From the beginning, if there ever was a beginning, every human tribe, every community, every culture has embraced a spiritual or religious practice, a story and teaching of something “out there”, of something or some place “better” that we came from and that we would return to. Always there has been the promise of something beyond this human experience – before we were born and after we die.

We are all, whether consciously or not, reaching for this other, this “something better”. Many, over the millennia, have made it their life’s work to try to discover what’s beyond ordinary reality. What is it that’s beyond ordinary reality? What is it that’s beyond everyday human experience? What is it that promises so much, that promises peace and love, that promises what we all want but that seems so unattainable? What is the truth of being, really? Although I’ve not followed any specific spiritual practice or religion, I’ve been on this quest since my mid-twenties when I first heard about “enlightenment”. I want that, I said quietly to myself, so quietly that I didn’t even realize I’d said it. It is only in retrospect that I understand that this unconscious decision set the path for my entire life; everything, whether I was aware of it or not, was about that. What did I need to do, be, follow, practice to achieve this elusive enlightenment thing that would allow me to live in bliss? I wanted that above all else, that alluring enticement from “out there” that is perhaps the truth of who I am, and that perhaps could be experienced here.

And so it was that at the age of 44, some 30 years ago, I had undertaken some extremely deep healing treatments from India called Kayakalpa. The final treatment, unbeknownst to me at the time, led to my crown chakra being wide open, almost certainly for the first time since birth; like most of us I was pretty locked down. That night I awoke from a deep sleep to discover that the veil between the dimensions, which I now know is never more than gossamer-thin anyway, had been lifted. Here was Love. Here was Truth. Here was Home. It was not something I was imagining; it was something I was experiencing, and unless you’ve experienced something similar it is impossible to explain the difference.

This lived experience of the truth of being is something I’ve been trying to get back to ever since. I think there are many people, most even, who have had a similar experience; one that has taken them out beyond ordinary reality. Certainly anyone who’s had a near death experience would know what I’m talking about; and many who’ve taken an LSD or psilocybin or other plant medicine journey. I don’t think it’s that uncommon. A most pragmatic friend recently told me of the profound inner silence and peace he felt as he returned to clear consciousness after a traumatic accident. He would probably not call it a spiritual experience, yet I maintain it’s the same thing, and that most people at one time or another experience something similar without recognizing the deeper truth behind it. I guess for me the experience was so profound that it could not be ignored, or explained away. I knew it was Truth, and I wanted it back.

Which brings me to my life now. Do I have it back? Kinda, sorta, more than glimpses, but of course not in the way I expected. Certainly a switch has been flipped, which I’ll get to in a bit.

Anyone who follows the blog regularly will probably have noticed that I’ve not been posting much lately. This is in part because, although I’ve always posted about the inner journey, this has always been primarily a travel blog. Don and I can no longer realistically travel, if only because of the cost of travel medical insurance for Don. This past summer we went to our annual gathering of friends down in Washington. Travel medical for me cost $50 for 6 days. For Don it was $800! I could travel if I wanted to but I won’t leave Don. He’s 82 and has had a stroke, and although he has recovered well, and our day-to-day life noodles gently and peacefully along as usual, we are both now more acutely aware than ever that anything could happen at any time. So instead of travelling externally I’ve been travelling internally. It’s been an initiation! And for three months now it’s taken up most of my time.

We all judge others, and probably ourselves most of all. I have come to see my own arrogance with a clarity that I had not seen before. This need to be better than, and in this way somehow be good enough (whatever that may mean) seems to be finally falling away. Rather than just understanding it intellectually, there seems to be more of a lived experience of this, of just letting people be the way they are. This world, this reality, this dimension, is such an extraordinary place, that I cannot deny another, any other, the right to be exactly as they are, whether I like it or not. Just as I see now that every experience I’ve ever had in my life, right from the beginning, makes an intricate complex weaving, makes a tapestry, makes a whole greater than the sum of its parts, makes a whole that needs every single second of it to be complete, I must accord others the same understanding, even if at times they drive me nuts. Who am I to say another should be different from how they are? And just as my life is a complex weaving of an infinite number of harsh notes and grace notes, so too is this extraordinary reality that we all are lucky enough to experience. Each of us is on our own unique journey, and I have finally come to understand that the minor annoyances of others is no reason to withhold love. And anyway, judging others is exhausting.

