Why meditative Imagery?

In 2018 I had my second past life regression. My previous one was around 1987 and I assume that I wasn’t ready at that time, for it didn’t seem to be too big of deal. I think the practitioner did his job well, but I was expecting the hypnosis to be like something out of a late night movie. When the session was over, I left believing that I must be one of those fellas that can’t be hypnotized. Although I do remember that I did remember something, but I thought I was most likely making it up.

Having a bit more spiritual growth and some meditative practice under my belt I went into my second one less of a novice. I was familiar with the tool of creative visualization and often used it to deal with personal blockages. The practitioner, Nicole, was a friend of my wife and I. When I approached Nicola about having a regression she gave me a preparatory homework assignment of imaging myself following a path into a forest, I felt quite comfortable with it. I was to follow a path and someone would meet me with a box. I was to open it and tell her what was in it. It is a way to help someone to activate their spiritual eyes and imagination.

In meditation, I waited for the silence to thicken, then started imagining the path. The path I saw wound it’s way up a soft incline through some ankle to knee high grasses, it appeared to be a cow path worn by constant use. It lead to an opening in a forest of oaks and hickory. The forest wasn’t particularly dense and light filtered in through the foliage. Light and shadows danced together among the leaf litter and the shorter vegetation. The path soon opened into an open field of knee high tasselled grasses like what one would see on a stone ridge where the roots of the trees can’t penetrate the surfaced bedrock. The field was maybe a hundred yards across and longer than it was wide. I stood at the edge of forest searching the perimeter of the clearing watching for someone to step out from the trees to meet me. Seeing no one I started across the meadow. Near the center I saw a large circular wooden box. It was about twelve inches tall and three feet across. The woodgrain was that of fir, the kind you see in old Circe 1900 homes. It was the color of an avocado pit.

Approaching the box I saw that there were no hinges or a latch, it had no seams of any kind. I waited at the box, finally sitting cross legged on top of the box, slowly breathing in and out an attempt to maintain the stillness, but no one came and the silence lifted.

There was a moment of attempting to see someone, but it just wasn’t there. It is easy to be trying to hard and if you try to follow it, it always feels counterfeit or contrived. When it is a moment of communion with Consciousness it speaks to your heart.

When I told Nicole that I had gotten stood up and the box was not a box at all, but was instead a giant big round block, she didn’t seem to be bothered at all. She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked back to me and said, “It must be a portal. Where do you want to go?”

Seemingly out of nowhere I said, “I want to sit in the heart of God.”

It was as if someone had poured a huge bucket of love all over me. The closest thing I can compare the feeling to is when they injected the anaesthetic into my I.V. at the beginning of a surgery. Only I stayed conscious. It has to be one of the most wonderful feelings I have ever felt, at least in this lifetime. I melted into the chair I was reclining in. I knew without a doubt that for the first time in my life I was home. I was one hundred percent loved and I knew that there was nothing else to search for, I had just found everything I could ever want. It gives me goosebumps every time I think about it.

Nicole asked me, “What are you wearing, what do your legs and shoes look like.”

I answered, “I don’t have any, all I am is a ball of light. I am a single orb of light flooting in complete darkness.”

Moving on from there, I had the remembrance of sitting cross legged, looking across a dry lake bed. I was watching the waves of heat energy rising from the heated sand. It was the rising energy that fascinated me. I knew I was an native American Sharman living in the southwest long before the flood of Europeans arrived. I know now that it was one of my favorite lifetimes. Another impression I had at the very end was a feeling of being resurrected and rising up from beneath the sand. It felt as if fetters had been released from my wrests. Later I had a dream related to that.

A day or so after the regression I discovered that in meditation that I could reexperience the stillness of these experiences. The landscape around me changed, the sand and shallow hills faded away, but darkness remained and I retained much of the emotional peace that I had felt as an orb. In this warm silent blackness I could still imagine myself floating in the sea of nothingness, seated in the same way as I was on the sand.

As I said earlier, before the regression I had used creative visualization to undo beliefs and imagined boundaries in my life from time to time, but since the regression they seemed to be greatly enhanced.

I noticed that in the mornings while I was making my coffee before I sat down to meditate I would get a single word. When I meditated I would get am image that would relate to the word and a short poem or phrase.

In 2018 I started posting what I had written down while I was meditating. They were under the name of Taking My Morning Meds. This was later shortened to Morning Meds.

All the posts, poems or short stories are from images seen while in meditation or from dreams. Most of them were given to me to help me in my imagined spiritual journey. It is my hope that some of this can also be a help to others.

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