In adult years, I’ve found magic and spirituality are getting more and more slippery in leaps and bounds of reality. This world has a way of beating the dreamer out of you. I rarely think about the relationships I used to have with the spirit of life compared to the daily conversations that once were. But I did have them, and I still do, if less frequently accessed.

My dip into spirituality started off young. I felt an immediate connection to the figure of Buddha first. My mother liked fortune Buddha statues, and so did I. Recalling the wonder when Buddha was first explained to me, a prophet who experienced the depths of self-denial and self-indulgence and chose balance in the end. A prophet who believed in enjoying life, but not destroying yourself in the process. A prophet who didn’t preach dogma or attempt to convert people, but who wandered the world touching people with the person he had become after his travels into the depths of human nature and concepts of immortality. It was beautiful. And I instantly knew:

“I’m a buddha,” I remember I told my mom. I was maybe 2 or 3 years old. Coming from an adult, this would sound pretty arrogant; interestingly though, my impressions were in line with what Buddhism is even as a kid. Everyone is buddha, it is just a matter of accepting and accessing the more connected and wise side of yourself. This figure, Buddha, wasn’t so much a person, as an example of a state of existence. A way to live.

Somehow I understood this. My mother, for years, would periodically claim a past life knowledge thing related to this early understanding, god bless her, trying to bolster up my ego. Buddhism is a reincarnation based belief system after all. Maybe I was Buddha before.

This never felt right to me though. Buddha is not a person who was, a person who I could have been, it is a person we become from within. I may have been a buddha in a past life, maybe, if I believe in such a thing, but I was more inclined to think it simply meant I had acknowledged my calling. I was meant to walk the line between extremes and to help others to do the same. Balance became a fixation I never stopped pursuing.

Not long after that, I recall seeing a golden glow around some people. I really miss this particularly ability. It began to fail me when puberty hit. I didn’t have the ability to see and read anybody’s aura I wanted to. Like a smell you have become accustomed to, I couldn’t see the auras of those I was closest to like my family. So it was never anyone directly related to me. Random people every time, random people who always seemed to make eye contact with me and say hello in some way. These people confused me, scared me a little because they were strangers, but I knew on a level they were just there to keep watch and encourage me along. It felt as though they were acknowledging me as one of them and asserting they were there to love and help me when needed. I was not alone. 

Already feeling separate and alone, this was a powerful vision which kept me going in many early moments of darkness. I never told anyone about these visions to my recollection, it felt like if I did they might stop, and they were important to me. Young though I may have been, events transpired which hit me deeply. So many of them and the lessons I carried with me are still with me.

My lack of friends was one issue. Sleeping in my own bed was proving to be a problem, I had separation anxiety. My rat, my first real pet, died within the next year by the time I was 4. I loved that damned rodent. Never did get another one because it was too painful losing Stacey, and rats simply live too short of lives. My heart couldn’t take it again.

Daycare was a joke, I hated the other kids and I hated the patronizing adults there even more. Kids stole my toys when I tried to play with them, made fun of me when I was in my own corner, and the adults looked at me like I was strange. How dare I prefer my solo time over spending time with a bunch of idiotic, thieving children. They were beneath me.

Yes, I already was developing a superiority and inferiority complex. Goes along with being smart. Not tooting my own horn this time. It’s true. The more left brain intelligence you have, the more you will struggle with a feeling of superiority to others on an intellectual level, and inferior to them on a social level (hence no friends). I would never, ever, fit in.

I knew it. It was clear. Why fight it?

And honestly, they could be so mean. I didn’t understand how others could be cruel. Hurting others or causing them trouble was a top level offense to me. How could these kids get away with having such bad attitudes? It took me years to fully accept they didn’t have bad attitudes by the world’s standards. No, they were relatively normal for their age. I was odd. Maybe I was morally in the right, maybe I understood what was going on a bit better than others, maybe I was taking everything too seriously and needed to loosen up, but I was odd. They were normal.

Normality sucked. Add to that I saw some dark auras which scared the hell out of me around some of the adults in the daycare and elsewhere, yeah, I didn’t trust people. At all. And I had my reasons even then. I prefer to limit discussing anything resonating a negative aura, but I have had other experiences with this, whether I can “see” the aura or not, it can still be “felt” if I focus. In my experience, the more attention to pay to any entity with this aura, human or otherwise, well-intended and prepared or not, the stronger their alignment becomes and the more it attempts to bring down your baseline frequency to match theirs. Misery loves company.

Maybe a year or two passed before I was 6 years old, then I met my first spirit guide. This entity kept me sane and nurtured for years to come and helped form the basis of what I now believe, spiritually speaking. Well, the closest I come to believing anything without proof at any rate. There is a skeptical scientist buried amidst my mysticism, so forgive me for the occasional contradictory statement.

