I’ve been awake deep in the night lately. 2, 3, 4am… The hours slide by. I often read quietly, but this morning I suddenly feel that reading is too mundane a thing for what is being magnified in and through me.
I sit up and wrap a blanket around me, and just sit in the darkness. Not meditating or praying… Just sitting in the fullness of the night’s energy, noticing the quality of this Silence. This profound Silence! It is dense and penetrating and wonderful. It exists in and of itself, a thing separate and yet infusing the world. It shields me the way a seed is suddenly thrust into the dark comfort of the soil; away from wind, away from rain.
I reflect on how I move through my day, doing what needs doing, enjoying my interactions with the people in my life – yet I don’t feel particularly connected to others in the same old way.
There has been a deep severing.
I have spent much of my life looking out through my eyes and into the eyes of others in search of connection. In search of what I am looking for in myself. It is an endless hit and miss game – mostly misses and disappointments because, in truth, I was searching for The Divine, and who can live up to that? God’s Spark is certainly there within everyone… but trying to get that essence, that connection, from another person too often results in a kind of dependency that leads to despair and emotional trauma. It doesn’t work and isn’t the way.
I am after a direct connection with my Source.
And so I sit in the dark, and feel the removal, the full-on severing of myself from others ever more deeply. Any yearning for another evaporates in this profound Silence.
Attachments become something… distant? Smaller? Not sure how to describe it.
I still have the welcomed responsibilities of motherhood and wife-hood and all the rest of the various “hoods” I wear in my life, including an intense sentimental bond with those dearest to my heart – and yet at the same time, everything and everyone flows outward and away, leaving me cocooned within this deep, sweet Silence.
At a certain point, I scrape against the hard edges of an inner shell that is not the lovely Silence I was expecting, but my own tightly woven net of beliefs.
There is a part of me that says, “Time to turn back now.”
Back to what?
This shell has protected me for so long, but now even this is changing. I cannot stay a tight small seed and keep growing at the same time. It’s an odd paradox: to crave transformation – and at the same time, to keep encountering this shell.
In homeschooling my son, I’ve begun asking him, “What do you want to learn about today?” I am amazed at the clarity, conciseness, and lack of hesitation in his answers. He knows exactly what he wants to learn. Recently we were studying maps; how they are made, what are the different features and aspects, and how might we map out our property. We came upon a 3-D google map of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower. I remembered then, that the Eiffel Tower is not just a tourist attraction, it’s also a large radio antenna.
This morning, here in my dark cocoon, I am that radio antenna; powerfully connected, receiving the Divine Pulse and radiating it outward.
Now I notice that when I’m talking to another, I may be outwardly focused on them, but inwardly my gaze flows to that Essential Light, that Alive and Vibrant Presence, and I begin to wonder…
Is the center of a seed sweet?
I am suddenly curious about this… What’s in that magic hollow? What is that fibrous seed made of that it can gather more juice as the rains soften it into something… else.
Something different, beyond itself and beyond its current knowing.
I have no idea if a seed is sweet. Or what matrix exists within that sacred hollow. For all I know the original template of a thing is a swirling vortex of photons forming a galaxy the way the cosmos existed in Krishna’s mouth.
But I do know one thing: this deep soil I rest in is a place of goodness and rightness, and even as I bump against my own inner walls, I welcome and love this Silence and hope it never leaves. Perhaps it is the field around that inner antenna that I have begun to follow. Perhaps it is the source of that antenna altogether. Maybe both.
There was a time when I was afraid of my own subconscious mind. Ridiculous, perhaps, but true. Stephen King is a great writer, but he has nothing on Carl Jung. If Memories, Dreams, Reflections doesn’t send you running fast up the stairs out of a dark and endless basement full of the fantastical archetypes that dwell in the deep caverns of the subconscious – nothing will. But here’s the thing: in the past I was a person experiencing one severe illness after the next, always amazed and grateful to find myself somehow still standing after the last big wave – and trying hard to fend off the next one rolling in on the horizon. And so I sought out many healing methods and modalities to try and access my subconscious mind in an attempt to change what I thought of as my inner template: my subconscious mind.
But I repeatedly discovered that ground to be hard, compacted, complicated. I found limited success there; it was simply not transforming me at the level to which my soul was aiming.
Perhaps the subconscious mind is not what we currently understand it to be. Perhaps we cannot mentally grasp what the true original template of a seed is.
Yet we can still join with it.
For me, now, it is enough to simply sit in the depth of this encompassing Silence. To trust in its intelligence and timing. In this moment, it is enough to say that I am happy, for I am planted. Finally, I am planted in new soil. And as I witness myself in this new place, I begin to see myself for who I truly am.
The experience is profoundly bitter and heartbreaking, full of sweetness and wonder beyond imagination, and a galaxy of everything in between.
And I am so very, very grateful.