I wrote this plea for help to a wise, experienced, thinking friend:
I’m still having problems with the proposed book on the Blog’s findings.
I’ve come to the conclusion that as the experiences I had were spontaneous, they can’t be evangelised by humans, can’t be passed on.
In my experience there seems to be some nonhuman selection of mystics in play that’s impregnable to all interference with its intent.
So this is why I “know” I’m not a teacher or Master. There seems to be no need for that, especially as I’m a Contemplative and Quietist*, (through no persuasion of my own on either subject).
I now also know much of the ancient eastern literature supports this position (though it would make no difference to me if it didn’t, owing to the strength of my experiences of M.E.R).
Some modern writings support the notion of gurus but not on any evidence that I know from my own M.E.R.
I also “know” the human race is not the be all and end all of Reality. I see that even some scientists agree about that.
Some Sufi experience also reveals that humans are merely in process along a path of evolution to become pure spirit. Presumably the human race will then become extinct.
So, here’s my dilemma: why write a book about M.E.R? The process seems to be satisfactorily in play – all is well. Why should I interfere even if I could?
May I ask what your mind tells you?
* Quietism: A requirement to withdraw from all human effort and practice passive contemplation of Reality.
All the best.
My friend replied:
“Well, you have to want to do it, not feel that you should.
“It has been a dominant part of your psyche for most of your years, so it is understandable that you would seek to express for others your thoughts and experiences.
“A doorway to a book might be the very thing that’s causing this angst: the coming to terms with M.E.R.**
There’s a story there, the tale of how you discovered this essence of your being, the acceptance — and possible initial rejection — of this phenomenon. Your intellectual travels with it: a metaphorical briefcase into which you were compelled to peek and the slamming shut of the lid, in consternation, fascination and, perhaps, even fear.
“And then, eagerly opening it and breathing in its alien odour. A book which offers insight and dwells as well on the skepticism and wonder expressed by those few to whom you explained what may have been unexplainable.
“And your attempts to articulate its mystery — to yourself, and occasionally to others.
“It’s like a love tale with all the travails and joys that accompany the embrace of an unescapable passion..”