Who's Driving?

Occasionaly, as we all do, I spend an hour or more on the phone or sitting with someone who needs a navigational mirror, or a staunch wall off which to repeatedly bounce the ball of their considerations. That happened last night and here is part of what I wrote to her this morning as a follow up:

I have utter confidence in your ability to resolve in the most kind and loving way possible, whatever the outcome. Surely it is a painful process, but that is a gift of life: it tells us in no uncertain terms its rules by where we are. Pain seems to be one of the large indicator dials on the dashboard of our vehicle of awareness. There is, therefore, a lot to be said for emotional detachment. What a mark of maturity it is to sense and feel, and yet to function as Love in its most impartial dispensations. It is very reflexive; you get to drive the emotional body through its time-space environment as an observer, yet experience every nuance of consequence. Blessed are those who deal with the road as it is in front of them without the foggy insulating windsheild of denial. Blessed are those who have competent navigational consultants. Blessed are those who know they have the wheel firmly in their own hands.

How does someone put things on a table so that they may be embraced as having bearing and be looked at impartialy? I am told that this is the scenario of our own last judgement at death. Perhaps another "beatitude" is in order: Blessed are those who voluntarily see themselves dispassionately before it is too late. No wonder, then, that so many adepts have told us to use our own death as an advisor. That's not morbid, it's just sober. What better condition for the mind when driving?