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Assumption of the Virgin. Antonio da Correggio

. . .the topic of conversation at dinner at the Soma cafe. In particular, for my friend and I, the archetypes and faces of the gods are the topics of conversation.

Hearing others speak at other tables its time and matter, reality, real or unreal.

We’re in Ubud at an organic restaurant named after the sacred drink of the gods. A place where the owner plays a mantra on his Saxophone to drive away bad vibes.

A place where he leaves a nest up in the chandelier because “the birds were here first” and welcomes his friends to join spontaneous jam sessions.

This is Bali where they make offerings every day and drench the air with silent prayers and incense.

It’s no wonder the topic of conversation is God. God is everywhere and described in a different way at every table.

My friend and I are talking about how to work with the archetypes, how to make room for growth. How to determine what to do next, how to orientate life.

The conversation takes a dozen or so turns.

At its heart is a fork in the road, Moksha or Individuation. A choice will have to be made, to detach from the world or to embrace it.

To dissolve into God or to live and shape It.

We share stories, dreams, synchronicities, visions of our own path. Discuss medication, intuition, the way the one blocks the other but makes space makes room to breathe.

My friend confesses a lack of passion. A confusion of where to go next as the inner world faces the choice to develop or dissolve.

I pray, ask for guidance for the next word, for a better understanding as the owner’s friends play their songs in the background. Their lyrics highlighting points in the conversation.

The conversation unfolds as talks like these often do. There is confusion, uncertainty, a back and forth of “yes, but,” and then somehow by the end of them clarity is reached and everyone walks away a bit lighter.

Right now we’re the miasma, the confusion. Thoughts drift, points need to be tracked down, sorted, felt through.

The next song starts and asks us “what if God was one of us.”

And suddenly I see her, a waitress I see every couple of days. She is tired, leaned back against one of the brick columns. Nowhere near as amused by the music or talk of God as the rest of us.

She stares off and thinks God alone knows what.

I wonder if her feet hurt?

I see her and I see God.

If God is one of us, they would experience pain, boredom, joy, confusion, hurting feet and a brick collum to lean on.

God would experience the choice to step into a future and make something or to withdraw and try to detach from it all.

My vision seems to shift, there is a moment where everyone in the restaurant is simply that, people at a restaurant, and yet, they are God.

They are each God, living life.

All possessing pained, bored, joyful, confused, jaded experiences.

And then, the whirlpool rabbit hole of the archetypes breaks in, the depths of the worlds inside the chest, our instincts and emotions, our dreams and memories, all the thoughts that flitter through our head.

All the thoughts weaving through the room. The pulses of blood, the muscles twitching, the breath sung and catching.

The fractals of it all come in waves, the in breath and out, the room as stage with nothing more than what you can see and yet and then the depths within, chests with their own worlds, their own stages.

It hurt. I cried.

The pain, the suffering, the old man alone on the bus just trying to make his way home. The woman working, holding her worries and anxieties within, remembering her joys and pains or simply staring, bored.

I love my models, my theories, my ways of describing and categorizing the world but at the end of the day it just is.

Impulses, thoughts, emotions, experiences, memories run through us. Environments shift and change. Crowds and songs come and go.

It is the mind that categorizes these, tries to find patterns, to see its way through the haze of atoms, to find meaning, to articulate a thought.

God is, that is all.

The conversations, the theories, the names and forms of referencing are stage lights that reveal or shadow what is already there.

Sometimes we focus on the world within, on the impulses and instincts.

Sometimes we’re lost to the world of ideas piling one on top of the other.

Sometimes we experience the world at tip of finger, the warmth of our breath felt on our lips and the sounds of the room flowing in.

Sometimes something shifts inside and we’re in the moment, realizing God Is. We cry and we worship because of it.

Exploring the crossroads of life, science, and spirituality; invoking transformation. I open up dialogues at www.pathsoftransformation.com/the-conversation

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