Im writing this quiet afternoon to document an unbelievable sense of peace that has entered my space. Everything is still. My mind is still. I watch as sunlight fills the room.
I haven’t felt this way in quite sometime. Usually when I feel this presence, I drop to my knees and cry at how long it has been. Today is different. Even though it’s been awhile (maybe even a year), I am at peace and in gratitude that this presence is still making itself known to me.
“From time to time he would reveal himself and then slip back into the shadows, enfold her in a mystical embrace and then sneak away while she was sleeping. Sometimes she felt close to him, but most of the time he eluded her grasp. I call this the Disappearing God Syndrome. It plagues and blesses mystics of every kind, but it is the poets who best express the paradoxical pain and joy of longing.”
Mirabai Starr, Wild Mercy
I have theories of who the presence may be (because it feels that tangible). Maybe it’s the ascended masters, angels, or the Holy Mother? Maybe it’s pure love, yogi ancestors, or Jesus himself? All I know is that I don’t want it to leave, so I choose not to worry my mind contemplating the ‘who’, and instead embrace it for what it is: peace. I am here to witness this presence, as I sit on my couch for what would have been an ordinary afternoon, but now is a transformative experience.
I find that when I think too hard, I feel the threads connecting me to this presence grow thin. There is no thinking (or doing) your way into this state of being. It happens, and for that I am simply grateful.
The funny thing is that I spend many mornings on my meditation cushion and many hours on my yoga mat trying to find my way back to it. Yet, in this moment, as I continue to bathe in the presence, I realize that I don’t have to try so hard.
Yes, I’ll always continue to meditate to keep my mind healthy and practice yoga to keep my body moving. I’ll pray to keep the conversation going, but I no longer feel a need for this presence to show up. I’m finally maturing in my own spiritual practice (and boy – do I have a lot of maturing to do) to be content with knowing it’s out there – somewhere – and that’s enough.
Maybe this presence only shows itself to me when I’m in need of healing, or recalibrating. I trust that it’s out there, healing others, and helping them grow closer to peace too. This is enough for me.
I felt compelled to write while the presence was in the room, and I do feel different, but unfortunately the presence has left. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sad (as tears form in my eyes) because it feels like a dear friend, a person who makes everything okay, a being that I love – is now gone.
But my small self has to remember what I’ve already wrote: it is never a goodbye and it is always a see you later.
I will continue to live in longing and loving devotion toward this spiritual experience, this presence, that has blessed my life. I am forever honored that it has made itself known to me, and I will continue to have my sadhana as a reminder that it is some-where-out-there healing.
Can you relate? Have you had a similar or spiritual experience you’d like to share?