Yagya Mitch and Eddie

Resident Reflections 01 by Mitchell Reeves

Where I'm at after 9 months into residency at Kailash

Well, tomorrow morning I am asked to share some writing of mine to the group.

For 5 minutes, that’s a lot of writing, a lot of sharing.

I have been allowed 30 minutes of writing per day as part of my work schedule, and that’s quite a blessing to be honest.

Just that 30 minutes, in lieu of any structure around my writing at all, over 6 days, has already done a lot for me, this I know, and this I want to honour.

Since being at Kailash, so much has come up in myself and the people around me. Though from what I’ve seen, the birds and the roos are the same as always – animals are so much wiser, aren’t they? so much less full of sh*t.

For me, all kinds is coming up – I have felt the pain of dishonouring my soul, disallowing its wish, or so its felt, so I am still feeling. This is the kind of pain that’s felt after allowing myself to have a conversation about a topic I really don’t wish to engage in, and then a relationship takes ground in a place I don’t want to be, and from there I have to play along, or cut the relationship, which can be supremely painful – though Grace is always there, isn’t it?

I’d like to call it an experiment, “what happens when I disregard my intuition? What happens when I disallow that wish from above? even though I have asked for it” I’d like to call it an experiment and move on, but, well, I guess it was an experiment, and it fucking sucks, I’m not sure you could pay me for a clinical trial of playing with Samarpan..

I’d much rather experiment in the other direction – “What happens when I say okay to my soul? What happens when I don’t say no? What happens when I allow my soul’s wish?”

Last night on the phone I was talking through this situation, re affirming its truth by speaking it, fertilising the ground beneath it – and man it’s just the absolute worst.. the feeling of legitimately digging myself into a hole, and now sitting there like well damn, okay..

The water gets thicker, though atop and below, there is a growing current of faith, which seems the strongest, sturdiest of any wind.

I have asked for divine will to enter my life, I have offered myself over to my soul and now here I am, some hellish place in my mind, and still the stories come in and come in.. louder and louder, sharper and sharper..

And as I disallow my soul’s wish, a void seems to come in, that voice telling me what to do, that voice which gives me guidance is further away..

Rainbows and unicorns! Certainly not.

Maybe it’s what I need.

It could be coincidence, and I know to some that life is all just chance, though I take that some things are and some things aren’t – and what would happen if I took that nothing is by chance.. ?

So then I eat, I eat a lot, frequently, and a lot, drowning my senses, shoving my attention down into my guts, not pretty, not nice.

And now I write and I write, slowly rediscovering what it is to write, and what this process is really about. Feeling this, yet again – seeming to gain control over my mind and its direction, there now being more space between what does come out, and where I actually sit.

More clarity, more control, more governance direct from my soul.

Perhaps this sense can be framed differently with what I’ve been given in this space, stepping further into my soul, increasing my Citta – described as the potency of one’s attention. The more I engage in practice, the more I engage in a devotional way, which seems the deepest way to engage with life, bowing down my head to ultimate potential, the better I am at peeling away the BS of my own psyche and allowing space for what is greater to come in, that’s what it’s about..

Really, I don’t know what it’s about, but this is what I’ve asked for, it feels good, and I feel blessed, I am blessed, I always have been – are you blessed?

This process of writing has been my safe-haven, my therapy, my place, my space to dance through the crowd. However, years ago, I got tired of writing in my own space just for me, I wanted this space to include others, I wanted to share, I wanted to have a greater conversation.

This desire, this intention has sent me into a space it seems most artists, entrepreneurs, creators, speakers, anyone who’s outputting to the world, the space of great resistance.

And in sharing, in writing for the public sphere, what is it that’s out there?

There’s mountains of short form personal essays, non-fiction books, how to x.

There’s technical documents, architecting software and other technologies.

Letters to people.

Letters to myself.

Shoutouts, reflections

There’s so much to write..

I could research and craft and fill the holes that I see, because you know, it’s nice to fill holes. And it’s a pretty sure way to safety, security, and service to this world – maybe I will do that some time, maybe it’s my way to the backdoor.

However, as this space has reflected to me: how and what is to be offered, well.. I don’t know what that looks like, and I don’t really know what is best.

What I do know, is what inspires me most from others and from myself, and that is the sharing of process of self-reliant individuals, of long-form beauties stringing together life experience, knowledge, wisdom, complete with prompts demonstrating a boldness to fuel resonance.. Knowledge-dumps from experience of a mentor sure can help, and part of me does want to create knowledge-rich, pithy pieces to caress one’s mind, though it’s not about knowing more, it’s probably about knowing less so one can Be more.

What inspires me is something and someone that is what it is, not trying to be anything else – we all know in our Feeling when one is withheld, and everything aside, that is what inspires me, authenticity – the thing being the thing that it is the best it possibly can.

In my time, I have had so many ideas, far too many – and I have lacked the discipline, I have lacked the focus to execute these, I have lacked the discipline to say no to some things while other things work themselves out. The butterfly in the wind, the wanderer.

And now, still, as I begin this writing process again and around this new moon period, more ideas come more, more potential springs forth and I can get swept up by one shiny thing and the next, and in recognising this, that this potential is infinite, that there will always be more ideas, there will always be greater potential, a state of wonder and awe and awaits me there – the gesture in this scene is of my body, standing, hands clasped together in front of my chest, slightly leant forward from the solar plexus, my head tilted back and eyes big and wide and unfocused, dazed.

In front of me, the limitless potential of the universe – I’ll call this the Divine Feminine, the Goddess. A beautiful woman brings me to that space, a beautiful person brings me to that space, a beautiful idea brings me to that space, and I gush and I lose my self and where I was once again.

Though, dear me, it seems flailing in the wind is not good for any more than a moment.

I bow my head down and I ask not that my choice is your choice.

There’s no need to complicate things, just bow down in slowness, in softness, with sincerity, with reverence for just being alive.

What emerges then? When one bows down to the ultimate, unlimited potential of the universe?

Ancient stories say one thing, though I shall see for my self.

At least, I’m sure it’ll be better than snoozing, lazing around until the 11th hour.

Leave a Comment