Once upon a time, many years ago I went to a workshop where we had a guided journey to meet our spirit guides. I’d never really tried to do this sort of thing before. So, I lay down, followed the instructions, and went headlong off script.
I was met with incredible anger. I was supposed to know better. I was supposed to know that this wasn’t for me. I have no idea who or what was angry with me. I then had a very intense experience of being fruited from a tree and dropped on the ground to rot, over and over again. I had no idea what it meant at the time, I still don’t know, but it was alarming and uncomfortable in the extreme. As soon as I could, I pushed out of the visualisation and waited quietly for the session to end.
Everyone shared their experiences. Everyone in the room aside from me had found something lovely, affirming, uplifting and so forth. I felt very alone with what had happened. The chap running the workshop didn’t have much to offer me beyond his own confusion and his feeling that what we were doing should have been totally safe.
That belief in the inherent safeness of spiritual endeavours continues to perplex me. A glance at any folklore or tradition from pretty much anywhere makes it clear that there are risks. The universe is not made of light and fluff and a desire to make us feel comfortable at every turn. If the universe has our best interests at heart, it does not operate from an assumption that our best interests are served by being really nice to us.
Many years later, I’m still not sure what to make of that experience. I have however, taken the clear message to heart and have never since sought any kind of guide.