So, I had another great meditation today. It’s funny how I say a meditation is great, even when it brings me to tears.
I first felt a feeling, which I remembered the instant it came over me. I thought, “Hey, I remember this feeling,” and the joy which I felt at its return was indescribable, as was the overwhelming sorrow I felt when I realized just how long I’ve lived my life without it. I felt the tears, unbidden, come to my eyes; they felt like no other tears I’d ever felt before, and seemed to paint the seam of my closed eyes with liquid heat.
As my meditation progressed, I reached a point where I felt a presence, and again found myself saying, “I remember you.” Again, I was struck with the same joy/sorrow combination, except so much stronger. I wept. The hot tears overflowed from my eyes this time as I again realized the length of time which I had been ‘away’ from this presence. (This next part may not make much sense) While I knew my physical, adult body was lying prone, still as death, my ‘meditation body’ suddenly became a child again, and I curled up in a ball and wept. Sobbed, really. I remember saying, “I’ve missed you so much,” over and over. Suddenly, I was enveloped, cradled, by this presence, and it was comforting me, and reassuring me that it had never left, and had only been hidden from me for a time, because it was what had to be.
I cannot describe this feeling. The closest I can come is perhaps akin to how I imagine it would feel to have been born a twin, and being together for the first four years of your life or so, and then they were suddenly gone. Being so young, you would have forgotten they ever existed… then, you run into them one day, and every moment of love, happiness, and oneness you shared washed over you… the joy at finding them and the sorrow of lost time would be inextricably mixed together.
It was like that.
It was amazing, it was over too soon, and it gave me hope. Hope that one day I will be rejoined with my companion, that we will again walk in the fields, sit in the sun and just be. Together.
I remember my mother saying that when I was little, I was fearless. That there would be nights when she would look for me, and when she found me, I’d be outside in the pitch black of night, swinging on my swing, singing, having a marvelous time. I now believe that is because I knew I had nothing to fear. I was not alone. (She?) was with me, keeping me safe.
Amazing things are coming. I can feel it.