SALT LAKE CITY, UT—The very first step on the Path of Mystical Oneness is to think of yourself as, and live as, an eternal, non-mortal, non-dying Soul. Here’s how it feels…
For many people, their car is an extension of themselves. For me, my car is just a way of getting around in the world.
I drive an old beat up ’98 Ford Escort. I paid more money for my laptop than I did for that car. She’s old and creaky and her paint’s kind of faded, but she’s reliable and gets great gas mileage. I don’t worry about dents or dings or chips in her windshield. I used a staple gun to tack up her interior liner. Her left front tire thumps on right turns, her trunk leaks during heavy rains, and she drinks radiator fluid when she gets hot.
Sometimes we argue over the proper use of second gear.
I love her. She’s great. She’s got personality.
I’ll change her oil and tires and belts, but I won’t do any major repairs on her. When she dies on me—whether tomorrow or in ten years—I won’t fret for a second nor lose a moments sleep. I’ll just jump on craigslist and get myself another.
When you live as a Soul, you think of your body in much the same way.
Your body has its quirks. It creaks and groans and sometimes makes funny noises. The more mileage it’s got on it, the more dents and scratches it’s sure to have.
For the mystic who lives as a Soul, their body—like their car—is just a way of getting around in the world.
To mystics, our bodies don’t possess a soul—that’s back-asswards. To mystics, we are a Soul and we possess (inhabit) a body. You get inside of it and drive.
My body is no more important to me than my car. It’s a handy, cherished tool… but it’s not “me.”
As a Soul, I don’t care if my body is perfect or not. I don’t care if its got dents or scars or a sticky clutch. The body is just not that important to me. I’m willing to rotate its tires and change its fluids regularly, but when this body dies—whether years from now due to high mileage or suddenly tomorrow with a blown head gasket—I won’t lose a moments sleep.
I’ll just head over to the Bardos and get myself another one.
(Don’t get your bodies on craigslist, they’ll arrest you for that).
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