I woke up surprised to see it was 6:30. I slept so well and straight through, which does not happen often. I took on a relaxed position and started my meditation. Something new in me wants to be recognized. It brought joy.
I started to listen, and slowly it revealed itself. It is Me. I felt its joy, freedom, freshness, and exhilaration to come out of whatever box I hid it in all these years.
Somehow, I managed to craft a self that fits whatever my environment requires all these years. I did it so well that I eventually believed it was me.
Yes, I lived it well and fooled many but not myself. I felt the restlessness, the need to get away, and the anger when someone goes near the hidden one.
I was a success, so no one thought there was something wrong except for the more discerning of my friends, who sometimes brought it up.
My body tells me the truth. It cannot stand straight. I was tired most of the time, even when I did nothing. When I host a party, I always need a week of quiet after that.
Sometimes, I take time to meditate and go inside my quiet self, but I have hidden it so well that even I forgot where it was. I could not envision it because I have fully identified with my crafted self. I shared deep insights into myself with some friends after my meditation. Not only that, I took some courses to help me go deeper into myself, so I thought I was okay.
Wisdom seemed to flow from me that I thought there was nothing else I needed to do. A friend of mine finally agreed that I perhaps have nothing else to do with myself until my next reincarnation, but this proved not true.
Here I am in Spain. I had a vague feeling that this would be my second birth. I told my friend that I was here for “me time.” The schedule of life here allowed for this. It was now eight in the morning, and I could hardly hear a noise except the sound of my keyboard.
Another good thing about my trip here was my stay in a convent. My friend here is a nun and invited me to stay in the convent, where I rested when I arrived. It afforded me the quiet and solitude that I needed. The atmosphere of prayer somehow healed my soul and may have invited the real me to come out. There was not much interaction, so there was no one to please or entertain.
This atmosphere may have coaxed my true self to take the courage to show itself. It was the start of the advent season, and on the altar, there was a big picture of Mary pondering things in her heart. I carried this image with me as I went through my days of quiet and prayer.
Today was the fulfillment when I met for the first time my authentic self. I felt it. I rejoiced with it. Inside of me, something new and beautiful emerges, robust and confident not to be swayed by comments or expectations. I love it.
It took me seventy years, but this doesn’t matter. What matters is that I found it. My senior years will be one of the profound joy of being who I truly am, not perfect but beautiful, not whole but becoming, a being that lives its depth and keeps rooting itself in it.
