In my warm bed on a night approaching fall, I awake and look to check the time and find the bedroom electric clock blinking. Power had gone off and eventually back on. I decide to get up and reset the bedroom clock as well as the one on the kitchen stove.
Returning, I snuggle in under the down duvet as I usually do, lying on my right side, head on a wonderful pillow, my focus on my third-eye, my breath attuned to a Hindu mantra that means, “I am He,” and basically allow myself to fall into sweet oblivion on the lap of Divine Mother.
Before I’m completely gone, my eyes flicker and I realize I’d left a light on in the kitchen. As I unwind myself into the chill of the room, I think, “Your entire life has been nothing more than a preparation for how you will turn off this light.” One of the many ways I amuse myself.
Immediately I feel that there will never be a moment, an activity, more sacred than this one.
I marvel that I am blessed with such experiences today, the fruit of so much grace. It is the kind of grace that fuels despair, and from that despair passion is born, the passion to free myself of everything but spirit––including those self-hating ghosts that, for years, visited as nightmares virtually every single sundown.
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Sharing my discoveries and welcoming yours is the purpose of this little playground. I hope you’ll add your voice when it feels right.
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