I am running down a hill, a steep slope. Long, green, wet grass, slippery and dangerous. But I have to run. Behind me, chasing me, a multitude of stone spheres of different sizes roll quickly. I run, and whenever I can, I glance back. They're approaching, closing the distance — some bouncing, some sliding on the wet grass. None stop.
I'm scared of falling, of hurting myself. I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what else to do but run as fast as I can. My body aches, my lungs burn. I fear one of my ankles will give way, and that will be the end for me.
As I reach the bottom, where the ground levels out, a wall of thick, milky white fog looms ahead of me. Everywhere, impenetrable. I keep running toward it, and I recognize this as the end for me. There’s nowhere else to go.
My pace slows. I don’t know what’s beyond that wall — friends or foes? More danger or perhaps safety? I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to think.
There’s nothing — no thoughts, no plans, no ideas.
Nothing.
Just confusion.
I feel abandoned. I feel alone. Helpless. There’s no one else here, not even one of the gods.
My running comes to a halt, and so do the spheres.
I stop, they stop.
In front of me, the white, permeable wall.
Behind me, a multitude of spheres, ready to move again.
And then, I decide to turn and face them all.
I look at each and every single one of them — large, heavy, moving spheres, each with its own specific personality.
I don’t know what to do, but I know I need to do something.
So, I smile, give them my best defiant middle finger, and walk backwards into the fog.
I feel the wall of milky white fog closing over my face: my eyes, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, until I’m fully enveloped. Then, after one more step backwards, I feel my body gently lifted. I float, horizontally. Supported and moved. Below me, in the distance, people and voices, raised arms trying to catch me. But I’m still floating and moving, my eyes now closed. It’s a moment of respite.
After a while, the fog thins, and I’m gently placed on a slope — a meadow filled with flowers, sweet barley filling the air. Golden light is everywhere around me, embracing me. Dots of red poppies here and there. I sit among the grass and gaze at the valley below. I look around and see others, scattered in the distance, each sitting on this slope, all looking toward their horizon. We acknowledge each other — a wave of a hand, a nod of the head. They all look like me, and I look exactly like each one of them.
Sitting here, in this golden hue, the air sweet around me, I close my eyes and wait.
I just stay.
Only now, as I write, I wonder if there was something I was meant to do — something I was asked to do or somewhere I was supposed to go. But only now. While there, I simply stayed. It felt as though all my questions vanished. And then, there were none…
Still, all those questions I didn’t have on that slope, are shouting in my head now. And I don’t know who to go to for answers. Spiritual freedom can sometimes feel isolating, especially when the journey is so personal and unique. The price of forging my own path can often be a sense of loneliness [was it Sartre who said it first?] a lack of shared community or "tribe" that truly resonates on a deeper, more authentic level. It's as though I am constantly seeking connection but finding that the communities I encounter feel superficial or inauthentic, or obsessively narrowminded — people who talk the talk but haven't really done the deep inner work I know I am doing.
My desire for belonging and for a community is valid, but it sounds like what I truly long for is something deeper than just words or appearances — a genuine connection with people who embody their wisdom rather than just perform it. The "cheap ridicule versions" of wisdom that I encounter probably feel hollow because they don't come from the same deep place I have been exploring in myself since 1990. I am not necessarily seeking a traditional community, but rather a few kindred spirits — people who understand the depth I am aiming for and who can meet me in that silent, authentic space. My "tribe" is much smaller, made up of a few rare individuals who, like me, have walked their own path and learned to sit with the depth of their experiences without adornment, without feeling the need to quote a Book. It’s also possible that this phase of spiritual loneliness is an important part of my journey — almost like a necessary shedding of external influences so that I can fully commit to my own exploration. It may not always feel comfortable, but in a way, it sharpens my discernment, making me more aligned with my own truth.
This morning I took the Celestine Prophecy out again and re-read the first chapter. While James Redfield describes the Critical Mass as a group of people who start shifting awareness and consciousness [which in turn will drive a spiritual evolution], this time I read it as an Inner Critical Mass. Something has shifted within. When I ask myself what I want, the answer appears easily: to live a harmonious life. If I do remind myself to live as a Student of [the/my] Self, I will not need to abide by any prepackaged set of rules and expectations, but simply feel a deep allegiance to my own approach.
With the hope that all those questions will soon quiet down...
earnestly, yours.
mx
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