I have learned, after some sixty years since puberty, to finally accept my body as it is. I have at last shed the relentless insidious teaching of our society that tall is better, and slender is better, therefore meaning anything else is by definition somehow inferior, which must mean that I am somehow inferior. I’m finally at peace with it; I am at last enjoying my body as it is, thankful for agility, strength, energy, and a lifetime of good health. What a huge blessing; one that I’ve not appreciated nearly enough.

There are days I wish I didn’t ache quite so much, but even that has diminished. I came to understand that if I unconsciously expect to be in pain then that is what I’ll get. This is still a work in progress. Some days I arrive back here in the morning after a night of travels in other realms and I ache all over and wonder why. I think I’m still attached to the idea that being human is difficult. What if it isn’t?

I have learned, after a lifetime, to accept my personality as it is. As a child I was told I was too sensitive – meaning too emotional – so I tried my hardest to not feel so much. It didn’t work. But still, I longed to be one of those calm, thoughtful, emotionally stable people, who thought before they spoke instead of blurting things out; one of those people who could calmly respond instead of being triggered and then being defensive and shouty. Oh I was not at peace with the way I was at all. And now I am; I can like myself the way I am. What a revelation! What a gift.

The switch that flipped: Since I had that profound spiritual experience thirty years ago I have longed to get back to it, to have it return. More than anything I’ve ever known, it felt like home. I wanted that lived experience again. Whether it is actually home or not I cannot possibly say. In the end what do we really know? But I do know this: I trust my intuition and I trust my feelings, so if that experience feels like home then that is enough for me. I wanted to return to that lived experience, not to die, but to live it here. And then a revelation! If that is home, then this, this being human, is the lived experience! Writing it now, it seems so obvious, but the recognition of it, the letting go of striving for the other, was revelatory, a lightning strike, a thunder clap. Suddenly I am seeing everything in a new way. It’s a whole new world. This being human is the lived experience!

From Brian R. Martens: . . . . . .[Laurens] Van der Post . . . . . tells the story of the Bushmen asking him if he could hear the stars singing. Van der Post was befuddled and didn’t want to appear incapable of hearing the stars yet he knew in his heart he didn’t understand the capability that the Bushmen had. He related how the Bushmen were genuinely sad that he could not hear the stars.

I’m not saying I can hear the stars sing (I wish), but the forest that I hike in almost every day speaks to me now in a way that it didn’t before. And everything seems brighter, and inevitable, meaning it is exactly as it should be. But have I changed? Yes and no, and that’s also exactly as it should be. Acceptance is everything.

But what has changed is this: when I remember to get really present (which happens frequently now), and remember that this is the lived experience, this being human, I feel like a stranger in a strange land and I’m completely gobsmacked by everything, and find myself saying wow! wow! wow! over and over. And I look around in surprise, and awe, and a certain level of bewilderment. Everything is extraordinary. I had it the wrong way around; I’m not a human being yearning for a spiritual experience, I’m a spiritual being having a human experience. And pretty much every one of us knows how challenging that can be. What a confounding and extraordinary journey it is.








Next post: I have so many more stories to tell. Four months overland in South America in 1978. Seven years living in Canada’s far northwest cooking in wilderness hunting camps. China in 1978 still in the grips of Mao’s cultural revolution. Anyone have any preferences as to which one to start with?









All words and images by Alison Louise Armstrong unless otherwise noted
© Alison Louise Armstrong and Adventures in Wonderland – a pilgrimage of the heart, 2010-2024.