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Jan's Blog

A Day in a Life: The Observer

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Take note: The Observer is always present. It’s clear that we all have one. But how do we access this most pragmatic and sage voice of wisdom? I like to call this aspect of the psyche the Ancient Spirit Self, but for today I will stick with the term Observer.

Lately, in dream work, I have noticed this Observer most clearly. Having set my intent to access this aspect of self over the past few weeks—writing about it on the website and meditating into quiet specifically to access it—its voice has grown more pronounced. That is how intent works. I bow to intent today in writing about my experiences of the Observer.

Last week, I wrote about two dreams I had in Dreaming Intent. I noted during those dreams that I was both Participant and Observer and since then I have been aware that I am always both Participant and Observe while I dream. Even in waking life we are Participant and Observer, though perhaps it is easier to experience these two sides of the self in dreaming. With our busy minds and the difficulty we have in shutting down our thoughts, the dreaming world might be a good place to begin experiencing the Observer and note the difference between this voice and other voices, such as those related to the ego, the voice that speaks most loudly as we navigate the everyday world.

We all dream and I suggest that in dreaming we all clearly experience ourselves as Participant and Observer. Think about it. Recall a recent or old dream and note from what perspective the dream was viewed. Most likely, even though while deeply immersed in the dream there was another aspect of awareness that was present, as if directing the action or watching from afar. This is the Observer.

For instance, while dreaming recently, I clearly heard my Observer self telling me to wake up and write the dream down. “You know you’ll forget it, or you just won’t get it right if you don’t wake up now and write this down,” it said to me, rather sternly. I rather reluctantly got myself up to a sitting position, reached for my notebook and pen, which I keep open and ready beside the bed, and, in a half-awake state, in the dark, I wrote out the experience of the dream.

In the morning, my first thought was that I would most likely have to elaborate on what I had written, sure that I had not captured the essence of the dream during my bumbling state in the night. But, when I took a look at what I had written in the dark of the night, I saw that I had most clearly captured the dream, that I did not have to elaborate or alter a single word that my Observer had instructed me to write down.

This fascinated me on two levels. First, I noted how my ego jumped right in with its judgments, sure that I could not have captured the full essence of the dream. But when I read what I had written, I pointedly asked my ego to step down and be humble, to not be so quick to jump to conclusions. Second, I was fascinated by the language that flowed out of me in that dream state. I decided that I must learn to trust the Observer more often. I liked the tone of this Observer. It had simply and truthfully captured the dream. I note that the Observer, present in both my dream state and in my half-awake state, was the voice of truth, of reason—the one who knows all—and when I listen to it, I see that it does, in fact, get things right.

It is humbling and almost frightening to note that we all have this voice of reason within us. We all have the potential to get our lives in order, to live as ancient spiritual beings, and yet we relinquish this most central aspect of ourselves as we navigate the world from our participant selves, our egos, thinking that they have all the answers. I find this pretty scary while at the same time I note that it is how we must live in this world. We must build our egos to the point where they can topple without our attaching to them, without our needing them anymore. They will always rise up again and again to test us, to challenge our Observer-Who-Knows-All, seeking to thwart our true need for this aspect of self to live more fully. The ego is there to both draw us from this inner aspect of self, and challenge us to more fully embrace it.

In our dream world we have the opportunity to more fully connect with this Observer self, to understand how it directs us to not only observe and take note of the truth, but how it pushes us to act, as it did in my dream, asking me to: “wake up you sleepyhead and write this down!” In gently nudging us awake, night after night, it asks us to remember its voice, its sober and truthful tone, its pragmatic and knowing insinuation that we are fully capable of hearing and acting on its directives. We just have to train ourselves to do so.

As I mentioned above, we are both Participant and Observer in dreaming and in waking life. Personally, I intend to keep studying this inner and outer phenomenon. I intend to be more alert to myself in both roles. When am I Participant and when am I Observer? Am I indeed both at the same time, all the time? Can I switch over to Observer, ancient spirit self, volitionally in waking life, even when I am not meditating? Yes, I believe it is possible. And to do that, I must remind myself constantly to stay present in the moment.

I know—and perhaps it is my Observer telling me this—that if I constantly remind myself to stay in the moment that I will more fully access this aspect of self. So, I elect to challenge myself this week to more fully stay in the moment. That is the intent I set, with the added intent of being able to hear the clear voice of the Observer, as clearly as I heard it in my dream.

I ask that my Observer wake me up throughout my day and tell me what I need to know. This is my intent. Why not try it too, and then let’s see what happens!