It was years before we bothered with names. Communication didn’t occur with words, except for the occasional blabbing on my end. When it spoke to me, it was through emotions, intent, visuals, and intuition. Sometimes, this magnificent entity was visible as a pure white horse. Sometimes invisible and merely sensed as present. Gender was irrelevant, sometimes more male in tone or form and sometimes more female. Size varied according to the importance of the interaction or the circumstance. A tiny, fly-sized horse standing on top of my pencil as I worked on a school essay sometimes (made me giggle), an immense house of a horse visible out the car window on drives (amazing!), or anywhere in-between. Sometimes, it had wings and flew like a Pegasus. This became a common theme in dreams, this guide taking me for a bareback ride through the skies of the otherworld. Sometimes, it had a horn like a unicorn which it would use to threaten anyone malicious around me. The beautiful creature would share its tears with me and others (without them realizing it usually) which helped to heal over any wound and improve circumstances within a day or two. It wasn’t just an imaginary friend, as anyone I spoke to about it believed it to be.

It was my guardian angel, my teacher in healing and flight, my instructor in astral travel, and, perhaps most profound, a part of my soul, my higher self you could say. It was me, and I was it. We were (and are) simply two interpretations of the same being existing in intersecting dimensions we can only access thru each other. While I was taught much, I also instructed this guide in my own ways, mostly in humans and human things. Many physical world concepts were peculiar and silly to my equine friend.

I knew all this then. I still believe it now, even if I don’t often think on these things anymore. But the presence of this being is very much with me every day, all the time. And always in my dreams and astral work when I really need the guidance. My steadfast companion.

Through our interactions over the years, I learned what it was I was supposed to do with my life. Guide others, heal them, get them to meet others they need to, connect with themselves, change the very vibration of the universe through a series of well-timed and precise strikes upon the world. Help.

“Through methods you could never fully understand, in suffering unprovoked pains you don’t deserve, in guiding and even hurting select individuals you instinctually care for without reservation, and simply by floating wherever you are, you will help make the world what it needs to be, your reward, your meaning is here. A home for us.”

One special occasion, I pushed my way into a sneak peak of this home during a particularly powerful visualization session. A small tear in the fabric of my inner world opened into another place entirely, a beautiful place of vivid colors, surreal and refreshing weather, and endless signs of life all around us. The very air felt like fairies kissing my pores. A raindrop landed on my neck by the name of Stacey the rat who was long dead.

Everything around me was just a construct, not really there and always there. I could take a step and be anywhere I wanted, see anything or anyone I needed to. There was a legitimacy to the place. And simultaneously, it wasn’t really a place at all, and I wasn’t really in it. Like walking through a very real door into what you see as a very real place and suddenly both place and person become one and the same, a living, breathing vacuum of condensed existence, malleable to thought and emotion, limitless in scope and gigantic (it could squash me like an ant and I’d never even see it coming) and impossibly compressed into a hopelessly fragile, microscopic bubble (I could easily step on it and burst it forever).

Love was all. Individuality illusion. Respect a certainty. I’m sure many would assume this was heaven, but I just saw it as a place I’d spent more time in than I ever would alive. Living was a job, an assignment, and a very important one. This place, nonsensical though it seemed to the Spock brain and the still-developing ego, makes all the sense in the world to who I am inside, in ways I could never hope to express here. If you’ve been there, or felt there, or know it, and I hope you do, you know exactly what I am referring to.

She was there. Another spiritual entity, gracefully soothing and greeting my spirit guide upon arrival. Maternity flowed from her in waves of calming serenity. No one cared for me as she did, and at the same time, no one dared use me as harshly. She trusted me, felt for my sacrifices, but ultimately needed me to do the things only a physical being can. As happens though when one is reminded of their home, of where they are truly “meant” to be, I argued the fairness. I asked, “Why? Why the mission, why the saving, why this fixation on material reality? What does it matter to us? We are beyond this.”

“We are not.”

“This place though, this is home, this is where we belong,” I asserted.

“It is. And it is not. This place cannot exist without the other. You could not exist here, now, without existing there. Nor could I. We must protect both.”

“Why us,” I would go on to ask. “Who gave us this burden?”

“We took it upon ourselves to do what needs to be done.”

“What can we hope to accomplish?”

“Everything and nothing, is trying not enough to gain meaning?”

And onward and so forth with the vague philosophical speak. These otherworldly deities and their beating around the bush, making one’s questions seem shortsighted every time. It can really be aggravating when you are trying to make sense of things.

“And you? What do you do there then?”

“The same I am now,” she responded. Bare in mind, there is no smugness to her tone in any of this, just soft, caressing, and frustratingly vague answers.

