My one day, Friday, was a full day as it related to emotional ecology. Earlier in the week, I experienced a haunting, deeply personal, vision-like experience (I say vision because I don't know if it was one or what those things are but I do know I saw and was transported into the cellar of my heart--literally--all while sitting at my kitchen table reading. I've been in my heart before, but never like this.). I encountered myself and I saw a three-dimensional, mixed-metal, seemingly thorn-like thing at a slanted angle in the floor of my heart's flesh. Like it had crash-landed ages ago. It was huge, and I was but a small thing next to it. En route to being here, I had smelled fear. Being near this thing, I smelled fear more. I shuttered from being cold but somehow it wasn't because of the cool temperature though the air was. I saw the color of fear though there wasn't a color before me; it was a vaporized-ice and sheen-like blue. I smelled fear. An overwhelming ominous feeling comprised every particle in the giant cellar and inside myself. I was within about five or ten feet of this sedentary thing. I looked up but not with my eyes. I just sensed somehow there was an opening instead of a ceiling and that light somehow diffused the space from above. Language didn't exist here. No one had ever been here. Though it was strangely familiar to me. It was familiar because I knew I was the protector of my heart. I began to have some odd sense of ownership or rather dominion over this land. And justification to match. Of course I was the protector and no I wasn't going to relinquish it. If I didn't protect it, who else would? NO ONE. There was an inherent memory that I was the victor over the land, but at the cost of something that I couldn't distinguish. All of this unfolded faster than the speed of light. I had this strange feeling that perhaps I might be in the presence of my eidetic wound. The wound that I know all of my compensatory actions come from. My friend Jim and I stumbled upon that in a conversation we had a couple of months ago. Stumbled into a domain of my heart, in my personhood, that was still in need of healing. All the healing over the years was a part of one large--larger than large--one. Somehow I had a vague sense of it from our conversations, but for some reason, it felt like some new information then. The haunting feel I had upon "arrival" into this strange land amplified as I felt a thought quickly unraveled: if I was the protector of my heart, what did that say about my relationship with God? The God I thought I trusted? I looked down and could see the flesh of my heart curl up like a single, inverted scalloped-edge growing against the metal surface. The thought was too much, and I don't know what happened next because I was sitting at my kitchen table in my normal reality, except now with fear inside me. Coursing through my veins more like it. What would be needed of me to not be the Guardian? "Trust" came to mind immediately, followed my a sense of real unmanageability. The sense of literally falling in space. "No," I thought. "This was why I have been manning the ground. I will fall, fall,...fall..." That visceral feeling was unbearable to continue feeling. Then, almost immediately that sense was gone and a sense of deep sorrow followed. How could I not trust my God whom I've come to love and know intimately? I've been Kissed before. How could I not have trusted him and instead, trusted myself all this time? And where has that gotten me?
While this very vivid experience was earlier in my week, my Friday afternoon--my day where the concept of "one day" stuck with me from the morning on--widened the above experience. I met up with a friend Friday afternoon with the intention of sharing about my experience. She also is a sort of a spiritual friend. Sitting on her couch, and she across the living room in her chair, I was encouraged to read the reading I had read that morning while at my kitchen table. It was a reading about a person's life experience about growing up and coming to terms with something. Making sure I didn't feel pressured, I took a moment to think about it. I prayed to God for wisdom and immediately, I found myself seeing and experiencing something. I shared how I was scared to read this spiritual reading, for I was scared to bring back what I had experienced before. I was terrified. I was holding his hands, and I could sense my friend's supportive energy there, too, but in the periphery. I stood there for a moment before deciding that I could walk down the dark abyss with my Abba next to me and my friend's presence there at the top. I could do it, and in that moment I chose to. Maybe because I could or maybe because I then wanted to knowing I was with Jesus. I looked at the first words of the first sentence on the page and immediately something came out of me with no sound, but it would have been a wail, I knew. It was loudly silent and so deep but coming from a place with no depth. A place where only space existed. A place that was lifeless and sedentary. I was frozen and active at the same time and my body didn't know what to do perpetuating the frozen state. I could sense I buckled over at some point as I continued sounding this cry. Sound eventually came followed by convulsions for breathe. After a little while, I was able to read the beginning sentence and after a few, a peace came over me. A sense of composure--but not because I was composed but because something Composed me. Soothed me. Cared for me. Was with me. I still didn't know if I was surrendering, but I was acknowledging. A first step towards surrender. After reading this personal devotional, my friend asked me if I felt different. I simply said that I felt a sense of peace come over me in the midst of it and that I was able to understand the reading. Strangely, I was seeing it for the first time: this daughter's experience was just like mine. Almost identical. Why hadn't I been able to see that? I had read this narrative devotional almost every week since September.
Soon after, I began to notice I was in a space, a nebulous, zero-gravity like, floating-feeling type of space that I had felt once before. It was after Jim helped me to understand myself in a deeper way than I previously had and it was this deeper way that had been the deepest to date. After that experience, I had felt this nebulous, zero-gravity like, floating-feeling type of space and I knew he could sense it. He encouraged me not analyze or ask question anything with myself but to simply be with God. To simply be with his Spirit. To let his Spirit massage my heart. To put it aside and simply dwell with his Spirit and commune with him. It was that same twightly-spiritual space that I found myself to be floating in after reading that devotional for a second time that week. I knew I needed to give myself space, to not talk about it further, or to talk about something light just to not feel. I needed to feel by allowing myself space to Be and Be With as my Jim had taught me and encouraged me to do that one afternoon a couple of months ago. To float as I've experienced it. To breathe in the God of Love and feel his Spirit massage me as I am suspended in Equilibrium.