If you wish, feel free to share or comment in the Post Comment section below.

Thanks for reading and passing these blogs on to others! Sending you all love and good wishes,
Jan

Jan's Blog

A Day in a Life: Instinctual Fear & Learned Fear

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In the channeled message on Monday, Jeanne and I discussed fear as the culprit that sets up blockages inhibiting access to the fuller self, as a hindrance on a path of inner growth. After my channeling I began to think about instinctual fear. I know it is necessary and must be utilized and I realized that perhaps it may not have been clear that Jeanne was really only talking about fear that has become habit. Fear that has become habit is something quite different from instinctual fear.

We have a very elderly dog. She is rather large, a shepherd-husky mix, with thick fur, big ears, a long furry tail and severe hip dysplasia, a condition not uncommon in those breeds. She has grown afraid in her old age; in human years she is 119 years old and counting. In the old days nothing would have stopped her from bounding out of the house early in the morning; she would have pounded her way through even the highest of snowdrifts to roll around and do her business. Now she hesitates at the door, looks outside, assesses the situation and if it feels slippery to the first timid touch of her paw on the flagstone porch she will turn around and go back into the house, not at all interested.

This is learned fear. This is fear that is the result of falling on the ice, slipping in the snow, and not being able to get up. When she has fallen she has probably also hurt herself, though she will rarely ever complain or make a sound. This is the natural tendency of an animal to not let it be known that it is weak, for fear of attack from predators—instinctual fear. As we have observed this new behavior over the winter we have noticed that the fear of falling now almost rules her every activity. Even inside the house she hesitates before walking across a stretch of wood floor—preferring to suffer the odds, she often takes it at a run rather than simply walk across it to follow us. We have devised methods of helping her get beyond this very real fear, by putting a leash on and urging her out the door, making a path for her in the high snow, running out ahead of her and urging her forward, laying rugs over the ice and throughout the house. With our help she has, sometimes, been able to conquer her fear.

I like to look to nature for instruction. I think about animal fear, the instinct mechanism that says: Uh-oh, I’m in danger. I see a deer standing stricken with fear before the headlights of my car, before it leaps out of the way, instinctually knowing that it had better move. I see the scared rabbit shivering in the snow as it is approached by a predator, before it too bounds off to safety. I hear the birds instinctively shrieking, sending up distress calls, flying out into the trees to distract hungry predators from their nests.

We humans also have these natural instincts. When a situation arouses this kind of instinctual fear, we tune into our natural state of being and without forethought we act, we use it to protect ourselves or others. Would we not run out of the road if a car were approaching or save our child from being run over? Would we not leap out of the way of a hungry predator? However, we too, just like our old dog, have learned behaviors, learned fears. We all have new fears that we have adopted as we have navigated through life, and these new fears may interfere with our natural inclination to experience life, with the instinctual drive to live full lives, exploring our greater meaning and purpose. These learned fears might actually suppress that instinctual mechanism lying at our core to the point where we cannot even act to save ourselves from danger.

The impact of learned fear must also be taken into consideration as we investigate our willingness and capacity to take a spiritual journey. What fears do we have that prohibit us from taking the journey that our spirit invites us on, showing us almost daily what it wants us to learn about ourselves so that we are not held back any longer from more fully integrating our natural selves into our lives? Personally, I used fear, instinctual and learned fears, my whole life, to protect myself; this is fairly common, most people do this. But also, I knowingly used those fears to keep myself from having experiences that made me uncomfortable. Here the unconscious came into play; though unaware of its aid at the time, it kept me from experiences that might trigger other unconscious, repressed experiences that would have surely interfered in my growth into adulthood. Thus, in using fear, I also perpetuated fear as an integral part of my life. What eventually happened was that by living safely protected within the confines of that fear, I also became controlled by it. As a result, I became increasingly restless, angry, depressed, and felt that I had no life of my own. I saw only death in the future. Underneath it all, however, I was being pushed into alignment with something new by my ancient instinctual spirit self, and yes, a death of sorts, but only a death of that which was not mine to carry. I was being urged into taking a shamanic journey of recapitulation.

In recapitulation we are invited by our ancient instinctual selves to face our fears. As the process of recapitulation naturally unfolds our unconscious opens its doors, kept so tightly locked by our fears, and allows us to see just what it was that taught us those debilitating fears in the first place. In recapitulation we also reunite with our ancient instinct, understanding how it has worked to protect us in the past and how it can be brought out into a more fully integrated new life. Sometimes there may be a fine line between what is instinctual fear and what is learned fear, but that’s okay if we understand that we use them both when necessary, and if we can accept that there is always some aspect of ourselves that will come forth to protect us when we most need it.

