The act of viewing by an observer changes the outcome; the greater the observation, the more it becomes real.
It’s early morning. Footsteps squeak on the powdery white sand at the beach. One or two people walk near the edge of the water. The tide is out. The sun not quite rising to lighten the dark sky. Pelicans are long gone, replaced by skimmers gliding open-beaked across the rim of the waves scooping up fish to feed their young. Walking slowly, taking in the ocean sounds, the clouds reshape into dragon-forms on the high winds. I used to wonder where the dragons went when they disappeared from myths and legends. This morning I’m thinking they’re still alive in the etheric realms. The teachings begin.
Early morning walks are mystical. Observing reverently, darkness gives way to light as nature gently awakens with the rising sun. Temperature changes are gradual. The winds come over the dunes easy. Movement is slow as the huge sky canvas overhead runs through a spectrum of colors from deep purple to pink to orange and to the lightest blue. The choir chanting OM on my iPod speaker punctuates the mysticism. The dunes to my right are inviting. I go sit against the dunes and meditate.
The meditation is observational and reflective. It is accompanied by the chants of OM that automatically regulate the breath. The human eye can only see 120 degrees in front so that range becomes the visual canvas. An elderly woman in a wide-brimmed hat walks into the canvas from left to right. She stops to stare at the ocean then walks out of the canvas. A fishing boat comes out of the pass from the right, following the buoys out to sea. It joins several tiny fishing boats on the distant horizon before disappearing from view. A tanned young man in bright green running shoes enters the viewing range, stops suddenly as though remembering something, looks at his watch, then turns back to run in the opposite direction.
The images and scenes, popping up on the viewing canvas then disappearing out of range, prompt a series of reflections and questions. Great spiritual teachers have left a mark on what I have become. The beach has just become a teacher, too. Watching the canvas in front of me changing by the moment, I go through the 50-year lineage of teachers and teachings, wondering what each one would say about these experiences on the beach.
Meditate by the ocean or near water was one of Yogananda’s teachings. Watching the passages of the waves, each rose, fell, then dissolved. It was a teaching metaphor for the endless cycle of eternal life—birth and death. Listening to the waves, seeing the spray, each drop of water was unique. Yet, when reabsorbed by the ocean, it was no longer separate but was one with it. Underneath the laws and rules of all religions is the same universal teaching that we are all one.
Focusing on the vast endlessness of the ocean, I am aware of the natural elements and their sacredness. Like a mother, the sands of the Earth cradle me where I sit. The Fire of the sun in the east burns the back of my neck. The ancient myths and legends come alive as winds of the Air element blow dragon-shaped clouds and sky angels out of the southeast. In nature, all seems well. That’s a good lesson!
The people walking in and out of the canvas are another story. They’re transient like the waves. Who are they? How did they come into my visual on this quiet morning? Did the random thoughts of my mother and her love of the ocean create the elderly lady in the wide-brimmed hat? My mother used to wear one like that when she walked the beach. What about the runner? Did my musings on doing more exercise bring him into view? When he turned and went back in the direction he came, was that a subtle message to “go back and exercise.”
Neville Goddard taught that whatever we think or imagine we create in our reality. Eastern mysticism says, “Thoughts are things and whatever we believe is so.” My thoughts were solidifying in those scenes.
I drifted to the act of “viewing” the changing scene and asking myself, “What of it is real and what is not?” Quantum physics proves what Goddard taught. The act of viewing by an observer changes the outcome; the greater the observation, the more it becomes real. I was certainly creating my reality by not only thinking it, but also by observing it. Spinning on those teachings elicited this: Who or what is observing this?
That question took me down the inevitable rabbit hole. Like branches on a tree, the questions spread out. Who is the observer? If it’s me, who am I? Is the observation real if the scene changes by the minute? Am I part of the scene or separate from it by observing it? After a while the only answer that made any sense was, “It’s all consciousness.” I was consciousness, observing consciousness in its endless variations. Consciousness is not separate from itself. Consciousness IS. We are the individual unique drops of consciousness in the vast ocean of consciousness, and we have the joyous experience of not only being it, but also creating in it.
My Kriya Yoga teacher Roy Eugene Davis taught me that, “Proof of your existence is your awareness of existing.” That was the essence of all the morning’s teachings.
Jo Mooy has studied with many spiritual traditions over the past 40 years. The wide diversity of this training allows her to develop spiritual seminars and retreats that explore inspirational concepts, give purpose and guidance to students, and present esoteric teachings in an understandable manner. Along with Patricia Cockerill, she has guided the Women’s Meditation Circle since January 2006 where it has been honored for five years in a row as the “Favorite Meditation” group in Sarasota, FL, by Natural Awakenings Magazine. Teaching and using Sound as a retreat healing practice, Jo was certified as a Sound Healer through Jonathan Goldman’s Sound Healing Association. She writes and publishes a monthly internationally distributed e-newsletter called Spiritual Connections and is a staff writer for Spirit of Maat magazine in Sedona. For more information go to www.starsoundings.com or email firstname.lastname@example.org.