Contemplation of the deep

Sometimes I think I might fall in.


I stare into the deep and it starts to hypnotize me, the swirling colors and unameable smells and unusual desires for…something else. It’s there. I can’t name it. I can reach out and the tip of my forefinger breaks the surface of the deep. It radiates tingles down my body. Almost like sharp knives. And ice. I think.

My entire being is suddenly consumed into int. Enveloped. I can’t stop it.


It doesn’t feel real. I am alone in space, by myself, just existing, just floating. Existing.  Nothing is good and nothing is bad. It seems wrong, somehow. I can’t move. I’m not sure if I’m breathing.


And as tantalizing as it all is, the nothing, the space, the envelopment, I start to remember.


Like the adult children in Narnia, I remember my past life, my human form. I remember what it’s like to sit around a wooded campfire with friends. How we’d share our hopes and successes and misgivings, failures, shames. I remember the sufferings and pain and atrocities we committed against each other. Things that we chose to do to each other. Yes, choosing against the people we loved the most. I remember blood.



It’s all coming back now.  


Despite the sufferings and pain and hurt I remember how we’d look into each other, further than eye to eye. We’d stare in each other’s beings. Like the depths of our own spirits truest deep.


We’d grab each other by the shoulder and say “I see you. You are ok. Come here. It’s all. Ok.”


And I remember how lovely that was. To be held and comforted. To laugh and lament. To sing joy and dirge. Altogether in the same physical form and to share that with other beings, other people who see me beyond my falsities and want better for me than I could even want. But it wouldn’t stop at comfort.


We were taught by Another to go one step further. We were taught to live outside of ourselves, to freely give and freely receive. We were taught to give ourselves as living sacrifices for each other. And that if we could die for one another, we should choose that. And we would want to choose that.


The Teacher taught us something important. And we didn’t know the magnitude of it. He invited us to the epitome of the deep, the more spacious and captivating depth that we would’ve never known had we kept stretching out our fingers toward the other realm.


Yes. Yes, I remember now. The Teacher. People. Feelings.


I choose to go there. I choose that communal deep instead. I choose life with people and the Teacher and in their comfort and freedom. And as I remember and choose, yes yes it’s here and in the palm of my hand now, I ask others the same question he asked and asked me:


“I want to come with you. Will you let me?”




I sense something else is coming. I sense when we follow this Teacher and hold hands together we can walk into infinity in unity. That we could be together in this deep and that would be much better and it would feel like something powerful, something overwhelming that would drop us to our knees.


But we call it something different. What’s that word? Maternal. Dove. Verbal. No, that’s not right.


Oh. Yes.


Eternal love.


So when we choose to walk together, in union and towards him, he breathes on us and we receive his breath. It encompasses my body and feels like swimming in a mountain lake and a dry sauna and gently falling snowflakes and the whiskers of a cat all at the same time. His deep breath becomes part of me. He breathes music notes into my spirit. I become the swimming and the sauna and the snowflakes and the whiskers. I see the colors that my human eyes could never see. I hear the sounds that only my cat could hear. I feel alive for the first time.


It feels like magic. Like whimsical wispy mystery.


It is eternal space, eternal creation, eternal colors. then just…eternity itself. We live forever. We dance. We move.



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