It's not about the bliss. (It's way simpler than that.)

On coming home to where we've always been. Plus a tiny, oven-baked confession of obsession.

‘I had it but I lost it.’ How many times have we heard that statement from disheartened spiritual journeyers?

‘It,’ being the sudden recognition of profound eternal truth. Or maybe it was a giant, yet fleeting moment of spacious clarity. Either of these would likely be accompanied by a lingering feeling of blissed-out peace, permeating the mind and body.

Regardless of how it happens, ‘it’ is a magnificent thing.

And then, after a few minutes, a few weeks or a few months…the transcendence inevitably fades. As does the bliss.

I get it. Been there. But why do we lose it? Why, after stumbling upon such a stupendous window into all of reality, does that vista refuse to stay put?

Couldn’t say for sure. I’m not privy to the grand workings of All That Is.

However, the past 40 (!) years of spiritual practices have graced me with a few inklings of what actually might be going on here.

1.) There’s no such thing as a permanent state:

Fixed permanence has no place in the ever flowing, ever changing river of Life itself. So the notion that awakening would bring with it an always blissy state, or that you’ll be perpetually peaceful and serene no matter the circumstance? It’s not likely to be your reality. Because to achieve it, you’d be running counter to the way the entire universe operates. Good luck with that.

2.) What’s presence got to do with it?

Pretty much everything, as it turns out. But by ‘presence,’ I mean real-deal presence. Total holistic reintegration of the entire mind, body and energetic field. Which is the true, intended way we’re meant to experience our own divine human beingness.

Ever tried to be present, through whatever means or practice—forcing yourself to stay in the moment for a set period time, before your unruly consciousness skitters away somewhere else, on an adventure of its own making? Yeah, me too. It’s nobody’s fault.

Trying to be present with what is, is a job. And it seems not to come naturally to us, because we’re not fully in our own bodies. We’re neither truly inhabiting our own consciousness, nor the physical space where we actually are. That’s the sad state of human affairs at the moment. It’s no surprise then, that under these circumstances, ‘what truly is’ can hardly get a look-in.

We find it almost impossible to tumble into present moment reality, and actually stick the landing.

Notice I only defined ‘presence’ as being present in mind, body and energetic field. What about being present in spirit? This is where it gets interesting.

I can only speak from my own limited experience of course, because I’m definitely not fully present all of the time. But when I do inhabit more of my whole self, I find the spiritual realm starts to open up automatically. All by itself.

The capital ‘K’ Knowings trickle in. It starts to become obvious that everything is connected; the minerals in my body are of the same identity as the minerals in rocks. The water in my being is the same as the great ocean. All is aliveness; the sacred river of Life runs through (and as) every aspect of this self and planet.

These are not mental ideas. They’re felt recognitions, tangible connections experienced throughout mind, body and field. When we take steps to inhabit our own mental, physical and energetic being…the presence of spirit takes care of itself.

So this profound recognition of sameness…is this what oneness is?

Maybe. To me, it feels more like a glorious tapestry of living threads interwoven; yank on one, and something puckers over there in the far corner. It’s a sacred interconnectedness. What I do matters to all, and vice versa.

I guess the point I’m trying to make, is that this interconnected wholeness is what’s always already here. All we have to do is show up in the spot where we actually are, and that alone is enough to reconnect us to spirit.

What could be simpler. Right?

In this radical transitional time period, you may find it’s significantly easier than ever before, to re-inhabit that inner sanctum of self, which has previously been lost to us.

We can choose to tiptoe cautiously and consciously, back into the abandoned inner temple of silent presence; the hallowed ground of human wholeness.

(Photo by Apurbo Biswas)

At first this sacred temple may feel like a forbidden zone. But not to worry: The internal security cop that would seek to forbid it, no longer has any jurisdiction here.

Over time, with your gently persistent visits, this silent sanctuary can emerge as the holy space in which you fall in love with yourself—and with the entire tapestry of interconnection—more deeply than you may have ever thought possible.

So. Doubling back to where this conversation started: Bliss states (and every other kind of state) are pretty much beside the point. They will always come and go. But the inner sanctum of eternal wholeness never will.

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And now for something completely different:

Bread as a spiritual practice. Who woulda thought.

Remember the ‘Gidget goes Gandhi’ newsletter from a few months back? The one where I spoke of the inner pilot flame bursting into life, all because of bread? (Here it is again, if you never saw it.)

Anyway, since then I’ve become…obsessed? with learning to craft artisan bread.

Obsessed is not the right word, actually. It’s more like an entirely new set of sacred tapestry threads have been pulling on me, in such a way that the universe itself is coursing through me in the form of sourdough bread.

Ain’t life a peculiar sort of unexpected joy.

I’m crap at it, by the way. Making artisan sourdough, I mean. It’s a skill and a discipline that takes time and some serious determination to master. But I find I can think of little else. If I’m not actively baking bread, I’m reading, thinking or dreaming about baking bread.

I’m telling you all of this because…?

I try to only write from authentic inspiration—never simply because a newsletter is (over!) due. But nearly all my inspiration these days is flowing through my bread oven. And it’s possible you’re not as infinitely interested as I am, in the many nuanced moods of a living sourdough culture, as it reacts to a cool room temperature, or a warmed pitcher of precisely measured water.

(I know. I barely recognize me either, these days.)

So where does that leave us?

Deep gratitude, first of all, to all who receive and read my writings. And I take very seriously the gifts offered by those of you who honor me financially, in support of this newsletter. Thank you, one and all.

So. Here’s what I’m thinking. Instead of the every 3 or 4 weeks-ish schedule, in which this newsletter has, until recently, appeared in your inbox…there will be gaps of unknown duration. When an inspiration (presumably non-bread-related) arises, I will dance with it as I normally would, setting aside the bread long enough to tease those illumined sparkles into written form, for your reading pleasure.

If you are a paid subscriber and are unhappy with the (likely) reduced number of newsletters you’ll receive? Reach out to me by answering this email, or direct message me from within the Substack app. I’ll take care of you as best I can, either with a paused subscription, or some sort of refund.

You are all my dear ones. The air you breathe graces my lungs as well, in this great tapestry of shared wholeness, this incredible life on earth.

No matter how rarely or often I write to you, know that you are a permanent resident in my heart.

Love, Carrie

Photo by Arturrro