In recapitulation we learn to distinguish between fears placed on us by others, fears learned through our experiences, and innate fears, but really what we learn is that our fears have controlled us, no matter where they came from. We gain a clearer understanding of our true inner desires to live differently. We more clearly hear the calls of our ancient spirit self, wishing that we could do and experience life from a different perspective.

And, as we recapitulate, we learn how we used to do things and we learn that we can choose to do things differently. We can change our habits and behaviors for no other reason than that it is good for us to do so. When we dare ourselves to move beyond the old fears we allow the true self to more fully live, confident that we have all we need inside us, instinct and nature more finely tuned to guide us now away from the old and into the new.

Our old dog lies at my feet as I write this blog, sighing occasionally, snoring, her fears at rest for the moment; and that is how our fears work. We can send them away, go about our usual activities, sleep them off, but that is only a temporary reprieve from the demands of the fearful self. Soon enough we have to get up again and face that self that won’t let us live from the ancient heart-centered spirit, that only tells us to live by the predilections of a society that tells us we must fear everything. We know those trappings of fear so well. We may even be bored with them, bored with how they control us, keep us caught doing the same things over and over again, keep us from running out the door and leaping into life, to roll around in the energy of new experiences. If we are as timid as our old dog, our lives become pretty limited, routine and boring, as if we were 119 years old.

Personally, I elected a long time ago to go over to another life, even before this one was over. I elected to err on the side of heart-inspired energy, to grab onto what I always knew lay just beyond this world. I just had to put myself in alignment with it, to see beyond the fear and face a different life, a heart-centered life. That was really what I did during my recapitulation. I put myself in alignment with the teachings of my own heart and I will not ever leave it again.

Of course, I have to face the choices I made. As I go out into the world and meet people who once knew me in a certain way, I have to face the fear that immediately arises like a shield between us when I tell them that I took a shamanic journey and that I am in a new world now. “Literally,” I say, “I am literally living in a different world, and I love it!” There is fear in their eyes when I say this, and that is a fear that I come up against quite often these days, and it is not fear of something harmful, but fear of something beautiful! Why are we so afraid of that which is so good for us, naturally so, our ancient heart-centered intent?

So, perhaps this blog may help in understanding the difference between fear and fear, between true instinctual fear and learned fear, between electing fear and electing something beyond fear. Life is really a good roll in the snow; it really is beautiful. I encourage everyone to reach for the inspiration of the ancient heart-centered self and find out!

If you wish, feel free to share or comment in the Post Comment section below.

Thanks for reading! Sending you all love and good wishes,
Jan

Jan's Blog

A Day in a Life: Meditating into Egolessness

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Once again nature predominates in the Northeast, another winter storm creating an outer cocoon that is hard to penetrate. At times like this, there is a natural call to go inward, to hunker down, be warm and safe, and hope that the power stays on so that we are not too badly inconvenienced. During one of these recent storms, as I was shoveling the driveway for what felt like the hundredth time that week, feeling dispirited, irritated, and personally put upon by nature, I shouted out: ENOUGH! In the distant woods I heard a loud gravelly cry in reply. It got my attention.

Taking a breather, I flopped down in the snow and stared up into the sky, the snow pelting my face cooling my mood. “Don’t take it so personally,” I told myself. From the woods came a flurry of activity, the sound of wings beating and more loud calls, as if an argument or fight were taking place. In the next moment, a large black bird flew up and out of the tangle of trees, still calling loudly, its adversary shouting behind it. It flew directly overhead, a raven. Now it really had my attention.

The raven rarely shows itself. I see it only occasionally though I know it lives in the nearby woods, having heard it often enough. Its loud groveling voice is easy to distinguish. As it flies overhead I hear it still arguing with the other bird, perhaps ousting it from its territory, or perhaps it was a mate, but all I know is that this moment is meaningful. I ponder what I had been thinking when it so loudly interrupted my inner dialogue. “Who are you to complain?” it seemed to be saying, as it flew directly over me lying spread eagle in the deep snow.

It flew low enough that I could see each separate feather of its distinctly cut wedge-shaped tail, hear the flap of its wide wings, and see its beady eye staring right at me. Out of its long, sharp black beak came another string of garbled sounds, meant for me, I felt. “Don’t take it personally, Jan, but you are nothing. I see you lying down there, nothing more than a speck on the ground, so small and insignificant. I have quite a good perspective from up here you know,” it seemed to be saying. I saw the significance of the synchronicity very clearly then and, indeed, in that moment, I was released of my bad mood.

