Baby Steps

I knew as a baby that all those around me were lost in it — all sorts of affectations unbecoming of the gods they were. And now me too.

Because of my unique path I have a hundred memories of being a baby, and it is the very foundation of all that comes after. These are the foremost important years which the whole of your life is built upon; the foundation of all your emotions and the root of who you really are. If you are amnesiac of this, it is because the matrix of society has you!

Most of the spiritual experiences originate here, and give the feeling of familiarity when re-experienced later in life. Most of the spiritual mysteries will disappear when this missing jigsaw piece is recovered.

~

The centring of awareness into stillness was something I conscientiously tried to do when I was a baby, as I recognised that it was that state of consciousness that was important, more than the trips into distraction even though they were fun and possibly unavoidable. It was a state of meditation, and I think the reason why I can remember so much of being a baby.

I was considerate and conscientious from an early age, even as a baby. When my mother fell asleep in the chair one afternoon, I can remember trying to be quiet so as not to wake her. The memory of this is interesting as I didn't identify her as my mother (this has been retrospectively realised), she was just a person, and the thought that she was sleeping and that I should be quiet was as if it was whispered to me. Our first thoughts are spirit guides.

Keeping quiet was not easy as I kept slipping out of awareness into the playing that I was doing, which had its own life and noises in its own little world. I had to, as I still have to, repeatedly pull myself back into consciousness from my trip off down some or other distraction. I don't think I am any different now to how I've ever been; islands of profound clarity in a sea of dreams. I assume this is how it is for everyone.

~

I have a number of recollections of having my nappy changed. One of the first was having an understanding that I was being told to keep still, and realising for the first time that those things moving around in the periphery of my vision, were actually my arms flailing about, and that they belonged to me, which I hadn't realised up to that time. The sensation that was being caused by my legs and arms moving about were just part of an amorphous awareness of sensation to me up to this time, indistinct from everything else. It was all just a veritable soup of sensation. The interesting thing about this memory is that I sort of understood what my mother said and complied with it, even though I did not know how to. I had no idea that my legs and arms were actually a part of me. This must have been a foundational moment that there was a physical me at all.

On another nappy changing occasion I remember being concerned about the enormous safety pin being inserted into the nappy, and anticipating the eventuality of it entering into me. I remember abandoning myself to this actuality which led to overcoming the feeling of apprehension by trusting my mother. This is strange because I would have thought that I could not have known about the dangers of being pierced at this age, but have a definite and clear memory of my fear and anticipation, fleeting though it was. There are all sorts of reasoning happening, even at this early age.

Much later, about 40 years later, while sitting in meditation, an amazing warmth welled from my perineum and extended around my seated area which immediately reminded me of filling my nappy. It was like sitting in a bowl of warm water. The sensation reminded me that as a baby I had had the same experience, which at that time had elicited the usual response of crying for my nappy to be changed. The puzzled realisation from my mother's reaction upon changing me, that I was dry, was shared by both of us. This occurrence is interesting because I remember making the decision to cry because I felt as though I was wet and knew that it would became uncomfortable later, and therefore there was anticipation of the future. Also I remember my mother's reaction when she found that the nappy was clean, and knew what it meant. I understood what my mother was saying, but wouldn't have made any sign that I did. All this influenced me on subsequent occasions by making me unsure of whether a crying for change was necessary, and I remember inhibiting the call for change till the warmth subsided and discomfort ensued, just to be sure. It seems I have always doubted myself and been prepared to suffer for it.

~

The coloured bricks that I was given to play with as a baby, I believe was a cause for my lifelong colour blindness. I used to like to stare at them and become totally absorbed within the colour. This would create within me a distinct sensation of vibration, a feeling of great intensity that would build after a while until I was completely bathed within it, and which I enjoyed greatly. It did take some concentration to achieve and the vibrations were a different frequency according to the colour of the brick, and I would have a different favourite at different times. Sometimes it would be yellow, and the other colours would not interest me as much, and sometimes blue would be the flavour of the day. But it was red that was the strongest felt of all, and I think I over did it one day and saturated the red cones to such a degree that thereafter the intensity of the colour was all but washed out. I have a vague notion that something was telling me not to overdo it, but I ignored it because it was so much fun.

