I'm going to take a deep breath here and just blurt it out: My third-eye chakra persona is Chris Stevens. Not the actor John Corbett, but the character Chris Stevens from the early 90's TV show, Northern Exposure. You know, that soft-spoken, dreamy DJ philosopher that was the show's moral center and nudging conscience. He's the one who summed it up and laid it out in the gentlest terms possible. 'Chris in the morning.'
That guy.
And by the way, when I said dreamy, I meant that in a metaphysical altered consciousness dream-state way: it was not a high-school-girl's sigh of 'he's dreeeeamy!'. (Although... seriously. John if you are out there reading this... 'sigh'. That was for you.)
So why would I dare admit to something likely to cause profound and acute embarrassment should anyone I know actually read this blog?
Had I not met him in a dream, and had my filters been switched on, I'd have given this a big fat PSSSSHT!
But when all defenses are down in dreaming, you just go with it.
"What is the third eye chakra all about?" I asked him.
This was one thing I felt pretty good about. My third eye has been wide open for some time. Even before I had the remotest inkling that there were other energy centers in the body, I'd put myself to sleep at night rolling up my eyes and opening the window in my forehead and step through to those airless places where light comes from everywhere and there are no shadows, and if you are able to hang on to that in-between tethered state before drifting into sleep, things got really interesting.
I could hear music with my physical ears. Or vaguely tune in radio stations. Or listen to an orchestra tune up. Occasionally voices, but I could never make out what they were saying. Just sudden startling exclamations, or murmured conversations, or commercial break announcements (you should understand I live out in the boonies and this occurred when there was literally no one else for acres around. This was not a neighbor's TV vibing against an apartment wall.).
Once a spirit-cat crawled under the covers at the foot of my bed and sat purring on my chest and we floated together out the window. Not literally, you understand, but with all my senses focused and engaged and experiencing it as though it were. Once I reached down through the floor and drew in the sawdust of the sub-floor. Another time I shot out of the roof of my house and looked out across the hills and saw a house in the woods I didn't know was there (it was) and when I felt the acuteness of all my senses and the warm humid summer-time air in my lungs and had the thought 'this is real!' I returned, sucking in air as though to swallow back my wondering soul.
All that is great fun, but nothing more than fooling around. Practice, maybe, for what would come later. (Like visiting the spiritual healers in the Kiva.) None of it was disturbing. All of it profoundly peaceful. Until afterwards when I 'wake up'. In retrospect it's pretty damned exciting.
Maybe this is crown chakra business, but according to Chris, in his capacity, I was to think of him as technical support.
Yeah.
So I have a DJ in my head spinning dials, adjusting the screen resolution and tuning in the channels. And when it's all set up, he kicks back, takes the microphone in hand and goes on the air. He is the voice in my head. The one that isn't me. Or more likely, the one that IS me, but that I tend to ignore unless he ups the amp and turns on the juice.
But why, for godsakes, a TV character? (blush)
Because he's an archetype. One I'm familiar with, one where the analogies fit like a glove. I 'get' this guy. It gives context to our interactions. So, why not?
Symbols are just symbols. I write a lot about metaphor. About our personal mythology. I get itchy when someone tries to slap their mythology on me. I spent years trying to fit into other people's spirit-world view. It always went wrong. Always. I was ever the acolyte. Always asking, the perpetual graduate student of arcane mysteries. But you can never be master of another person's destiny.
To be a spiritual adult you have to stop being a student and start being the teacher. Realize everything you are looking for is in your own backyard and click your ruby slippers together and get back to Kansas, where you belong. And then you realize everyone you were seeking in Oz was here all along. You don't need Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer technocolor special effects. Or magic mushrooms, for that matter. You just need the courage to be true to your own weirdness.
--That last paragraph sounded like Chris talking somewhere in the dark. Thanks, Chris.
That guy.
And by the way, when I said dreamy, I meant that in a metaphysical altered consciousness dream-state way: it was not a high-school-girl's sigh of 'he's dreeeeamy!'. (Although... seriously. John if you are out there reading this... 'sigh'. That was for you.)
So why would I dare admit to something likely to cause profound and acute embarrassment should anyone I know actually read this blog?
Had I not met him in a dream, and had my filters been switched on, I'd have given this a big fat PSSSSHT!
But when all defenses are down in dreaming, you just go with it.
"What is the third eye chakra all about?" I asked him.
This was one thing I felt pretty good about. My third eye has been wide open for some time. Even before I had the remotest inkling that there were other energy centers in the body, I'd put myself to sleep at night rolling up my eyes and opening the window in my forehead and step through to those airless places where light comes from everywhere and there are no shadows, and if you are able to hang on to that in-between tethered state before drifting into sleep, things got really interesting.
I could hear music with my physical ears. Or vaguely tune in radio stations. Or listen to an orchestra tune up. Occasionally voices, but I could never make out what they were saying. Just sudden startling exclamations, or murmured conversations, or commercial break announcements (you should understand I live out in the boonies and this occurred when there was literally no one else for acres around. This was not a neighbor's TV vibing against an apartment wall.).
Once a spirit-cat crawled under the covers at the foot of my bed and sat purring on my chest and we floated together out the window. Not literally, you understand, but with all my senses focused and engaged and experiencing it as though it were. Once I reached down through the floor and drew in the sawdust of the sub-floor. Another time I shot out of the roof of my house and looked out across the hills and saw a house in the woods I didn't know was there (it was) and when I felt the acuteness of all my senses and the warm humid summer-time air in my lungs and had the thought 'this is real!' I returned, sucking in air as though to swallow back my wondering soul.
All that is great fun, but nothing more than fooling around. Practice, maybe, for what would come later. (Like visiting the spiritual healers in the Kiva.) None of it was disturbing. All of it profoundly peaceful. Until afterwards when I 'wake up'. In retrospect it's pretty damned exciting.
Maybe this is crown chakra business, but according to Chris, in his capacity, I was to think of him as technical support.
Yeah.
So I have a DJ in my head spinning dials, adjusting the screen resolution and tuning in the channels. And when it's all set up, he kicks back, takes the microphone in hand and goes on the air. He is the voice in my head. The one that isn't me. Or more likely, the one that IS me, but that I tend to ignore unless he ups the amp and turns on the juice.
But why, for godsakes, a TV character? (blush)
Because he's an archetype. One I'm familiar with, one where the analogies fit like a glove. I 'get' this guy. It gives context to our interactions. So, why not?
Symbols are just symbols. I write a lot about metaphor. About our personal mythology. I get itchy when someone tries to slap their mythology on me. I spent years trying to fit into other people's spirit-world view. It always went wrong. Always. I was ever the acolyte. Always asking, the perpetual graduate student of arcane mysteries. But you can never be master of another person's destiny.
To be a spiritual adult you have to stop being a student and start being the teacher. Realize everything you are looking for is in your own backyard and click your ruby slippers together and get back to Kansas, where you belong. And then you realize everyone you were seeking in Oz was here all along. You don't need Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer technocolor special effects. Or magic mushrooms, for that matter. You just need the courage to be true to your own weirdness.
--That last paragraph sounded like Chris talking somewhere in the dark. Thanks, Chris.
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