I Met God This Morning

I met God this morning.  Around 6:50 a.m.

Direct contact.  With Him.  With Her?  Felt more like a Him.

He had a small smile on His face.  Just for me.  He blessed me with peace and understanding.

Let me tell you what I experienced, and what I know.  For this is not the first time he has blessed me so, but this was the most direct connection I have ever felt, and I want to capture the feeling before it fades; if it is possible for something so simple yet so profound to ever dissipate.

I woke up an hour early as my husband closed the door.  It was 6:00, I could sleep more.  So I stayed warm in my covers, snuggled up with my sheets and myself, with my favorite soft and lightweight small blanket at my feet in tangles around my toes.  This is the greatest secret to a quick go-back-to-sleep.  For those whose feet get cold at night, this little blankie is just a toe’s reach away.  Grab it between two feet, drag it toward yourself from the downward curve at the base of the mattress, then plunge both feet into it like a warm hug.  Your feet will not only feel warm quickly, but they will also feel loved.  And so will you.  Guaranteed.  Try it tonight.  And if the rest of your body needs an Olaf (“I like warm hugs!) then reach down with your fingertips and pull it up around your body like a cocoon.  Instant security.  Fast track to back-to-sleep.

Only this morning I didn’t sleep.  That’s OK, at least I was comfortable.  I wandered around in my mind for a while, dozing around comforting thoughts.

Then an uncomfortable feeling arose.  A remembering from yesterday.  I was safe enough in my nest to try it on, so I did. 

How do I define it?  It comes upon me at frequent intervals, especially when I’m tired or feeling disconnected.  It’s that feeling of alone-ness.  Like I’m the only person in my world, and there will never be anyone else in my space.  It’s gray, it’s a mist, it’s a cloud that hovers over me.  It surrounds me.  It’s just a mist, yet I can’t see through it.  It’s depression, it’s alienation, it’s despair.  It’s the belief that I’m the only person who has ever experienced this before, and it is my lot.  Resignation.  Separation.  I remembered and felt this feeling, this morning at 6:50 a.m.

Nothing new in this feeling for me, it’s been around my whole life, coming and going.  Sometimes I can force it away with activity, connection with others, exercise.  But it’s a constant shadow, lurking and waiting to show itself again.

But this morning was different in a very slight way, yet as I was to discover, a very profound way.  Let me explain.

I’ve been on a healing journey.  All of my adult life, really.  Exploring ways to heal from a childhood of abuse and loneliness.  And I’ve made tremendous strides.  In the last two years this has taken the form of learning scientific hand analysis and EFT, or tapping, both as a means of self-healing and providing a means for helping others to heal.  The growth has been dramatic and is expanding exponentially.  Revelations come at least weekly.  Last week I had three in three days. Major cognitive shifts rain down on me like blessings from above.  I can not keep up with my writing about it.

So I know the process, you see.  I understand the evolution of a negative experience to a negative thought to a negative belief, to a negative habit.  Unwinding this over and over again has brought me joy and connection and power.

So why not point this highly developed skill at my gray fog of depression and alienation?  Why not just blast it out of existence?

Well, it’s just that easy.  And it’s also not that easy.

Because I can’t direct that healing energy at a negative habit until I can see the habit as separate from me.  Until I do that, it is accepted, like a heavy foggy coat that settled on my shoulders long ago.  It fits so well that it functions like a second skin.  I don’t see it as separate.  I can’t.  My eyes are blind to its differentness.  My eyes are blind to my Self and its purity.  I see only flaws.  Limitations.  My Life Lessons.  I own them.  They define me because I am not ready to see things differently.

But this morning, at 6:50 a.m., I was ready.  Just barely a little bit ready.  I took on the “concept” of my gray cloak of mist.  I experienced it as one one-hundredth of one millimeter apart from my skin.  Just a tiny separation.  And that’s when God came in.

It only lasted a second in human time.

Suddenly that fraction of space between me and my gray shadow blew up.  Exploded.  Crystallized and shattered into a million fragments of clear glass.

The bond was broken.  And then the vision came.

That gray cloak/second skin came loose.  It gently separated from my skin and floated upward, into the sky.  And as it left my body, I realized how gray my vision had always been.  It had even coated my eyes.  The filter was removed and I could see clearly, first from just under its lower edge, then all around as it lifted over my head, flapped in the breeze a bit, and moved away.  It was shaped like a gray Pacman, or a dingy sheet that a kid wears as a ghostly Halloween costume.  And not only was it separate from me, it was moving away.

In its place was a new, cleaner me.  Without the gray.  Without the weight of its oppression and without its restrictive binding.  My body could move more freely. 

I looked around.  Wonderful.

I looked up.  Into bright blue skies.  And I saw God. 

I understood then.  He was showing me his creation.  Our world.  Our purpose as human beings.  Our process of unfolding and unraveling the tangles that we are given in this life.  And with each strand that is released, it becomes easier to know Him and to know ourselves.

He smiled at me with a small smile, and I understood.

A flood of tears followed:  release of tension that I hadn’t realized I had been holding in my body and in my heart.  And with the tears, with the vision of God in my mind’s eye, and the knowledge of his powerful love for me, I was humbled.  I was awed.  I knelt down on the floor, put my face and body and arms low on the floor.  He smiled at me while I was flattened by the awareness of his love for me.  My tears cleansed me, inside and out.  Thank you, God.

I was ready to take on my gray cloak this morning.  I had the wisdom, the skills, the space and time, the motivation, and the belief that miracles can happen if I have faith.  And mostly, I had the previous experiences that showed me how.  How to state my intention to heal.  To ask for healing, and to know that healing will come.  It’s an active and a passive movement, both at the same time.  I am actively seeking healing.  I take classes.  I study.  I think.  I write.  I talk to friends who understand.  And I am passively allowing healing to take place.  I meditate.  I dream.  I surrender.  I wait.  I have faith.

God IS with us.  He is with us all.  All the time.  The great irony is that He is the one who has given us our gray veil in the first place!  It can seem so cruel that we must struggle and deny and fight and suffer and lose.  And it IS cruel.  So cruel that there are no words to describe the depth of its pain.

The second great irony is that it is so easy to release the veil.  Oh, if only I’d known this 40 years ago!  I could have saved myself so much suffering.  But it is the work, and the effort, and the intention to heal that has allowed me to learn about healing.  To begin to master even a teensy bit of the power of intention. 

And now I bring this knowledge to bear for my own well-being and increased capacity for joy and meaning.  And I bring this knowledge to bear for others who are seeking healing for themselves.  I can help them.  They must do the work, but it can be infinitely easier with me by their side, guiding and leading and encouraging.

I turn on the light of healing for you.  It is now 7:00 a.m. and it’s time to wake up.