The other fun thing to do with the bricks was to lay them along the floor next to each other. I remember one day putting some of the bricks on top of one another, and hearing a comment from one of my parents, something like "look, he's building them high now", with encouragement to continue with my supposedly new method. But I had already tried doing that long before, and it was a method I had abandoned due to the impossibility of them staying on top of one another, because whenever I turned around they would all fall over, (it was those flailing arms again which were not always really part of me). So I had intelligently decided that if I didn't build them high they would stay where I put them. I can remember feeling a little under rated as it wasn't a new thing at all.

A similar circumstance was with the apparatus of wooden shapes and holes, with the idea being of placing a shaped piece of wood into a hole of the same shape. After a while this became a little too easy and boring, and what was much more fun was to take the hammer and force the square wooden shape through the round hole, which would just about go if I bashed it enough with the hammer. This elicited the condescending remark from my father about me "bashing a square peg into a round hole", which I can remember feeling again that I was being misunderstood. I feel that all my life I have been misunderstood, as there is usually a good reason for why I bash square pegs into round holes!

It is interesting in these two examples that I was at pre talk age, and yet could understand what people said and even that they were mistaken in what they said. Even at this very early age I thought other people were wrong.

~

I can remember when I saw the moon for the first time. I was carried over to the window to look at it, and as soon as I saw it I heard myself go "Ooooh". I still do. It affects me in just the same way whenever I see it now. My mind goes completely still, and if I don't actually vocalise it, I still feel "Oooooh". No other words can describe it, but then I didn't have any other words at the age I was then. I had previously looked out of that window on other occasions and knew there was nothing important there, and as I was being carried over I was aware that they were trying to show me something, and I was arrogantly confident that there wasn't anything special to see out of that window other than the street light. How wrong I was.

~

I used to have wonderful music be spontaneously created in my head, and I still do. It was at very first accompanied by strange sounds which were separate from the lovely music and would be recognized now as dissonance. I didn't know this was wrong and assumed it must be how it should be even though it didn't seem quite right. Then one day while being pushed in my pram, there was a woman talking to my mum who said something along the lines of how I liked singing. It was at this point that I suddenly realized — not without a little shock — that what I was hearing in my head could be heard by others also. But there were two sounds happening, and only later did I realize that the strange accompanying dissonance was in fact my singing. My singing is still like that unfortunately! The awareness of hearing my singing though, was not accompanied by any awareness of the action itself. It was all just stuff happening. I had no idea at all that it was me doing it; just like I had no idea that my arms were mine while having my nappy changed. I originally thought that both the sounds were just happening, and it took a while before I was able to distinguish between what was internal and external. I gradually desisted from the external singing when I knew I had a choice, because it was, and still is, so bloody awful. The wonderful music in my head still happens, but it is only — and will only ever be — just for me.

My very first experiences of music though, was what I thought to be a horrible noise. I liked the birds singing, I thought that was proper sound, but the sound of music was just terrible. I hated it. I remember lying in darkness and then this grinding noise happen, which would block out the wonderful normal noises with its wall of impenetrable sound and metronome pulsation. Babies do not like this type of music, or at least this one didn't.

A year or so later I registered my protest of it one day, by rocking back and forward to the incessant monotonous repetition — to show how silly it was — only to have delighted noises come from my mother who then took my hands and danced with me. I had only just learned to walk, but she encouraged me to make movement to the beat, making me realise that the very thing I had been protestant about, was what was actually good about it. This changed my stance on the subject enormously, as there is nothing more than parental approval to encourage a toddler into societal obedience. From this it can be seen that musical appreciation is socially indoctrinated, as I have a clear memory of my distaste for it prior to this.

~

Most of my other early memories are scattered throughout my book One Turning and Re-Turning to illustrate the foundation behind some philosophical paradigm.