I don't recall whether the first time I was sitting or laying, meditating in some fashion. Either way, my guide quietly arrived as if from nowhere and gently took my hand. I didn't question; there was no need. My instructions were wordless and did not originate in my brain. They were heartfelt.
We entered through the roots: thick, rich, deep and ancient. Through mud and silt, frothy loam and insects. This gnarled, substantive infrastructure had been planted eons ago and never budged, just hunkered down father reaching somewhere distant and unknown.
Up we glided through spaces only crawl-able to a boundary-less elevator that, without seeming to move, whisked my guide and me up and past rows and rows of glistening hospital-like basinettes. Clean, but certainly not sterile. Protected, but not unapproachable. Millions of them, jammed inside this tree trunk, with an exterior I could only imagine. As we rose, the tree grew thinner, so slender I was certain we were headed for oblivion. Then we stopped, exited and I was directed to one specific, unmarked cradle. In fact all of the beds were unmarked and unattended. Something told me there were well tended though.
Some being, the only other besides me and my guide, reached in and down, picked up a blanket bundle and handed it to me, motioning me to open it. A gift, I assumed. I was too stunned to open it initially, but, sans words, knew I must. Gingerly, I peeled back the cloth layers and almost dropped the package. It was like nothing I had ever seen: a primal embryo, shining. At first glance, I was repulsed. I had expected a human infant, my ridiculously human response.
Yet, as I held this entity, a deep understanding swelled in me – one of those brief and rare glimmers of Truth. I was being handed my own soul, unmarked in all of its naked beauty, oozing only love. This was me! And I had been given a precious journey inside the tree of life.
Today, the second incident arrived during centering prayer, bursting in with no guide. I was in the tree again, rising toward the top with no memory of entering through the roots. Just plopped there, rising higher and higher as the tree grew narrower and, eventually into a thin line, the line graying to nothing.
Nothing. That's the beginning and end. The place of Spirit, our birthplace. It is the nothingness of love. The higher up one travels within the tree, the less formed the beings in basinettes become. The less formed they are, the more pure they are as they approach the Nothingness of Love. This is our origin. The nothingness is magical and like the ether, ether[ial]. Not even a place, but a way void of emotion and thinking. This Nothingness of Love is pure being.
I'm not sure how or why I arrived here, just grateful that I did. I had a poolside conversation earlier about how our only purpose in life is to love and life is not about reacting, but responding ... responding in love. An hour-and-a-half later, I opened my "Daily Reader for Contemplative Living" with:
Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. – Mark 12:30
Yes, I agreed during centering prayer, I do love you with all of my heart and soul. Please, teach me how to do so with my mind, which wanders and worries, and with all of my strength – what does that even mean? I had used the word love as my entrance to prayer today. And, without warning, I was inside the tree, again.
• What is my understanding of love?
• Of God's love?
• Of human love?
• Self love?
• What do I believe is the origin of love?
in the torrent
all of its
she is thrashing
to pull herself
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