It’s been a rough week and I’m feeling low-spirited. I haven’t figured out where I belong in the world yet… where I should live, what I can afford, and how I can earn more. There are moments of inspiration and planning, and others of meh. You and I spent most of our time together… working, playing, raising our children, and caring for our home. Now, it’s all just me. I miss you.
I finished the book a few days ago, but I’ll continue the meditation practice and journal. I’ve found some useful tips in the Robert Monroe series so far, including humming on exhale (physically or mentally) to clear away thoughts.
This afternoon, after ascending the stairs and settling into the reclining chair, I toss on a blanket and close my eyes. I feel my heart thumping, not just from the climb, but from the residual stress. Within a few moments, our cat jumps into my lap and nuzzles. Stroking him soothed us both. After 10 minutes, he hops off and I begin meditation.
Immediately, I sense you in the illuminated wheat field, asking me to relax. I feel tears on my face as we open this connection. You remind me that you’re still here, just “in the other room,” and you will do whatever you can to help me along… sometimes whispering something in my ear, and other times manipulating outside conditions. You ask me to “stay the course” and “go with the flow.”
After that, thoughts take me away from the field. Still, I put my body to sleep and expand my consciousness beyond my container and into the ethos. Our swimming pool comes into view from under water. I sense you step in behind me. I see your shadow and feel safe. The floors and walls become hyper-detailed for a moment. Tiny rocks sparkle. I remind myself what room my body is lying in to become grounded to it, and the vision stops.
When I awake, I feel less abandoned; perhaps you really are just in the next room. There’s still so much I don’t understand.