A true event that happened when I met my ghostly muse, or rather, just the hand that penned a short poem on the ego and the witnessing self.
This was the true story that happened to me when I was 16.
My writing ability had come in during this time, and I wanted to step it up. I had gotten into the esoteric and was doing I-ching, astrology, numerology and other divinatory arts. I had a book that spoke about allowing your body to become a conduit for your writing muse.
So, one evening, I did just that. I allowed my whole body to become relaxed, and especially my right arm. I directed the energy so that my muse could come in through my right hand. Soon, I felt my hand turn cold, as if a strange energy had grabbed it. My hand took up the pen and I read what it was writing on the paper before me.
It was a story of two birds on a tree. They were discussing the head and the heart, but more specifically, what Mooji has called first bird and second bird. The 1st is a bird on the lower branch, buzzing about, whirling in motion. It is the ego. The 2nd bird has a higher perspective and is higher up on the tree. It is the witnessing self, the one that watches what the ego is doing, but is neutral.
I wrote my short story and added this penned poem that “I” had written, and handed it in. I was in 9th grade at the time, and the student teacher was astounded with the writing. He tried to convince my professor that I was writing at a level way beyond my tender age, but alas, it was not to be.
I threw all of my old short stories and poems that I penned during one of these spiritual stints. You know, practice detachment, let go of everything, etc. etc. So I had thrown out a lot of old stuff that I believed I didn’t need. Too bad, as some of it, if memory serves me correctly, was quite good, as even then I had been writing on spiritual topics, yet was unaware of such things at the time. For example, I had written a funny short story where the end was about the play of words that Osho had mentioned: nowhere = now here.
Two weeks later, my mysterious muse came to pay me a visit. I was sitting on my bed, turned around to fluff up the pillows, and when I turned back around, what should I see, but a ghostly hand floating before me. It was a thin hand, all white. It could have been a woman’s hand, or maybe a hand belonging to a thin man. It was a hand that included the wrist, not more.
I stared at it incredulously, my mind trying to figure out what was going on. I had a mirror close to my bed, and I looked into it. Three hands were reflected back: my two flesh-colored hands, and the one white ghostly hand. I stared at it, not understanding. Then, I took the action to reach out and touch it, and it disappeared, vanished, as it never had been. It also never returned.
I turned to the left where my dog was sitting on the floor. She had been watching the whole thing very attentively, no barking, just with avid eyes.
I recounted this story to some children about a year later when I was babysitting. They couldn’t sleep, so I decided to tell them a ghost story. Ha ha, but how it turned out! The mom came home early, and I got into trouble for the kids still being up. I lost my job as a babysitter, but the odd thing was that this story stayed with them for years. When my cousin got married and invited her friends to the wedding, I met up with these kids that were now young adults. The first thing that popped out of their mouth was, “You? You! I still remember that ghost story about the hand!” I laughed, but they didn’t seem so amused.
You see? Such events are real. I have had many people tell me their “ghost stories” about ghosts, out of body experiences, and so forth. They are not people who meditate, and they are not on the spiritual pat in any way. Such stories are very much there, but science tends to foo-foo such things as being delusional or hallucinatory, just imagination. They are not. It is true that the mind can imagine whatever it wants, but such experiences are commonplace.
Such experiences are there, as the “higher self” is trying to communicate with you. There is more to you than this passing fancy of life on the surface, the daily 9-5 grind, the complaining of the spouse, the mortgage, the 2.5 kids, and the rest of it. So much more…and if we would but listen, it is all there.
It has always been there.
All is well, because, well, all has always been well.