my neglect. I am now going through a process of reinstating them or reimagining them, if you will, or realigning..

I do this by meditating, and ask my Asher to make the introductions, and he has. Sometimes the guide is established, and I just meet them (like my third Chakra, the dark horse). In the case of my root Chakra, I kept getting a sense of him which was disconcerting. He was mishapen and unpleasent; unwholesome. I knew this to be an aspect which he had taken to demonstrate to me my current state of mind. It was my job to recast him.

In my mind's eye a thousand characters flickered past like so many frames of film haphazardly spliced. It was up to me to choose. And it was also a guided choice. 

In meditation, when something presents itself, you go with it. That's where the insights are. Otherwise you are just daydreaming.

I chose a bull. (Or the bull chose me?) He became the half-man Minotaur, emerging from his underground labyrinth; a cleft in the rocks among the roots of immense trees into a meadow I am familiar with in my spirit journeys. There is a spring there. The mouth of all rivers, which supplies my second Chakra – the Indian Guide who incidentally is named River. 

(You don't have to be Dan Brown or Carl Jung to notice what's going on here.)

Yeah. It all connects, you see. The second guide rides the third; the black horse...

But back to the Minotaur. He rises from the ground. Rampant, as they say. The root of my being.

But this is my ritual.

The sacraments of the alignment of my lower Chakras are physical to varying degrees. Allow me to delicately draw your attention away from the scene in the meadow to the domain of my third Chakra that we may discuss this with a minimum of blushing: The black horse is all instinct. Body language, gut feelings, heart-strings. Presence.

If you are lucky enough to be a horseman, you know how it feels with an animal moving beneath you, like being astride a great ball of awareness. If you are an intuitive horseman,  you resonate with every vibe and nuanced tension that flows through him. I align with my third Chakra by riding him. Analogize the others as you will. 

My heart Chakra is a child. The one who tames the horse which River rides. The one the sometimes gentle, sometimes brassy lady (my throat Chakra) sings lullibyes to when she is not on stage belting out the triumphant aria of my truth, or cackling at me when I assume a false voice. She in turn hangs out with Chris in the control room. They are a couple, you see. She likes him to read to her and they discuss philosophy -- sitting on pillows on the floor and sipping wine. He likes to hear her sing, which she does... when she's not hooting with bawdy laughter. 

Singing is sacred to the alignment of my higher Chakras. Laughter clears out the cobwebs as does a good scrubbing. So does having a good cry.

But this is my ritual.

Each Chakra is connected to the next one. Some of their responsibilities overlap. As I journey upward from the root to the crown I connect with each, commune and groove with each, understand how each are a part and expression of my whole self.

It works out a whole lot nicer than wearing the right colored scarf or affixing magnets to my zones or buying jewelry with the designated gemstone. There's no merchandising involved and the meditations are delicious.

But this is me.