My steadiness came from having established a very stable relationship with what you might call God, or the universe, or whatever is it that makes this world have a heart beat. (We had traveled a very long, hard road together.)
I would sit in nature, adoring creation. I would look into people and feel happiness and gratitude that they were here. I did this quietly. I praised everywhere and anywhere, everyone and everything that I could.
I think this “sensing” was born of my natural inclination to adore. In my darkest of times, the only thing that ever felt real was adoration. It was always there, unmarred by any life event or inner turmoil. I could sit with a leaf and feel its beauty. I would look up at the sky when I felt hopeless and there, as I admired its vastness, I would become free.
I was devoted to that which breathes life into our existence. I didn’t know a name, I just knew a feeling. It was the same feeling I had always known. When I was little, before dogma and practicality took away the magic, I remember being in union. I felt t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r. Slowly, as life wore on, together had given way to i-n-c-o-m-p-l-e-t-e.
The place where I sensed what things were like “on the inside”. That place felt t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r. We were all their together, it was a place of union. You can’t tell someone anything they don’t already know, but you can help to create an environment where they awaken to their knowing.
I didn’t like the idea of being a psychic, or a medium, or even a tarot reader. There was something else, something that called to me. Something like c-o-m-m-u-n-i-o-n. I remember hearing that word in reference to Christian rituals. I had to look up the definition.
It felt like coming into the place that is “common to us all”. The place where we know each other, where we see each other. Beyond the veils of identity, behind the walls of separation. Somewhere, we all know each other, and this place felt like home. It seemed like people generally wanted to go there, at least for a visit.
At this point, my original idea seemed strikingly more normal. Ah, I’ll just sit quietly with people and smile at them. It seemed more logical than presenting to people, “Hey, want to go on an invisible adventure back to your origin place?”
So who was the light?
I could describe this in a beautiful, fantastical way…or I could take a more grounded approach. Both would be accurate and inaccurate. So I decided to Google the definition of light.
::“the natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible.”
I don’t know if all of my flowery words and long descriptions could have ever yielded an explanation so concise and so fitting.
“The natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible.”
Light, I imagine, coming from the non-space where our collective consciousness resides. That place where whatever keeps us alive is unified, as one breath and one mind.
I wondered who might be interested in this work. Would it be beneficial? Was this something meaningful to offer?
I knew some things for certain. I knew that I was meant for this in a way. This was something that came naturally to me, like it had been there all along. I felt like I had no fear, no doubts or hesitations. It was clear. I didn’t have to try and make myself do it. I didn’t have to swim through oceans of pain and resistance to spend time in that place. I knew the way and I felt connected to this work. It was effortless. It felt like an offering.