I struggled to deepen my meditation.
I felt that as long as my heart ached for something with such a pain - so much pain that emotions often overwhelmed me unexpectedly for no apparent reason; and as long as the sight of flowers with colors so deep that they brought tears to my eyes; I shouldn't be overly concerned about my progress.
I felt that what I ached for was near.
I could feel it when I smiled at a Thai baby, and in its innocence it smiled back, with no words spoken between us as we stared at each other in wonderment.
I could only stay true to my quest.
Occasionally, there would be hints that my meditation was improving.
For instance; I would sometimes experience a steady concentration without intervening thoughts.
I could keep the "bell" ringing without having to strike it, resulting in the legendary momentary feelings of extreme happiness and waves of joy, sometimes so powerful that the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck actually did stand on end as if I had seen a ghost.
When walking in meditation in the forest, I would feel occasionally as if I were floating, and although these experiences were rewarding, they became a problem to my progress because I became proud of them and thought about them all the time, trying to repeat them.
I soon learned to use caution regarding meditation experiences, and was careful not to become caught up in them.
I learned the hard way to merely enjoy them for the moment they arose, and then gently erase them from my memory, preparing myself for what, hopefully, was coming next.
None of them ever approached the Reality I sought, they were all in one way or another, caught within existence.
Supernormal communications surely vibrated at deep, singular intensities, while my everyday thoughts and emotions feebly vibrated at countless shallow, frenzied levels.
Only when these weaker levels of thoughts and emotions subsided during meditation did I seem to approach that powerful, steady, unified pulsation.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I was moving from my head to my heart, from the choppy, surface waves of the storm to the quiet, calm depths of the sea.
Whenever I approached this singular wisdom of Reality, life became dramatically less stressful, and I found myself naturally limiting my choices and simplifying things.
This simplification didn't result from a mental effort of checking off a list of things to do, such as: (1.
Simplify!) It was an indirect result of meditation.
Once this supernormal wisdom began to stir within me, the allure of the world and its millions of things slowly slipped away, involuntarily.
I would occasionally revisit something in my mind, hoping to recapture that old feeling, but each visit resulted in a disappointment; confirming my waning interest.
I felt like a kid who had grown beyond his toys but still had them scattered all over his bedroom.
Something else was attracting me now, the one instead of the many, and it was.
.
.
interesting.
My heart longed to touch the Source, or Reality, but my mind and logic desperately resisted, wanting to remain in the physical world.
My mind (the "I" thought) or what I still believed to be the real me, wanted nothing to do with this quest for truth, convincing itself that my heart and these deep inner urgings were nothing but psychotic blitherings.
But the mind had no answers regarding its fears and frustrations.
Since I had freewill, how could I know how this battle would resolve itself between these two opposing factions - "me" and my intuitive heart? The victor remained to be seen.
I now found myself at a crossroads.
Would my mind or my heart prevail? I had no misgivings, however, for my heart had prevailed for two years now, even though that was merely a blink of time.
My quest was only beginning, and it was still difficult to distinguish between my heart and my mind.
Only with more experience would I prove to myself that urgings coming from my heart are consistent, peaceful, and sure, while desires from my mind are impulsive, fearful, and frenzied, as if I must act immediately or something would be lost.
I had to keep this in mind when facing any important decision, and then delay that decision until I could discern clearly whether my heart or my mind was making the choice.
I knew that, given time, a decision from my heart remained stable, while one from my mind always slowly weakened.
The struggle ahead would be complicated; I was sure of that, possibly the most difficult thing I had ever attempted.
The outcome at this point was entirely unknown.
I have probably fought this spiritual battle many times in the past, and each time obviously failing, for here I was, still trapped in a human form! The ones who fought these battles in my previous lives were nobody but me, but with different personalities and genders.
The only thing that carried forward between my various lives was the residue of every past action, and these actions followed me like tracks following wheels.
I had done many regretful things, just in this lifetime, and wondered how long they would continue to haunt me.
Many of my questions remain unanswered.
Do I choose life, or does life choose me? I tried to remember that the storehouse of goodness was in my heart, and that I should listen passionately to its subtle voice.
It was my teacher, and only by following it would I find truth.
The power that I was toying with was surely inconceivable; it was Spirit, Reality, the tiniest part of which dwarfs the entire material existence in all the worlds.
My logical mind had always sneered at spirit, laughed at it, become angry when thinking about it and went about the shortsighted business of its own quest for pleasure and flight from pain.
But how far had my logical mind gotten me? I found myself coming closer to the truth I so desperately sought, but could clearly see how my mind tenaciously continued to resist, making every previous fight I have ever been in seem like child's play.
This time I had to fight really hard; because more than my present lifetime was at stake, and I was determined to go all the way no matter what, and willing to risk my life for it.