I see you. I love you.

There comes a holy and transparent time when every touch of beauty opens the heart to tears.This is the time the Beloved of heaven is brought tenderly on earth. This is the time of the opening of the rose. Jalal-ud-Din Rumi (Translated by Andrew Harvey from A Year of Rumi)

I sat in the meditation circle, closed my eyes and let myself sink. Deep. Deeper into silence. To begin, there was no music. Just a circle of five people grounding themselves in the essence of the universal flow of intelligence all around us.

And then, a piece of music began to play. Softly at first and then louder. I had no thoughts. No words. Just a deep open space of mystery within and before me that felt the music rushing through, like the wind through the leaves of a tree standing on a hilltop. Rustling. Stirring. Shaking out the branches. Fluffing up my spirit like a pillow being fluffed in the morning. Ironing out the kinks, smoothing out the wrinkles of the night.

My mind settled into softness. Into light. Into being at one with the flow in and through and all around me.

My mind settled and my heart opened up.

In. Out. In. Out.

Expiration. Inspiration. Inhalation. Exultation.

In. Out. In. Out.

I flowed. Energy flowed. Time flowed.

All was part of, in and of, the flow.

Of energy, time, love.

A figure floated into view. Just over my right shoulder. It was dark. Malevolent. It wanted me to stop. To divert my inner gaze from beauty to its darkness. In my mind's eye I turned and faced it. Smiled softly and whispered. "I see you. I love you." And it abated. Drifted away from the light.

I see you. I love you. Sawbonna. An African tribe's greeting. I see you.

I see me.

Ego. Persona. I see me and lift the veil of my being me to reveal, the beauty, the essence, the core of my being all that I am when I am not being me.

"In the creative space of your mind, a figure approaches," the meditation guide stated.

I sat in the silence and let myself flow. Release.

In. Out. In. Out.

Inhalation. Exhalation. Inspiration. Exultation.

A figure. There. In the distance. Coming towards me. Bent. Huddled over. Dark and creepy. Gnarled hands. Gnarled feet. Wrinkled and decrepit skin upon her face. She was old and contorted. She was me.

I see you. I love you. I whispered as I embraced this figure who is me and held her lovingly in my heart.

Afterwards, I would tell the group how I was hoping for maybe Mother Teresa or Jesus Christ. You know, some famous dude who would bring me all the wisdom of the ages so that I could become all wise, all knowing, all everything. And I got it all but not in blazing lights and neon letters screaming in the night, "Look here! Here I am!"

Nope, I got it in some bent over, dried up, dessicated, ugly old hag. Hello? Is this karma or just the universe's sense of humour.

No. It's me. She's me. I'm me. Just as the shadow over my shoulder is me.

All that I see. All that I know. All that I create. Good, bad. Ugly. Beautiful. It is all me and none of it is me. None of it is mine unless I make it so. None of it belongs to me unless I claim it. Anger. Hurt. Sorrow. Joy. Laughter. Disdain. Envy. Regret. Anticipation. Expectation. Fear. Peace of mind.

All of it is mine. None of it is mine.

I see you. I love you. I see me. I love me.

All there is. All that ever was. All that ever will ease pain and sorrow, all that will awaken joy and laughter is the one that I am when I am one with the One in Love.

Nameste.