Monday, 20 August 2012

The Mother and Son of Spirit Text

Meditation 1:

Towards the end of a long and troubled meditation, I began to imagine my body and soul as an ancient kingdom, where Christ was king and lord and overseer of a free and prosperous people. Coupled with this spontaneous visualisation was a deep sense of acceptance of my being as it was, right there and then, slowly emerging from its daily metaphysical wrestling match.

I was able to penetrate a secret region of the heart where Christ had his throne, and freely explore its royal chambers. I knew the kingdom was administered from my brain, a centre of government and bureaucracy, and my whole body was a flat, fertile plain, a rich landscape of agriculture and cottage industry, where the inhabitants dwelt in harmony and concord. I felt incredibly at home in this inner terrain - it was, after all, me, and I prayed for protection and peace for myself and everyone who dwelt here. Guests, visitors, travellers, tourists, and, most essentially, citizens, those who made their home in the happy land.

From this pious georgic, an image of the Mother emerged, a powerful archetype, metamorphosing from Christ the King, enfolding me her tender son. At once my whole being was in her arms. The sense of security and wellbeing was overwhelming, and she began to suckle me at her breast. I could taste the milk, the sweetness, feel it nourishing me, feeding every fibre of my soul. A faint sexual sensation stirred but was overpowered by the mothering instinct and the deep infant comfort I felt entrusting myself to it.

There followed soon a burst of kundalini energy from my base chakra, an outpouring of sexual energy flooding my genitals. I gasped and tried to relax, allowing it to spread around my body’s fertile flood plain, all the while saying soft, gentle prayers to the Father. Once again I was back in the land flowing with milk and honey, in the company of the Mother Queen and her mighty energies. An image of the Virgin flashed in my head, a sense of the Christ child comforted, the Saviour nurtured, before the world outside began to penetrate my consciousness, spilling into me from the street like an army of invading children.

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