She was always there, waiting for the appropriate time to make her presence known.
It was late.
Scrolling through different ideas he had written down, nothing was catching his eye. Nothing was “popping” out at him. The writer got up from his laptop and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and walked back to his point of origin. As he sat, she came in through the kitchen. Delicate, bare feet on a hardwood floor, she moved phantom-like towards the Writer. At first, she placed her hands on his shoulders, slowly moving forward, she embraced him from behind, cradling her head on one of his shoulders. Breathing in unison with him, she stroked his shoulders and then turned her face to whisper in his ear.
Enchantment. Inspiration. Something small to get him writing.
Make me think, make me laugh, make me cry or make me wonder, I don’t care…
Write for me…
A small spark in his mind, a snap shot of a scene… his fingers found the keyboard and began to write…
It had taken months to bring the flurry of thoughts and distractions into something manageable during his time of meditation. To say one must “quiet your mind” was a bit misleading to him. In this digital age of distractions and constant noise to quiet the mind felt like trying to screw a bottle cap on a fire hydrant while it is going full blast. Simon had a hunch that there was still value in the saying, but perhaps it came from a simpler time, but what did he know? Flow and harmony felt closer to the mark: acknowledging the switch of his attention and then bringing himself back to the focus point of his meditation.
He started small, five minutes every morning at around ten to six o’clock. He’d sit in a cheap patio chair, facing east. He picked east for no particular reason other than it was dawn and the sun was rising somewhere in the distance. He would’ve just as easily picked west for the sunset if he were to meditate in the evening. He chose to place his focus on physical things: the sensation of the morning’s cool air on his skin, the changing light and feeling of gradual warmth, or just the weight of gravity pushing him into his chair and even the pattern of his breathing – basic mindfulness. Time seemed to slow around him. After awhile he began to feel a connectedness, but not to everything around him or himself. The sensation he was getting was that of being in this place, one thousand times over, a Deja Vu of sorts. As soon as he’d reach this familiar state, his phone would gently buzz, indicating his five minutes were up and he’d slowly bring himself back to the world.
As he continued this practice, it became easier to slip into this Deja Vu state. He wasn’t sure if the state was driving him, or if he was driving the state. But it continued to feel palpable. He felt that if he opened his eyes, he would see things he never saw before, or break the spell. He kept them closed. The timer would go off and he slipped back to the present, the sensation dissipating. More months passed, the feeling of connectedness, the Deja Vu became more and more familiar, and he was eventually meditating for nearly thirty minutes.
Time felt like it had no meaning, it seemed so easy to keep this state.
Except for this morning.
He felt a wall.
He didn’t try to press through. Instead, he stretched out in his mind, exploring the expanse of the wall. Attempting to discover what it might be, accepting it for what it was. It seemed to go on and on, farther in the distance, higher above. As he stretched, he felt a strain, like gravity, pulling him back down and out of the state. Keeping his calm and focus, he continued there. The strain got harder and he resisted. The pressure mounting, pain, discomfort, his head felt like it was in a vice. He pushed further, willing to remain, to feel this expanse and understand the wall. To figure out what this was. The pressure seemed too much to handle until…
It was audible and tangible… somehow.
Like an egg cracking, releasing the yolk within.
The feeling of Deja Vu returning; stronger than ever. The wall, or whatever it was, was gone.
Breakthrough? His alarm hadn’t gone off, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He pressed on in his meditative exploration and felt he should open his eyes.
As Simon did so, he saw multiple lines of people, expanding outwards from where he sat, facing away, as he was. They were different versions of himself. The closer they were to him in line, the more like him they looked. The farther away they were, the more contrast there was. Most of them were meditating or sitting down, deep in thought. Some at a desk, some in a chair. Some outside, some inside. But he could see them all. He somehow knew that those versions of himself on the left side, were all reflections of choices he had made or variations of choices he didn’t make, but somehow did in those realities. Simon noticed that some of the directions extended farther than others, some just stopped short, a black space. He felt it instantly, death. Those were alternate realities where the choices had led to his death. The closer he got to his immediate left, the closer they resembled his personal path. His immediate left, of course, being his past.
The ones to his right seemed to be almost opposite of what he saw on the left. Choices he had yet to make, that were either before him now, or would eventually find their way to him someday. But in each of those realities, the lines were shorter and seemed to fade into a gray fog. Everything was in flux, nothing permanent, the images weren’t as clear. The blur of the images seemed to be underlining the flux of the future possibilities. In the one immediately to his right, and then in a few other directions, some closer, some farther away, he saw someone else come into the picture. Coming in from behind him, hugging him close and kissing him gently on the head. Simon, or the version of himself there with the image of the woman, was still locked in meditation, not moving, not acknowledging.
She smiled lovingly and stroked his back and walked away. She didn’t say a word, she understood. And yet, it seemed her love for him compelled her to action. As he watched these various scenes unfold, he recognized that the woman varied, the majority seemed to be the same. Like a ghost from the past, yet, somehow not. He recognized her, barely. It felt similar to when one has a dream with people they know, they are “them” but at the same time, not exactly them, and sometimes they are different people all at the same time. Seeing those future alternatives even left that foggy dreamlike feeling on his mind, compared to witnessing the scenes on his left.
Out in the distance, a rumbling vibration came and gently nudged him. His alarm had began to go off. Without his consent, the timelines began to collapse, slowly from each side and building momentum faster and faster towards him until another snap, but this time the feeling was like he was being put back together. The vibration of his phone in his pocket completely real now.
He opened his eyes, considering what he had just witnessed. Somehow, he had touched a thousand different realities of his own life. He wasn’t looking for this and didn’t expect this.
He didn’t yet understand. But, he hoped that in time, he would.
**Hey there! First, I want to express my thanks to you for reading this post. If you find value in what I’m writing or you know someone who would, the biggest compliment I can receive is for you to share this post far and wide: Instagram, Facebook, SnapChat or even E-mail. While you’re at it, leave a comment or two, I’d love to hear your thoughts! Thanks again!**