Day 6
We just finished our Sunday morning social. It's online, but somehow the people in this group are more real and dear than the folks I used to know when I attended church regularly. It really is a social time. Our conversations run from the weather to the moon to the classroom of heaven and back down into the depths of the ocean. But whether we are talking about Creation, God, ourselves or current events, I am consistently aware of the transformative moments and realizations that punctuate the simplicity and honesty of human connection.
I wasn't sure how everyone would take the news of this diagnosis. I was pleased to find no defeatism. Instead, there was plenty of support.
I wasn't sure how everyone would take the news of this diagnosis. I was pleased to find no defeatism. Instead, there was plenty of support.
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Wow. The separation is so thin right now. Probably from a lack of sleep for ... what has it been now? Five nights, a week, two? Truthfully, for several months now sleep has been slipping away, slowly, until it's very clearly a serious problem.
Anyway, whether it is from a lack of sleep, the time of the season, the time of this life, or the increased hours I now spend in contemplation and meditation, the covering over eyes is thinning.
I was sitting here, saying to myself that tonight I would go to bed by 9, even if it meant I would lie awake most of the night again. Worse case scenario, I could just start meditating all night. That usually helps with clearing the head, so I can function better the following day.
Well, as I was thinking of these things, I heard quite distinctly a loud rumbling, like someone had struck a giant drum and left the atmosphere filled with tremoring resonations. As I listened, I felt bathed in a gelatinous mixture of this reality and the higher. Though I was sitting on a chair, which I knew was firmly positioned on the earth, it was as though I was swimming between worlds. It passed very quickly.
Yeah. I'm going to bed early.
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Without the test there is no testimony.
John and I were playing Scrabble. Other than a minor tremble, all was good. Then suddenly, as I was placing a tile onto the board, my fingers threatened to cause a disaster. Simultaneously, my other hand, which was holding a glass of water, started jiggling about.
It was such an acrobatic feat, to place one tile that once it was accomplished, I busted out laughing. I laughed and laughed. I saw myself in the act of balancing a sloshing glass of fluid while taming a tiger with the other. It was comical.
What is the testimony in this?
I haven't laughed this much in over a year. Praise God for comical situations!
The entire time we played, I was in a dense fog, somewhere between physicality and hypnagogic entertainment. It was both amusing and disturbing. I was fully able to engage with John and play the game successfully, but it felt like I was handicapped by the freeing of awareness into the imaginal realm. Glimmers of stars twinkled on the edge of perception, calling me to join their illumination and song. A flash of lightning darted from the top of John's head. Later in the game, a rain drop bounced happily on the game board, as though it were a trampoline -- it wasn't raining.
Clearly, this was a case of sleep deprivation!
As we played, I envisioned one of my children. He was eating a hamburger when, without warning, his body began to shake, rattle, and roll. The burger went flying through the air, a pickle landed on his nose, while ketchup and mustard covered his face. He laughed. I laughed. This was all happening in my imagination, but my laughter filled our home.
Yep. I'm drunk from being awake. Drunk on the joy of life. Is this a spiritual experience? Does it matter? Life is a great blessing. Thank you Father, for even one breath.
And with this all said, I'm headed to bed. Please Lord, let me sleep tonight.