I never thought I would write these words, but the fact is, following my four-day silent retreat, I cannot get enough meditation. I used to glance at my watch and wonder if it was nearly over, but now I try and extend the practice for as long as possible.
I have managed an hour each day so far, with as many present moment minutes as I can muster. Whatever happens, I cannot lose my connection to the boundless love that is the beating heart of the universe. Even if I can’t feel it, I know it is there. In me, you, everything…
When I had my big seeing the light thunderbolt, it was as if my ego dissolved and I was operating from a higher place. Well, it has put itself back together now and was having a right old tantrum yesterday.
A client is late in paying their invoice and I could feel the usual panic rising. Are they going to fire me? Will I fall into debt? Where will I store all my coats when I am homeless? Etc etc.
I’d experienced the blissful sensation of being at one with the universe yet here I was getting agitated over petty matters. What the hell?
What I did next was a whole new experience. I didn’t let my inner critic give me a rollicking, instead I was kind and loving with the scared part of me. It felt as if I was parenting myself.
‘Remember, you don’t have to worry about this stuff any more. The universe has told you that you’re in safe hands,’ I said (not out loud, obvs!).
I am still wearing spiritual L plates. Of course I am going to have wobbly moments. I reminded myself of how far I have come and that there really was no going back now.
I managed to soothe myself to sleep and the next day, I told said client that I was downing tools until they paid me. I don’t much care if they fire me, I am better than that. There are new clients knocking at my door. The tide is turning.
The rest of the day went swimmingly. I did work for clients who think I am great and took time out to smell roses, marvel at the autumn leaves and savour my meals.
I’d agreed to collect my daughter from a dance class this afternoon, which overran by 20 minutes. Normally, you’d find me banging the dashboard in frustration.
‘Why were you hanging over the steering wheel looking strange?’ asked my 13-year-old.
‘I was looking at the clouds.’
‘You’ve gone all weird since you went away with Marion,’ she said. ‘But I like it because you keep being nice to me.’