“Guiding me?”

“No, that is your companion’s place,” referring to my equine friend. “I move you. You may think you move yourself. Those moments of clarity, gut instinct, intuition, anytime you flare, particularly for reasons that don’t entirely make sense, this is what I do.”

“My passion?”

“Nothing so limited, no. It is not important. I am with you. You are not alone. You will and must know loneliness, but you are not alone. Because you know loneliness, you could never allow loneliness in others if it can be helped. Because I exist, you cannot be lonely forever.”

I suppose one could hypothesize, this being, this nameless goddess with the tongue both reassuring and intimidating, is a metaphor for my faith. My talk with God, the higher self, or perhaps there is quite literally an extra-dimensional entity guiding me much as an angel or a god would. Some of what she says makes me think she is representative of the subconscious, higher self, possibly even working with shadow cognitive functions.

Who knows? I was only about 10 at the time, and I had been thrust into a mission, pressured to complete it to the best of my ability, shown a vision of where I’d come from and where I’d return to when the time was right, and where I somehow always was, so there’d be no need to ever return. A place of contradictions, love, beauty, and duty.

“I demand more,” I told her, some years later, now 14 years old, rather pissed off at how much loss I had witnessed and experienced in those 4 years.

“Then have more.”

“How? And of what are you referring to”

“That is for you to determine.” For real, the woman can be infuriating. Like having a conversation with the Mad Hatter at times.

“Company. Love. Belonging. Home.”

“This is home.”

“A home in the physical reality. That awful place I spend the majority of my time because you or I or something somewhere along the way decided I would have to to accomplish some vague mission, involving vague connections I may or may not have already met, or may never meet, doing things that may or may not hurt, and may or may not directly help, in some way I may or may not ever even know about!”

I was frustrated with a lack of solid answers and depending on blind faith at this point. As life collapsed around me, as those I cared for suffered around me, as I suffered, blind faith in the words and actions of what professionals would refer to as an imaginary friend or a sub-personality delusion, maybe even a dissociated personality, just wasn’t cutting it for me. I had started to accumulate my wealth of psychoanalytical theories, some of which made me question my own sanity for even having this conversation. Oh Spock brain…

“Love.”

“Here, it is everywhere. There, it is only between lines. Love is as real to the tangible world as this world is right now. Present if I believe, present if I listen, present if I let myself feel, but not real like it is here, it is so easily disrupted, so easily discarded, forgotten, left to rot. Here, love is the air I breathe. Here, intimacy is the default, harmony is physics. There, disconnection is default, entropy is physics. I can do what I must. I will. But I demand more love. I need it.”

“You will not be disappointed in that arena. Love is who you are. Give and it will be given.” Visions of eyes came to me. So many eyes. Different colors, different reflections, different feelings lurking beneath, but eyes that clearly loved me. And eyes upon seeing I immediately connected with. “Hurt is part of love. You hurt there, so you can love here. You hurt each other, so you may love each other.”

Okay. That still irritates me remembering it. The implication that love must coincide with pain, that all of experience involves balancing a load of bullshit with a pail of ice cream to experience a semblance of meaning and satisfaction. It pissed me off. The flipside of balance, it involves allowing some darkness to persist. It still pisses me off. But truer words were never spoken. Relationships came, then they went, sometimes quite painfully, but always with a strong sense of meaning and with a sense that I left that person a very different person than they were when we met. Arguments could be made for the better, or for the worse, but I seemed to have a knack for automatically bringing any deep-seeded issues to the surface and pushing them. All too often, my leaving was the trigger to their self-improvement. Sometimes, their leaving was a trigger to my own revelations. Always transitory.

But the point was made. I would not be alone. Love would surround me, for better and for worse, in various sizes and shapes, with various people, forever and ever. There were so many eyes, so many different kinds of love, so many lessons buried in the shared gazes. Maybe my life would be a pain in the ass, complicated, dramatic mess of contradictions and a lack of contentment, but it would be a life full of meaning, passion, creativity, and love. And hope. There’s my comfort, I suppose.

Anyone out there reading this, if you haven’t already, connect with your spirit guide. To the faithful, it can be a life-changing and profound experience which may just solve a couple of your pending issues. To the Spock brains out there, it is a productive visual exercise which helps to connect with the root of your motivation and/or lack of motivation. Like a kind of meditation that freely flows like a daydream. Just let your thoughts drift, let the images create themselves, exert as little conscious control as you can, and let your inner world be. Your spirit guide will do the rest, including appearing before you, if you are receptive and pure of intent. Whether it’s an inter-dimensional mirror-soul or a cognitive program borne of evolution to increase our chances of survival, it is real, and it is useful. Explore!

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