Blog #15. May 29, 2012

Psyche’s lockout

I had been here in southern Crete by the sea for 8 days, sleeping, hanging out, writing my blog, reading, meditating, taking local walks, swimming a bit each day, and mostly cooking and eating at home. This was relaxing and becoming a pleasant routine. I did not feel very curious about seeing or going anywhere. But a part of me realized that staying here in my little cocoon was not all that I am here for. So, yesterday, I picked up rental car, a little Hyundai, in the morning. Before, I departed for some exploration in the car, I tried to check my email:-). I couldn’t connect to the server, there was not enough signal from the wireless network for the villas, even out on the deck.

The day was beautiful and beckoned to me get out out of the room, in any case. I took a few things down to the car, water bottle, snorkel, water shoes, and towel. On the second trip, I brought some food and my small backpack with compass, cell phone, book to read. I seemed to be delaying leaving. When I went back up to the room for the third time, I did not have the key. I was locked out. After, searching my things and pockets, I checked to see if the proprietor could let me in with her extra key. No one was around. So, smiling to myself, I thought, I guess it’s time to hit the road now.

I drove east along the coast, taking many tiny side roads down to beautiful beaches, checking them out, for future swimming. Since it was near noon, I did not want to swim and expose my fairly pail skin to the fierce midday sun. So, I meandered, stopped at minor roadside attractions, a place for a fish plate lunch and beer along the promenade in Analipsi. I reconnoitered the many small and large popular beaches, found out where the nude beaches are, and the sheltered quiet bays with rocky flanks for good snorkeling. As the afternoon, wore on, I reached the end of the southeast coast road.

Close by was an old monastery, still being used, built into the rocky cliff above the sea. I love to visit monasteries. They tend to be deeply quiet, a walled off life of peace and prayer, and usually beautiful gardens, views, or scenes for divine contemplation. I climbed the steep steps, carved out of the rock, up and up. When, I arrived, all was silent, nothing moved, no sounds disturbed the simmering afternoon sun baked stone work. I found my way into a small rock tunnel, very dimly lit, after the blinding sun outside. It was lovely and cool, with an ancient Byzantine painting of the virgin and child. A large wooden door was locked at the end of the tunnel. But, there was a small 12 inch door at face level, cut in the heavy wood main door. In a small sign, in 4 languages, it said. Open from 3:30-6:30, and no short pants allowed in this holy place. It was 3:10 PM, but I was wearing shorts. I looked through the little square opening into cool garden courtyard. Nothing moved, except for a few birds eying me. I was tempted by my rebel, trickster, dauntless, rule breaker shadow persona, to try to sneak in. But, then I thought about how clear the sign was, that I might genuinely offend some black robe Eastern Orthodox monk, who had committed
his life to shut out the world of skin, and informal, spontaneous play, in favor of strict monastic schedule and prayer routine. Who was I to make his life more difficult. Or, then, isn’t he just being officious and enforcing an ancient rule that no longer had life in it. Who knew? Then, there was potential for the embarrassing consequence of being discovered and escorted curtly or angrily out. Also, there was that huge heavy wooden door, still locked. Could I reach through the opening in the door to unlock it? Various “derring do” fantasies in my head, I retreated down the long rough stairway cut into the mountain. Locked out of the holy place of prayer for being underdressed and too early, what’s that about :-?>;)

As I retraced the road, the sun was lower, after 3:30, so I picked my way down to a small isolated bay beach. No one was there. I snorkeled and lay on the rocks, until the urge to do anything faded away.

As I drove home, I stopped for a caramel ice cream bar and more water. When I reached my cottage, the proprietor was there and let me in with her key. After showering etc., I went out on the deck to check my email and consider working on my blog. Again, there was insufficient signal to connect with server to the Internet.

Annoyed, I sat and gazed out to sea in the deepening twilight and felt the irritation fall away. I smiled as I recognized psyche’s lock out. In the morning, I was not conscious of it, but my soul was not going to let me linger longer in my room. A sly part of my unconscious locked me out. Then, before my road trip and after, there was insufficient signal to connect to the Internet. The anima mundi (soul of the world) and my own psyche cooperated to guide me away from conventional, habitual actions.

I am deeply grateful for these subtle signals that something wiser than my own cognition is guiding and steering me in ways unknown. My job is to keep the channels open through mindful meditation, to practice awareness and willingness, in response to the small nudges, happenstance, and brick walls that I encounter through the day. One question that I ask myself when something unexpected happens, is “if this were a dream (waking dream), what would be psyche’s message? What is psyche’s intention here? When I think this way, I feel a numinous energetic awareness and smiling love for the Mystery. I am awake to more than the mundane, superficial face of things, and I feel grateful that I, my ego, my thinking mind is not alone on this journey.
More wisdom than mine is Present and active in my behalf.

The Summer Day Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean–
The one who has flung herself out of the grass,
The one who is eating sugar from my hand,
Who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down–
Who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes,
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
Into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
How to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
Which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what it is you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?