Wisdom patiently tracks us down. No matter how determinedly we try to sidestep the calling for which we are here, it keeps coming back, presenting itself, persistently, again and again and again without ceasing, perhaps because the calling is not outside but within and beyond us. I am so grateful for the spiritual teachers and elders and children who have walked alongside me whether I was in sidestepping mode or not.
There are dimensions to this existence for which I have no words, and, for a wordsmith, this can be downright bone-jarring. Silence beckons, my name is called, and I cannot find the words to reply. When the horrors come, the phantasms angry and threatening, I cling to one sentence alone: I send you only love. I send you only love. They hover close, anguished and vicious and closing in, faces I have known and been tormented by, faces of total strangers bent on total destruction, until I get a grip on the sentence—I send you only love—and then they vanish in one swiftly disintegrating miasma, and I lose all words again. All my relations stand nearby. I feel them, sense them, know them as of old, from worlds before time. I am undone, and yet whole and complete exactly as I am. There is no sidestepping that does not return me here.
Wisdom haunts these places. Spirit knows the path. Heart is willing, body is already long embarked. Only mind delays, creates excuses for backtracking, suggests another sidestep, one more task that needs fulfilling, until even the mind tires of its own tricks and begs me to go on. I send you only love. All of me that will ever exist carries that banner for all that exists: no exceptions. Never will I agree to relinquish this one vision: I send you only love.