Author: Cherie Renae

Someone asked me today how I balance the math & physics side of myself with my creative, literary side. I said:

“Life is all about balance, isn’t it? It’s about standing under the sky at night and dancing with the stars. It’s about love poems to the setting sun and sharing grief with the predawn moon. It’s about walking in the wilderness and knowing that even if I die, some part of me will walk out whole, ready to enter the land of milk and honey.

“It’s about looking at those around me and caring more about what they need than what I want. It’s about laughter and joy and being gentle with myself when I do get knocked awry. It’s about believing. And I choose to believe deeply in God, in good, in love, in those around me. I believe.”

Last night, I found myself walking in pastoral moonlight at the invitation of a friend. It was a spiritual walk through grove and field, with much talk of theology and mystical views. We strolled ahead of a predicted wind storm. I could smell the charging air. Weather was indeed afoot.

As we walked through a grove, I was struck by how ALIVE the flora seemed. I swear I could feel the trees and plants bursting from their winter quiescence into an exultant sentience. I commented as much.

“Oh,” replied my friend, Christopher. “That’s because we’re in the midst of Beltane. It isn’t just a one-day celebration. The party is still going on.”

In contemporary times, Beltane is celebrated on May 1 – also known as May Day. It is a Celtic festival that marks the midpoint of the spring season. It is characterized by bonfires and birth, by the making and the springing forth of new life. It does make sense that the world would feel especially alive right now.

We walked into a open grass field. “Can you feel it?” I said.

“Indeed,” he replied.

“I have the strongest impulse to roll in the grass,”

“Well, then, why don’t you?”

So I did. I took off my coat, lay down in the grass and rolled and rolled and rolled. When I finally whumped to a halt on my back, I was so dizzy that the cloudy sky spun for several minutes, making me nauseous. But I laughed delightedly, and the spinning – and my stomach – slowly calmed.

I arose and staggered around. (I have a cranky inner ear.) As I wobbled home, I felt as though I had tumbled in long filaments of spirit-stuff, which were now swathed about me in a light, gauzy cocoon.

The feeling persists today. I wonder what will be born of this chrysalis?

Last night, I walked through an oak-shrouded park in near full moonlight. My companion and I watched as a circle encompassed the silver lady, one so impossibly large that it skimmed the plane of the horizon. We kept looking over our shoulders as she peered between the bare branches. (Oaks take longer than most to break into spring life, but they are also the last to bow to winter’s rule.)

As we entered an open area, we again looked back, and I gasped. The moon was ensconced, rising, upon a swirling vortex of cloud that spiraled long and lean, holding the orb – or perhaps birthing it – high in the sky. The vortex gradually receded, forming a sky-spanning, perfect swan that lay motionless under the glowing moon.

Unknowing, he knelt and I sat, because it was a sight too awesome (in the true sense) to bear upon one’s feet. I now understand the concept of ‘holy’. What does it mean? I asked my God.

I heard, “An amazing thing is being birthed. It is global and it is personal. It looks like many separate things, but it is really all One. It is larger and more joyful than you can possibly imagine, and it will – you will – you all will – take wing. It is time for my children to Dream again.”

Awen.

In meditation, God appears before me. She starts reaching inside of me. “You don’t need this anymore,” She says, pulling from the region of my lower right back, which always aches. I was once told by a psychic that this is where I store the hurts of others.

She continues to pull & fuss & rearrange me from the inside, and finally She pulls my heart out and looks at it. It is broken, hard & calcified. It’s a very ugly dead thing in Her hand.

“Do you really think you need this?” She asks me. I agree that it doesn’t look very functional.

“Great!” She says, tucking it inside her robes. “I’ll just keep it.” Then She reaches into Her own chest and brings forth a little blob of red, pulsing matter.

“Here,” She says. “I’ll trade you. Take a piece of my heart, instead.”

She places it inside of me. I’m disappointed. “I don’t feel any different.”

“Oh, you will,” She reponds. “Just give it a little time.”

From my journal, Lent 2005:

Kneeling before candle and cross, I ask the Eternal – “What do you have for me today?” I have a vision of Jesus standing in front of me, looking earnestly at me. His knees are slightly bent, and he reaches out and takes my hands in his as though he is going to teach me to roller-skate. His hands hold me securely, keeping me safe from falls.

“Can you stay with me now?” he asks earnestly. There is no condemnation in that question, only concern and love. It is a check to see how I’m doing.

“I think so,” I respond.

My late husband is suddenly standing beside me, watching. “Hold your feet still,” he admonishes, just as he coached children standing in the batter’s box. “Don’t step away. Hold your feet still.”
___________________

The next week, I kneel before cross and candle. “What do you have for me tonight?”

The vision of Christ holding my hands returns. “Are you ready? Can you stay with me now?” At my nod, he suddenly grabs my upper arms and draws me to him in a strong, urgent embrace, the embrace of an impatient and eager lover.

I am held tightly against him, and then suddenly I am falling, falling through him, passing through his heart, covered with blood as I go. I am not pleased with the sensation. I don’t like getting dirty – it’s probably why I don’t like painting.

“It’s OK,” I tell myself. “It’s just blood.”

Then I’m through him and on the other side (though I don’t know what that means) and I can feel the blood interacting with the cells of my body, sort of a foaming, stinging sensation. I look down. My body is transformed – I’m brighter somehow, and I feel…solid, even though I think I might be glowing. It’s still me, but I realize it’s an imperishable me. “So that’s how it works!” I think. I look around, squinting into blinding whiteness. “But where am I?”

Suddenly, I’m back in the chapel by candle and cross. I’m dizzy and overwhelmed.

And I’m left with the distinct impression that I have been given a vision of life, not death – a vision of something that is available to me and to us all, right now, if we can only find the path.

I found this in my journal, dated October 7, 2004:

I am moving into a new home today. I meditate, sinking into my pool of Spirit. The image of the new house is before me.

“Why are you here?” asks the Eternal.

“To write,” I reply.

“Then do it,” she says.

“Why are you here?” asks the Eternal again.

“To be in peace,” I reply.

“Then be in peace,” she responds.

“Why are you here?” she asks a final time.

“To live,” I reply.

“Then LIVE.” states the Eternal.

I ask, “I have received many visions. Moving into this home means that some of them can never occur. Which are the true visions, and how do I tell the difference?”

“There is not a single path, there are many possible paths, depending upon your choices,” responds the Eternal. “They are all true, because they are all paths that I can use to work incredible good. Many paths depend not just upon your choices, but upon the choices of others, some whom you know and some whom you do not. There is no need to point a finger at yourself or at others. There is no need to place blame if the path changes. It will all be good. It’s OK to let the wheel turn.”