Gurus. Greater then you?
they speak – you listen

A long time ago I took a psychic development class. It was good. It was interesting. I didn’t necessarily agree with all the pov’s the instructor had, but I realized that it was more about the time spent. Time spent with good people (mostly) who had the same objective as me. Time spent honing my craft and thinking of my skills and gifts in a different light.

I took this class against the backdrop of a lifetime of leading myself. In high school I read Thomas Moore’s, Care of the Soul. I don’t remember a word of it, but I somehow thought it would get me closer to enlightenment - whatever that was. After college I found my way to You Can Heal Your Life, by Louise L. Hay. I never thought of myself as traumatized so didn’t really understand why I reached for this book at the time. I bet it had a lot to do with the rainbow heart of the cover. It turned out to be a pivotal read for me. Louise turned me inward and got me to look at, listen to and cherish me. What a profound concept.

Back in the psychic development class we did a meditation exercise to connect us with our Spirit Guide(s). It was a simple enough assignment via guided meditation. As soon as I closed my eyes the room populated. Shimmering silhouettes of people of all backgrounds filled the space, roaming about. In front of me walked a First Nation Indigenous Elder. I was thunderstruck when not 5 seconds later my instructor mentioned this Elder as his guide and to not be surprised if we saw him. What the what?!

During the guided meditation I dropped into a deep place. I entered a room in which I would meet MY guide. When, much to my surprise and dismay, out popped a figure in an Easter Bunny costume.

Alright, wtf?

A room full of wise folks arrived for my classmates, all in the ether and I get a second rate bunny? I recall at the time, a knowing rushed into me. I didn’t need to “know” my guides. As long as they gave me verifiable information and did not ask me to cause harm, who was I to judge the suit they were in? Maybe I had so many guides that I was sent this cosmic joke just to eff with me? Entirely possible I thought.

In the years since I’ve watched many a polished guru come and go. There are those that hit the best sellers lists and there are those that can fill auditoriums and keep people waiting hours upon hours for a hug. I have no judgment toward any of it, but I’ve always found it curious – this intense seeking outside of oneself.

I know personally the herculean task of learning how to trust myself and that bunny. It requires quiet and stillness. It requires brutal honesty and self investigation. It requires a very big sense of humor and the ability to not take yourself too seriously. It also requires that you reject everything I just wrote and do it your own damn way.

And that bunny? He never showed up again.

So what would it take for you to listen to you? I can hear the cacophony of voices decrying: but what about all the chatter in my head? What about all the anxiety and depression? I got ya. Try asking this question every time you think a thought, have a feeling or an emotion: Who does this belong to? Don’t look for a cognitive response. The act of questioning your thoughts is enough for now. If the question lightens everything up it’s not yours.

And that’s the crux of it. What if everything that floats through your awareness isn’t yours? That space is the birthplace of your own psychic awareness. And when practiced enough you’ll quickly realize that there is no voice outside of you, no god head and no guru that is greater than you. You are great FOR you. You are enough to lead you. And is it also OK to have some occasional help? Certainly, I seek it out too.

And would I ever stand on a line for a hug? Indeed I did. When Louise L. Hay rolled into town and spoke at a conference I got the chance to stand in a very long line and I received a loving, kind and compassionate hug from my hero. I’ll be forever grateful for her guidance.

Dedicated to Paul and Kenny.
Cherished classmates. Gone too soon.