I got up, brushed the snow off my clothes, my state of mind now shifted. I chuckled at my former disgust with nature. Nature, I knew now, had quite a sense of humor. “Yes, it does!” cackled the raven, as it flew off into the deeper woods where I knew it stayed most of the time. Its chuckles pierced the air, echoing in my head for a long time afterwards.

I thought of this raven again yesterday, as I sat in meditation. I began by chanting a mantra, letting it come out of my unconscious of its own accord, falling into place. It went something like this: I allow my ancient spirit self who knows and sees to be more fully present in this life. As I sat quietly, letting both my breathing and the words take me deeper into calmness I also let the words sink in deeper, taking hold of other thoughts, pushing them away, as I stayed connected to the intent of the moment, to let my ancient self emerge more fully. I felt good. I noticed occasionally that I was not allowing other thoughts to intrude, that I was achieving a sense of detachment and emptiness, staying focused on my intent.

I use meditation in many ways and for different purposes, depending on the day or the moment. Sometimes I just want to achieve a sense of inner calm and peace. Sometimes I want to mull over difficulties, reach a resolution, or gain clarity. Sometimes I want to have an adventure of energetic proportions. Yesterday, I just wanted to see what happened as I attempted to resolve my personal inner dilemma of allowing my inner spirit—that holy/wholly self that Jeanne mentioned in the channeled message this week—to more fully live. It is my challenge, to not fall back into an old and moody self, but to keep moving forward on that path I mentioned in that same channeled message the other day.

So, as I chanted and breathed, after a while I got in touch with that inner spirit and I heard it say that it was not at all afraid to live, to be more fully present in my life, but that my ego kept getting in its way. It cannot emerge if the ego is in control, it told me. The ancient spirit self is always ready and waiting, but it cannot come forth if the ego is blocking the way. When I heard this, I gave myself a new chant: I allow my ego self to dissolve and let go of its need to control as I open to my ancient spirit self who knows and sees.

While I am having this inner conversation with what I think are my inner spirit and my ego, I hear another third voice asking me to question what is ego and what is ancient spirit. It was then that I clearly saw how totally dominant my ego was. Here I thought I was really letting myself go, feeling good about chanting in such a positive spirit-oriented way, saying: “Look at me, I’m doing it. I have successfully shut out all other voices, I am doing a good job with this meditation.” But wouldn’t you know, all I was doing was placating my ego, because that look-at-me-I’m-doing-such-a-good-job voice was really my ego talking. That third voice, so clearly coming from beyond ego pointed out what my ego was doing. This, was the voice of my ancient spirit self, telling me that in order to truly allow the ancient spirit self to more fully emerge I must consider the power of the ego.

So, what if it’s true that the ancient spirit self really does want to live but we are blocking its emergence without even realizing it? What if our ego is so attached to us and in command that we can’t access this true self? It’s something to ponder.

So, what is ego? I think it’s everything that is not ancient spirit self. And I think it dominates. It is the complaining, whining, self-important self; the inflated, so busy I can’t be disturbed self; the poor-me and why-me self. It is the self that says love me and be nice to me, world. It is the self that feels good about sitting and doing meditation and the self that wants experiences of energy and even of spirit connection. Yes, it is even the good self that seeks out the ancient spirit self. It is the self that rails against nature, against even more snow, and it is the self that may not want to hear the truths being spoken.

I had a feeling when I heard and saw that raven that it was a momentous occasion, and yesterday, when I sat down to meditate, the fact that the raven came to mind, as I chanted forth my ancient spirit self, is also significant to me. As I sit here now and once again watch the snow, sleet and freezing rain fall, the piles of snow outside growing increasingly taller, I feel more connected to the raven, showing me what the ancient spirit self is truly capable of. That ancient spirit self is like the raven, able to fly high about it all, to see and know from a different perspective what my ego self can only imagine, to call down and say, “Hey, wait a minute, what is really going on inside that controlling mind of yours?” My ancient spirit self is nature. This I understand more fully today.

And even though I cocoon myself inside my warm house and ponder these things, I know that later today I will be outside once again with my shovel, nature telling me I am nothing. But at the same time I will listen for the call of the raven telling me I am more than nothing as well, because I am also nature. And it is in nature that I will find my ancient spirit self, where I will hear its true call.

If you wish, feel free to share or comment in the Post Comment section below.

Sending you all love and good wishes,
Jan