Prologue
In this place, where I am, where the souls are, there is a constant stream of light, tunneling down fromsomewhere – yellow, white, unfiltered. I – we - float in this light, bathed in its warmth- tiny celestial sparksbouncing off of one another asking, Have we met before? Didn’t I know you the last time?Some of us retain The Memory, others blink blindly back, unsure that there ever was a last time.Fledglings, perhaps. None of us knows how old the oldest is, or how young the youngest. But I have The Memory. At least some of it.I remember, for example, each time I return to this place. I recall its warmth and its yellowy-whiteness. I recall the bouncing and billowing of the tiny celestial sparks. I recall how we ricochet off of one another like particles of dust in a beam of sunlight. I welcome again the familiar chorus of our being, the faint humming of our potential energy, and the stirring of the molecules that make us what we are. I partake in the chorus withoutchoice – on the compulsion of a power greater than my own. Still when I join in, I do so joyously.It is amidst this humming and warmth that we gain a resurgence of strength, a rest from the journey ended, and a chance to sink into a sweet blissful state of peaceful contemplation-
weightless and free.When it’s time to go, there is always a partial resistance. A desire to stay in the familiar, comfortablelight to which we always return anyway. But the Nature of Things tells us that we must journey on, leave our humming sanctuary, and embark on another lesson. And so I too must eventually go. I know there is a gift thatI have to give. But not just yet.Let me try to explain my existence to you. I’ve got the time, and I guess you do, too. It’s difficult for meto know just when I will be called to move on – it’s always like that, in every stage of manifestation. We don’tknow when the birth process will begin, when the death process will come, or for how long we’ll layover, before itall begins again.
Leave a Comment