The veils are thinning indeed.

Over the past week especially, my visions in meditations have started ramping up again. There’ve always been the forests, of course – they’ve appeared to me clearly in my mind’s eye for nearly two years now…. There’ve been plants and flowers, leaves relaying messages; the wilderness and trees, and their thick roots that lead right down … to the core of the earth, to the core of one’s being…..

One of my visions this week was of my feet, walking barefoot in the sand. Then the view suddenly shifted to waves crashing on to the shore. I’m somewhere else again, now, where panes of church glass windows suddenly burst wide open, letting in streams of sunlight that would have been blinding if these hadn’t been just visions… which always feel quite dreamlike in nature; a little sepia in colour, a little slow-motion, like you’re watching an old movie. A little like, in fact, the visions you get when ingesting Iboga, that most ancient old Grandfather tree spirit from the Gabon in Africa – where you feel like you’re lucid dreaming; you’re the observer more than the active participant; and where the energies feel a little like ‘smoke and mirrors’…

It’s like you peer through tiny letterboxes … to see what’s inside, and then you see, you see a bit more, and then you get more curious – and soon enough, like Alice in Wonderland, even …curiouser … still.

And then you decide to go there fully

The other night, as I listened to the words in my meditation, I could feel my conscious mind drift far, far away; start to sleep; start to take its rest… And then I was aware of presences; of beings around me – healing me; extracting something out of me somehow. It reminded me of a time earlier this year when I woke up in the middle of the night, semi-paralysed but aware of presences outside my window. I could see them, these figures… benevolent figures… although I knew I was in between realms right then, because the windows in the house I were actually shuttered, and what I was looking into was another dimension entirely.

Back to this other night, now, though. Soon after this awareness of other sentient and conscious beings, I found myself in a very dark room that was made out of stone. A kitchen. It felt like these were medieval times. And there was a T-shaped table at the front, where, on the left, a large pot was bubbling on a stove, whilst on the right, a tall, slender-ish young girl was doing something; chopping something perhaps. She had very long, waist-length, straight, blonde hair, and when she turned to look at me, her eyes were just like mine.

Often times, when I enter such states, they last for mere seconds, as my conscious mind kicks straight back in, wanting – absolutely! – to actively participate. I find myself blinking behind my closed eyes and then the places I go immediately begin to evaporate and fade.

To allow oneself to really leave; to really let go; to really fly… I’ve been there, done it, resisted, come back again, regretted it, laughed at it; and tried not to hold on to the ‘getting there’ again.

Because holding on is the opposite of surrender. Holding on is resistance. It’s the illusion that there is actually a separation between you and all outer experience.

We cannot control the wind. But we can – quite simply – become it.

I remember, as a child, experimenting often with switching between levels of consciousness…. the thinking mind, the controlling mind – and then letting all of that go …into the All …into the nothingness … into pure sublime presence; and infinite possibilities. How very easy it can be … to run wild, to run free. To unchain oneself completely. As children, this is a natural ability… that gets boxed in and stifled the more we grow and become indoctrinated into the system.

I remember, whilst lulling myself to sleep, often running my finger up and down the curling part of the wallpaper in my bedroom at my grandmother’s house where I lived for many years… up and down, up and down, feeling the consistency of it, and being in that experience so fully that soon enough – or perhaps hours later… who knows? – I would find myself reaching up the wall with those same fingers, higher and higher until my body started following suit, and soon it was on the ceiling, and I’d be edging towards the door.

One night I floated downstairs to the front door.

The moon was shining brightly outside; I could see it through the top of that old, old door, which, when I think about it now, was also made of stained, coloured glass. But I didn’t leave the house that night, or any other night, in fact, that I found myself crawling up that bedroom wall, in my grandmother’s house, so many decades ago.Staying so-called ‘safe’ inside old, familiar structures can be so strangely comfortable. Until… of course, they are not.

Because, wildness and freedom – and the escape from all such man-made, inhibiting structures … are REALLY calling us now…

Aren’t they?