Hesychasm, Meditation in Christianity

In Eastern Orthodox Christianity, there is a practice called hesychasm, which is a meditation on the Jesus prayer.  Western religions aren't typically known for practicing meditation, but this is a rare exception.  It's controversial in Christian circles for supposedly being based on Pagan traditions, like those seen in Hinduism and Buddhism.  But meditation doesn't have to be exclusive to certain religions.  Anyone practicing a religion should be able to do it.  There's nothing heretical about meditation, which could be interpreted as a form of prayer anyway.  If the goal is mental focus, and communication with or imitation of God, they may as well be the same thing.  “Prayer is talking to God, meditation is listening", goes the adage.

Ancestors, Pieces of the Soul

In science it's well known that our genes came from our ancestors, decreasing in percentage the farther back we go.  Physically, you have more in common with your father than your grandfather, and even less than his grandfather.  It has to do with the way dominant and recessive genes are passed on.  Some genes die out, depending on who your ancestors mated with.  Others get passed down for the same reason.

There may be a spiritual component as well.  In some of the African traditional religions, people believe that ancestors are part of the soul; that they are continuously reincarnated into the same family, moving down the line of history, experiencing each era with a new body.  Like genes, recent ancestors play a greater role than older ones, building pieces of the soul the same way genes do for a body.

This is an interesting concept that gives new meaning to people naming children after their parents or grandparents.  In western culture we generally don't consider our ancestors as being reincarnated in ourselves: only that we are made of their genetic components.  Perhaps by naming our children after them, we are realizing a spiritual connection to them on a subliminal level.  Conversely, these beliefs reflect a prediction that science eventually proved: that we are made out of pieces of our ancestry, if not in spirit, then at least in body.

The Bose-Einstein Condensate, Dark Energy, and the Fate of the Universe

There's an idea in physics about the Bose-Einstein Condensate (BEC) being the generator of dark matter and/or dark energy.  The BEC is a fifth state of matter that was only discovered about 25 years ago.  It can only happen at extremely low temperatures near absolute zero, which fits the models for dark matter and energy because they are thought to exist in larger proportions outside galaxies, where temperatures are as low as they can get. 

A BEC is a large group of atoms that occupy the lowest quantum state, allowing their wavelengths to merge into one entity that acts on a macroscopic scale.  Presumably this can act on scales as large as the voids between galaxies, where you might find huge oceans of BEC gases with particles that all interact on the same quantum level. 

Eventually, all the clusters of galaxies will collapse under their own gravity.  The voids between them will merge into one.  When all the stars burn up and the galaxies are swallowed by black holes, perhaps all that will be left is a universal BEC, an infinite ocean of leftover gas acting as one body.  Every particle left in the universe would vibrate under a single quantum wavelength.  I can think of no better physical description for God than this.       

The spiritual parallel is the mind's journey to oneness, or non-duality: an integration with all there is, typically attained through years of meditation.  That there is a physical corollary could mean that the mind enters such a state after death, when the body is lost but consciousness remains.  In the afterlife, we might be able to travel on many different layers of BEC states, similar to ascending or descending the astral planes, which are thought by many mystics to pervade the universe. 

October Windstorm

October windstorm, wanting to be noticed, 
Kills the power and my focus, 
Sending me home to work on something 
That doesn't depend on electricity. 
Pulling weeds, thorns, other things that hurt, 
My son comes running outside, to catch a breeze, 
His mother watching in submission, humbled 
By how something threatening can be fun. 
He sprints through the gusts, excitation spiking 
With each rumble of the branches, hollering fear, 
Pretending he's in danger but really very fine. 
The wind feels fresh and free on my sweaty face, 
Tasting of autumn leaves, fruits for harvest, 
Dark seedy portensions of Halloween looming 
Beyond the blue sky, signifying a return 
To the shadows, where we celebrate holidays, 
Birthdays and anniversaries, donning masks 
To distract us from the destruction of winter. 

Superconductor

 It's morning on the mountain by the sea.  He wakes up with a hankering for food, after dreaming about foot-long hot dogs and rabid candy vendors.  Ignoring the rumble, he takes a piss and lays back down, closing his eyes.  He imagines his body is made of niobium-titanium alloy, heavy enough to feel stillness, light enough to challenge gravity.  The coldness descends on him like an Arctic breeze, softly sinking him to the lowest state.  For ten minutes he doesn't move, letting his body settle, holding his mind on that single thought.  

When he hears the overture, it's as if every electron in his body seizes an instrument, revolving in tune with the music.  Becoming weightless, the steady hum of violins lifts him off the bed, letting him float freely in a sea of bliss.  He's reached them, the super-cool delta waves of Neptune, sea-beamed off the planetary map, vibrating to the rhythm of jhana, paramount junction of the mind.  The music takes him away, swallows him up, levitating particles the vastness of time synchronized, fractured pieces of his soul becoming whole.  Sirens call from the far side, deep in the mysterious gloom, coaxing him to dream on.  He can move them now, all the notes held in place by quanta, pulled from the grid in sequences of song.  

Coldness breaks, a sudden shift of focus.  Electricity converts the static elements into runaway melodies.  The crescendo comes in full orgasmic regalia, with the shore evaporating, the tide rolling away, the mountain alone, darkness disintegrating the stars, a nothingness beheld.  Mystical magician, winged messenger of the cosmic symphony, cast this music out from oblivion, have the others surrender to your sweet calling.  If only they could hear your song, those lost souls, if only they could become Aware.  

Somewhere in the between, an angel hears his devotion.  She pulls away the foliage, revealing glossy eyes as big as leaves.  Enraptured, she broadcasts the music through the rest of Mentalia, where every formation is made of thought.  It's a new song, for a new day, recorded on sheets of memory the particles had entangled.  What delights the living is presented to the dead.  They can hear everything we sing, we limited vessels of matter, we cantankerous critters of the densest realm.  Only a few of us can break through, and how grateful we are for that. 

The arrangement settled, he opens his eyes, ready for a new day.  And maybe a hot dog. 

Golden Buddha

Golden Buddha, vision of peace, 
Sitting on a lotus that vibrates 
From a valley of rainbows and rivers, 
The sun your mandala, the air your shield, 
You pull my thoughts like a magnet, 
Taking me back, to that eye in the storm, 
To the center of the universe,  
Where time evaporates, like my anxiety, 
Dissipated through a tsunami of focus. 
Each breath is an antidote for the thunder, 
Resounding from the drift, far away, 
Rippling across America those dark clouds, 
Brewing unrest and casting judgment. 
The ground shakes, I will not fall, 
The Earth moves, I will not go with it, 
Time marches forward, I will embrace peace, 
Treasure is abundant, I will resist temptation. 
Some are rich with gold, but yours is truth, 
Indeed, you have given me all the gold 
I will ever need, my prince of Nepal, 
For I am a rich man at heart, victorious, 
Embraced by your light at the nexus, 
Bathed in compassion and brilliance, 
Vibrating at the frequency of stillness.