Somewhere in my dreams, an hour or two ago perhaps, I dreamt I had a crystal.  It was pure.  It was the color of liquid silver.  It was buried in my heart.  I also had another crystal.  It, too, was pure.  But its color was of the finest gold.  I dreamt I had a third crystal.  It was not pure.  But it was a beautiful color.  It was the color of dreams.  I had all of them in my heart, but the one that stood out was the one that was the color of dreams.

I was wrapping papers.  When you don’t have wood for kindling, rolling newspapers for the fire will work.  There’s nothing like a winter fire to warm the soul.  She spreads her flames in all directions, each leaping higher than the other. Some are yellow.  Some are orange. Eventually the blue flame emerges when the fire is good and hot.  Meditation is like that.  When you begin meditating, the soul begins clearing out the debris of the day.  The soul releases the tensions of the day. 

I was seventeen.  Life was becoming more complex.  I had nowhere to turn but to God.  My parents were wrapped up in their school life.  Mom was a high school teacher.  Dad was a counselor at the same school.  They were all wrapped up in their own careers.  They did not notice how uncertain I was about life.  I was a good student, was becoming a good cook, and had some respectable extracurriculars.  I didn’t look like I needed help.

The way home was narrow.  Darkness enshrouded us.  A few lights in the distance flickered here and there.  I hoped the jeep did not break down.  I hoped the lions stayed away.  I hoped the giraffe were not on the road.  I hoped the hyenas were safe in their dens.  It’s not safe to be riding around in the dark in Lewa, Kenya, as we were doing.  But the elephants we had seen at sunset were magnificent.  So were the stars in the heavens.  So were the zebra we saw at the side of the road.

A sluggish feeling arose in me.  We were walking home from school one day when I was fifteen years old.  I had to climb a hill to get home.  The road was steep in places.  Sometimes I just had to stop.  The March winds rolled up the valley and tousled my hair.  Why do I remember this day?  I was about to have a nervous breakdown if something did not shift at home.  My dad had made me a promise to never to do something again that he had done.  He had threatened to kill my mom.  Dangerous waters these are.

There was a subtle hint of April in the air.  A sun shower followed a rain shower which had followed a sun shower.  The roses were unfurling the first buds.  And poppies were blooming in the garden.  I love this time of year.  The Earth refreshes herself, and summer is a dream coming to fruition.

Imagine heaven.  Imagine a place where no two things are unrelated.  Imagine a moment that lasts an eternity.  Imagine a world that exists eternally in a twinkling.  Imagine a  dimension which is as different from our own as it gets.  Imagine a point of pain.  Now imagine a point of joy, of love, of peace, of nurturing.  Now imagine a place where every point of pain was a source of learning and every point of joy was a source of learning also.  Imagine a place where every point of pain was surrounded by love and peace until the pain dissolved forever.  Imagine a place where you could learn anything you wanted, anything that bothered you could be discussed.  Imagine a place where nothing is hidden, where everything is understood, a place where nothing could not be dreamed.

Abandon your most holy endeavor riddled with fear, Loosen up your grip upon the reins overcome with thorns, Open up the heart to a loss spawned by a career, Delve into the depths and reminisce held while she adorns...

The morning was cool, not quite temperate yet. We walked slowly in the mountain air. The air was pungent. The dogwoods were in bloom, the wind was high in the trees, and the music of the spheres was wafting through my soul. Yosemite does that to me.

Have you ever heard the expression “All that is”? My father gave me a book. Well actually, I helped myself to his abundant library after he died. One of his favorites, one he read constantly was the Tao Te Ching. Lao Tzu often used the words “all that is” in his writings. I often wondered just what he was talking about. In fact, I pondered these words. I tried very hard to imagine what is “all that is”. It seemed too vast to imagine.