Can’t Be Myself and Survive

When I finished up that long string of work I was totally fed up with my life—felt like I had to be anybody else but myself in order to survive, and if I was myself I’d starve to death. I’d got to the point where surviving was nothing but a nuisance, and a waste of my time. I’d been feeling that way for quite a while, but it sort of came to a head. I decided that what I wanted for my birthday was my own life back—and I was serious. I went to bed one night, just started relaxing, but thinking intently about how much of myself I’d given away simply in order to make a living and to be able to be part of this local community, and I was lying there when suddenly this huge column of light came down on me from above and hit me just about mid sternum and then sort of radiated outward in large ripples all around me—like someone pouring water into me.

I could feel all sorts of things being ‘rearranged’—for want of a better word—stuff sort of being ‘peeled’ off of me—the ripples extended down past my toes and up over my head. For the next couple of weeks I walked around sort of spanning creation—like I had one half of me in infinite light and one half of me in the world, and I was this sort of bridge between the two—immersed in this overwhelming love. The past week or so I’ve been slowly sliding back into the world, and I’m trying really hard not to feel trapped, trying to maintain the bridge—especially since I need the feeling of love, the contact with that, to be able to stay here. I need that more than I need food for my body. I can feel that my physical life is very different now, but I don’t quite yet know how. I’m really hoping that my body changes—there’s nothing I’d want more for myself than for my physical body to be able to live off that light. Back in ’78 when I had that initial experience my overriding concern was how I was going to make a living—it was like I couldn’t be in both places at once, and yet I couldn’t leave here. Maybe now I’ll be able to be in both places. I don’t know.

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