As I wake up, there is a sense of longing combined with a slight sense of dread.
The longing seems familiar in childhood, and the dread from the last couple of years.
I notice a tendency to recoil from it. Fear.
Beliefs about what it means, and what it would mean to welcome it.
I dive into the middle of it.
Bring attention to it. Welcome it as a friend.
There is a shift.
It can no longer so easily be labeled longing or dread.
There is a fullness, a sense of coming home.
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This longing is familiar for me from childhood. It would be there some days as I wake up.
I try to satisfy it in all the ways familiar to me.
I make myself a sandwich with strawberry jam. I drink chocolate milk. I have corn flakes.
I read the comic book stories of Carl Barks. I read the Hardy Boys or Jules Verne.
I spend time with my parents or play with friends.
Nothing really works.
And as there is that opening in my teens, when all – without exception – is revealed as awareness, as Spirit, as God, I realize, this is what the longing was for.
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