This one came through differently.
Introduction
There are times when everything feels aligned…
and then there are times like this.
Where nothing quite settles.
Where the mind feels strained, like it’s trying too hard to reach something that won’t come.
And underneath that effort, a quieter thought begins to form:
What if I’ve lost it?
What if whatever I was touching… isn’t here anymore?
This didn’t begin as clarity.
It began as that feeling.
The Movement Beneath the Noise
I’ve noticed something in these moments.
The more I try to access clarity, the further away it feels.
The mind tightens.
The pressure builds.
And what once came as a whisper…
now feels like silence.
But if I stop—really stop trying to fix it—
something else begins to appear.
Not as a thought.
Not as an answer.
As a softening.
The Heart and the Veil
I don’t experience this as something constant.
It comes and goes… and when it comes, I almost don’t trust it at first.
In spiritual language, this is sometimes described as the thinning of the veil—not an escape from the world, but a shift in how reality is perceived. The pulsation becomes a kind of anchor, a living reminder that awareness and embodiment are not separate. The heart beats, and with each beat the illusion of isolation weakens.
But it doesn’t stay.
Or maybe more honestly…
I don’t stay with it.
Where the Heart Actually Speaks
It doesn’t begin in words.
It begins somewhere deeper in the body.
A loosening in the chest.
A quiet widening that isn’t dramatic, but unmistakable when it’s there.
And in that space, something is known—not as a thought, but as a kind of recognition.
Then the mind notices it…
and tries to understand it.
That’s usually when it fades.
So I’m starting to wonder if the heart doesn’t hold a constant truth…
but reveals something in moments
that can’t be held the way the mind wants to hold it.
The Divine as Embrace
This is the part I hesitate to speak about.
Not because it isn’t real… but because it’s the easiest to doubt once the moment passes.
There is another dimension to this opening that is not impersonal at all. Some experience the Divine not as abstract unity, but as Presence—a loving intelligence that feels both infinitely vast and intimately close.
I’ve felt something like this… briefly.
Not enough to claim it.
Just enough that I can’t dismiss it anymore.
Mystics have spoken of this in relational terms: being held by the Mother, resting in the Father, dissolving into a love that is both powerful and tender. These descriptions point toward complementary qualities within the sacred—strength and gentleness, stillness and warmth, clarity and compassion. Symbolically called masculine and feminine, they are not genders but universal currents within Being itself.
To encounter this Presence is not to disappear. It is to feel completely known and completely welcomed. Tears may come, not from sorrow but from relief—the relief of no longer standing alone.
And even writing that, part of me wonders if I’m trying to hold onto something that only comes when I’m not reaching for it.
Figures such as Ramakrishna spoke of the Divine in deeply relational ways, describing overwhelming love and living Presence rather than abstract metaphysics. These accounts remind us that the sacred can be met as intimacy, not only as infinity.
The Return
I’ve known this movement before.
Years ago, writing poetry, a few words would arrive quietly—almost like a whisper entering from somewhere just beyond thought. And if I followed those words—not forced them, just followed—the rest would come.
Not from effort.
From somewhere I couldn’t claim as my own.
This feels the same.
Not something I create…
but something that returns when I stop trying to control it.
Addendum
There may be a tendency to believe that alignment should be constant—that once something is realized, it should remain accessible at all times.
But lived experience suggests otherwise.
There are phases of openness, and phases where everything feels distant or unclear. Phases where something deeper is felt directly, and others where it seems to withdraw.
This does not necessarily indicate loss.
It may reflect a natural rhythm within consciousness itself—one that cannot be stabilized by effort, only recognized as it moves.
Epilogue
If the heart remembers at all,
it may not be in the way we imagine.
Not as something we can hold onto…
but as something that continues to find us.
Again and again.
And perhaps what feels like forgetting
is not a failure of the path—
but part of how the remembering returns.
Numinous Waves 