Is It Me I'm Looking For

deep feelings can happen in London too

Have you ever watched a candle burn in the bright sun—

the hottest part of the flame is almost invisible. Its glow becomes one with the solar fires beaming across 93 million miles. Could someone explain this to a candle? Does the little taper feel insignificant in the face of the sun? Maybe it can sense the warmth of its surroundings. Fire doesn’t worry about limitations, it knows what I so often forget. No light is singular, even a golden tungsten bulb blends with a green grey florescent. Light becomes light, emanating as individual into expanse. 

A candle reaches far beyond the heat of its flickering flame, as one light flows into another into another into—I forgot this truth for a moment. I was alone in London making dinner from a packet of rice and a jar of beans. My thoughts flickered from the task at hand, into a pit of comparison. I wondered if I was failing the expanse, the divine, the unending embrace. 

Was I missing the magic that seemed to grace me at times but maybe, not now? I see divine messages calling out to others. Had I disappointed the gods?Were they no longer trying to reach me?

This last thought led to terrible sensation, almost a peeling of self from self. But this action could not be completed, instead a rattling vacuum of nothingness gulped in the half split space. 

I left the rice pot simmering, floated away from the stove, took a few steps into the bedroom. Inching from dissociation’s clammy grasp. I forced my lungs to take a breath, holding myself in my body. If I could separate from the divine, I would feel it here and now. Let the chasm open wide, full breach. 

And what would fill the new found space? I braced for screams of pain, a flash flood of despair, salt and anger to rub in the wounds. I prepared to be consumed by the belief that we are all rotten. An assumption of the worst in every soul I meet. 

Maybe I deserve to be abandoned—

I waited for total desolation. For the divine to exit stage right. All along I was drifting, and now I was too far, no more contact. I waited for my suspicions to be confirmed. For the yolk to separate from the silky white. I waited some more.

But I felt no split. Only strain, like one arm trying desperately to escape the other. I was one being, one whole being. Then I laughed. 

A release, the only thing to break was the tension knitting my eyebrows.

I bent myself so far, trying to follow a rabbit hole that only led me back to oneness. How funny to be here, back again with myself, the eternal self and the right now. To think, I believed the illusion of separation.

How wonderful to be aware of the magic that extends from me and joins with you and me and everyone and everything. And wow it’s never ending. Nothing can split us from the divine, the true state of our being. Looking away is harder than allowing. Tilt the head, find the caress, it’s the infinite reality of our very foundation. 

And funny you might ask, but after I remembered nothing could split me from the divine, the world shifted right before my eyes. Signs of guidance, playful affirmations, uncanny connections. Like the magic was rejoicing. Everyone—even a boundless cosmic entity—appreciates acknowledgement.

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