February 14, 2013

It was on a perfect summer afternoon, my first time. It happened on the beach that held thousands of footsteps from thousands of walks. Down this beach I wandered many a time pondering my present, envisioning the future, brooding over the past. This beach, this fairy-tale beach with it’s misty cliffs washed by foam-crusted waves, was my confidante, my ally, my friend.

And there it happened, my first time.

The afternoon was warm and golden, ringing with laughter in shrill childish voices. There were sand castles there, dogs frisking around, old couples making their stately progress along the water edge, holding hands. There was happiness and light everywhere around me, but I saw none of it.

I was miserable. After another fight, a terrible fight, I was broken, bruised and bleeding. I walked slowly dragging my pain along, letting it roll around my mind too sore to think, too sore to analyze, too sore to do anything but feel and … suddenly … I felt that … this is not me!

That idea, that awareness cut through the pain in an instant:

I am not this pain!

The pain disappeared. Gone. In a second in was gone and I was left with a firm knowledge that it was not me. It was never me.

What was I? It did not occur to me to wonder then, I did not need to wonder – I was. I simply was myself, myself that had nothing to do with trauma and suffering, myself that had nothing to do with pain, fear and trouble. Myself that was something else, something beyond it, something above it.

This was my first time, the very first time I felt, I experienced, I KNEW that I am not “only human”.

That what I am is bliss,

that what I am is happiness,

that what I am is God.

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