Walk A Short Way With Me
One time, perhaps in the midyears of my life, an ethereal being came to me and said, “Walk a short way with me.” It may have been a dark forest, but our path didn’t lead to an inferno. The being seemed feminine in nature, although I’m pretty sure the gender was imposed for my benefit. I respond better to maternal guidance, at least in matters of personal improvement.
She wanted to talk about things I’d forgotten. Those were her words.
“Do you recall your attitude just before birth?” she asked.
As if her question prompted a sudden and vivid recollection - something I’d not thought about in years, probably not since childhood, when I thought it was just a dream - I relived that dreadful moment that occurred immediately before being born.
I walked along a path departing heaven, two angels by my side. We all had wings, the thick, feathery kind seen in many illustrations. The two on either side of me possessed complementary pairs of wings identical to my own. My left wing, however, appeared severely broken, utterly useless for whatever purpose it once held.
“I’m being punished,” I said to my companions, devastated by the sentence.
“But you weren’t,” my ethereal guide asserted. “That was your misinterpretation upon awakening from a childhood dream.”
I considered her explanation.
“All these years, you’ve assumed your life on Earth was punishment for something done in heaven.”
That was true. I did.
“Your assumption has colored everything you’ve ever felt or seen,” she added.
That was true, too.
“I think it’s time to set things right,” she said.
“So,” she continued, “I assume you don’t remember why you had to incarnate again.”
I thought about her wording, her implication of my acceptance, or at least my acquiescence regarding this most recent return to Earth. As she alleged, I’d always felt I was being punished for some misstep in higher realms. I considered the punishment imposed overly severe and that my misstep had been slight or inadvertent.
Logically, my underlying feeling was one of undulant, continual resentment.
“You had one wish,” she asserted. “One only, which you expressed without restraint or consideration when seeking to convince the elders. Do you remember?”
First, I envisioned the elders in my mind. Hiding my shock and instant, contritional response, I bowed mentally to those transparent beings clothed in extraordinary wisdom, ashamed as always to be in their presence, imaginary as the meeting was at that moment.
Instantly, I remembered my unconstrained brashness when expressing my one desire, the subtle aura of their invisible aversion as their transcendent compassion dimmed. I felt crude and unmannered in their presence.
Finally, I remembered their condescension and cautionary agreement when seeking to grant my wish.
“I remember,” I said to the ethereal being.
When she remained silent but blatantly expectant, I proved my claim.
“I said that I never wanted to return to Earth again. I said it with defiance and anger. I said it like an accusation.”
“Yes, you did,” she responded. “And what was their answer?”
The memory was appalling.
“They said the only way to make that happen was to go back one last time.”
That’s what I’d interpreted as divine punishment.
“One doesn’t end their incarnation cycles until they finish their journey of self-awareness,” the feminine presence explained. “You knew this. The elders offered to let you finish everything during one last life. They could not convey to you what that would entail.”
“And I agreed,” I said.
“You agreed,” she said. “You’re not doing so well, though,” she added.
In that instant, I knew why she had come. She was here to set me straight.
“You see where this is going,” she said.
Whether her presence alone generated the impeccably bright insight that ensued or my recollections of pre-birth events had removed the blinders from my eyes, my sole responsibility for an improper life perspective and a life poorly lived became crystal clear. I alone had endangered the fulfillment of my dearest wish.
Events that occurred until then, especially my response to them, were all tainted and obscured from clear meaning by my self-appointed role as an unwitting and unwilling victim. Worse, since birth, I’d seen myself as a prisoner of the world, one for whom there was no escape.
In that instant, my complete reversal of true reality became apparent.
I was the sole maker of my bars.
I was the jailer, not the prisoner.
I was the one who must set myself free.
The ethereal being walking at my side was an unearned gift of grace.
“Yes, I see,” I said. “The elders granted me this life while cautioning my acceptance.
“Ah, the perfect word,” she said.
“I’ve been so confused,” I said.
“We know,” she said softly.
“I thought everything was retribution for my rebellion,” I said. “I thought I was being punished for my behavior. That’s never been the case. Everything has been in service to my wish. Every disappointment, every loss, every refusal of my earthly desires has happened to awaken my enlightenment. Our lives are always meant to accomplish this.”
I was stunned by this stark revelation.
“No wonder I’ve been so angry and confused,” I said. “No wonder I’ve always chosen wrong. No wonder I’m so resentful.”
“You’ve been preventing the fulfillment of your single wish,” she said.
“My god.”
“The elders tried to warn you,” she said. “They intimated how incarnation cycles prematurely interrupted entail hardships beyond measure. Your anathema toward earthly living threatens the very purpose for it. Still, the elders never refuse an outright plea. In granting yours, they, too, sacrificed much. No one sends a child blindly forth to stumble into danger.”
“Am I in danger?” I asked.
“The worst kind,” she answered. “You’ve forgotten how to live.”
With that, she disappeared.
Our short walk was over.
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