An old woman said to a boy tapping onto his chest, “God is inside of you boy!” Those words affected him like no others before. Her firm finger left an unending sensation inside his chest
The boy’s innate childlike imagination was irradiated ten thousandfold. Every time he found himself in trouble, he imagined God inside of him. Every time he was devoured by fear, he did the same; he remembered her words; he went inward. In prayer, in his creative endeavors, and in his meditations...he remembered her words, he went in. Inside felt good; it felt calm and quiet, at times not so quiet, sometime little stormy.
One day, while lying down on his back in the mountains of his homeland, the aroma of the surrounding herbs permeated his body. The atmosphere swallowed his entire attention. He felt a tap on his chest again; he was vigorously drawn inwards in such a way, that he felt there was no such thing as outside.
He abided in this peculiar absorption for the next few minutes, and that was good; those minutes felt like years; felt like decades. Then, suddenly he felt there was no such thing as inside either. As if there was an amalgamation of inside and outside into something that is not of this world.
After a few minutes of involuntary absorption that felt like eternity, he himself, the person, the boy, the mask he wore for the world, had dissolved. He became a no-one but he felt intensely alive. He stood up and wiped his tears, but more tears gushed down his eyes. These tears had colors and shades that changed moment to moment, forming dazzling azure to dark blue hues, and a billion shades in between like the grand lake of his homeland. His shoulders exuded the scent of the herbs of his homeland. He loved that his body smelled like thyme. His spine and his bones felt strong like the mountains. His breath was fresh as the crisp morning air. His eyes emanated light and natural confidence. His torso resonated like a body of a musical instrument.
By becoming a no-one, he had become everyone and everything.
He walked back home never asking or questioning what had happened to him, as if what had happened to him had already happened long ago, way back before time was time and light was light.
The old woman’s voice always remained inside his chest like an echo from eternity. It whispered to him, “Welcome back home my son.”
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