I have delved into resolve in my spiritual practice. I’m not sure what spurred on this zealous fortitude, other than being sick of mucking around in my misery of heartache, my self-pitying woes about the cyclical nature of my intimate relationships (failure after failure!), my desire to change, and my dismay that, despite my daily prayers, no mystical transmutation had overcome me; no vision has appeared, no heightened intuition, no eager sign from above. No indication that I am “special” whatsoever. Much like the quintessential Millenial, I always thought I would be a “chosen one” – not only in school, career, etc., but on the road to enlightenment as well. I thought that, by now I should have earned my badge of initiation, my purple aura. Hadn’t I contemplated the multidimensional endless possibilities of this universe long enough? Hadn’t I read all of Rhonda Byrnes magic incantations, Neil Donald Walsh’s conversations with God? Hadn’t I authored research on psycho-spiritual interventions as a fancy graduate student at a fancy university? I had paid to be trained in Transcendental Meditation (who cares if I didn’t actually practice it? I had been blessed by the lineage of the Maharishi of the Beatles, that has to count for something.)? Hadn’t I talked to enough ghost whisperers – haven’t I been submerged in a culture of the stars for the last decade, drawn to the light by Susan Miller, effortlessly reborn by the end of the Mayan Calendar, the dawning of Aquarius, the return of Saturn? Hadn’t I lived through all these cosmic cascades? And most of all, hadn’t I been through enough trauma and pain in my life to have been graced with spiritual transcendence?
My stagnancy came to my attention quite out of the blue (maybe this was my “special” moment?) – and it came with a thud. This spiritual inertia was no fluke: my piles of books on theories of yoga, metaphysics, quantum mechanics, “manifesting” your reality and using the Law of Attraction – my endless intellectualization of this material and attempts to apply it to my thought processes during my sanctimonious subway ride to work (previously the temple of worship for my thoughts, chiming to the tune of binaural beats in my headphones) – my yoga classes and retreats and headstands I could ceaselessly hold – and most of all, my visits to psychics and Eastern healers and esoteric shops and new age markets – none of this was ever going to get me anywhere.
God doesn’t appear on a silver platter.
Like the sun rises and the sun falls, seasons cycle, and nature is all divinely timed, a practice must be a rhythm.
So, one Sunday afternoon, I re-positioned my bedroom furniture, bought new bedsheets and cleaned away all the clutter and threw out a few dried-up tubes of mascara (as one does on a spiritual quest), wafted my fresh Palo Santo smudge stick to and fro in all directions, lined up my growing collection of crystals on my window pane so the sun would cleanse them, and made a firm decision: I am no longer a spiritual seeker. I am a spiritual doer.
This blog will be the chronicles of my journey inward, and an examination of the tools external that I bring into my inner world. Original? No, not at all – nauseatingly far from being original. But I have a dark and cavernous past, and I’m seeking salvation through expression, not a fan base. Whether or not I articulate anything worth reading to an outsider remains to be seen. What I can promise to anyone who cares to follow along is a guide to local (and hopefully, if my vision board for travel comes true, global) resources for fellow seekers and doers alike. But mostly, you’ll get me – maybe clever, often comically morose, but freshly humbled, and newly determined, to find something for myself, that I can reflect back into the world.