He seemed familiar. Not his looks, but the feel of him. He stopped short, about ten feet from me, took a breath, pivoted toward me, and walked up to where I was seated. The smile on his face was so broad, I felt as though he was seeing a long-lost loved one, which… I didn’t know how to reconcile myself with that, given that I was happy to see him, but not that happy. I knew him, somehow, but not on the level of long-lost loved one.

He was one of “my people” and I knew I could trust him. Somehow, I knew both of these things, without really knowing who he was or how I knew. I watched him walk toward me, a distance that could have been crossed in exactly three strides. His approach, though, seemed to take days. His smile grew broader with each step; he clearly recognized me. I felt I knew him, but couldn’t place him. I didn’t know how I knew him or where I had met him.

I opened my mouth to question him and before I could, he answered, “Unveil your magic.”

Confused, I scrunched up my face and asked, “Excuse me?”

“Unveil your magic. With Megan. That’s how.”

He had answered my thoughts, but I was far from unnerved. In fact, I was thrilled. I always love it when one of my Tribe reveals themselves to me so we can revel together. I studied his face, trying to place him, but was still unsuccessful. His hair was different. Or, maybe it was his beard? I don’t know. Nothing about his physical appearance struck a chord of remembrance for me, but everything about how he felt to me did.

Without asking permission, he sat in the chair across from me. I closed my laptop and began throwing questions out, trying to get my physical self to catch up with what my soul knew without doubt and without answers. He chose to answer only one of my questions: “What has been going on in your world?”

“I’ve just recently returned from L.A. Do you know…” he rattled off some Sanskrit name that sounded really cool, but I didn’t recognize, so his answer didn’t help me in understanding how I knew him.

He didn’t tell me his name. He didn’t tell me how we had interacted with one another at the event he had mentioned. He didn’t answer whether he had been the man sitting next to me or if he had changed his hair or if his beard was new. He provided none of the information one usually provides when establishing identification. He simply sat there, smiling.

Shifting in my seat, I leaned upon the table, plopping my arms across my laptop toward him to open up and lean into the space between us. Instinctively, he took hold of my hands. There I was, in a public place, holding hands with a man I did/didn’t know and everything about that felt normal.

Seconds later, without blinking, he locked his eyes on mine and we fell into the trance-like state of the spiritual practice of eye gazing. I had done eye gazing before at events – maybe, even, at the event where, apparently, we had first met, although I don’t know because I’ve retained very little in my memory about that event. I’ve done eye gazing in groups after we had spent long hours together in experiential learning and healing. It’s usually done toward the end of the event because the level of intimacy required to be willing to connect like that and the deeper intimacy it creates while in the process.

I have never done it in a public space, of my own volition, and without being guided to do so by a facilitator. I said as much. He said nothing – only smiled.

I asked questions. He remained mute. I talked. He was silent. I shifted. He was still. I blinked. He did not. I tapped my feet. His feet were still. I sighed. He sighed. I breathed deeply. He sighed. I giggled. He grinned. I trembled. He breathed. I resisted the connection. He breathed deeply, as tears filled his left eye.

Then, I heard a voice in my head, “Let go. Allow.”

I timidly brought down my guard. Both of his eyes filled with tears, brimming on his lashes.

“Let go, Angie. Allow. Receive.”

It wasn’t his voice. It wasn’t my voice. I don’t know whose voice it was, but it wasn’t either of us. However, it was a voice I trusted. It was a sacred, safe voice.

“Allow. Receive. Angie, receive.”

And, so, I did. I relented. And he breathed deep, as the tears spilled down his face.

I let go of my need to fill the space with words. I let go of my guard. I let go of my thoughts. I let go of all awareness of what was happening in the space. And I lost myself in the experience.

Centuries later, he slowly let go of my hands, but he didn’t move. I think in the nearly 30 minutes we had sat there, connected and dropping into one another’s eyes, he blinked maybe three times and said no more than four single-syllable words. For five more minutes, without our hands holding onto one another, he sat still before me, eyes locked on mine, tears on his lashes and occasionally spilling forth.

“I love you,” he said, quietly and the tears fell again.

I smiled. “I love you.”

Then he stood, his eyes still holding mine, brought his hands to prayer pose at his heart chakra, and bowed forward, his eyes holding mine until he was bent at a full 90-degree angle and his crown chakra was level with my heart chakra. Then he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, they found mine, and held my gaze as he straightened. Then he turned, walked away at a rate and cadence that was more like floating than it was walking, and disappeared around the corner.

For several minutes, I sat there, unable to move, barely breathing.

The experience showed me how willing I am, once I stop being not willing. It showed me my fears and that I can conquer them. It showed me I can love without consuming or possessing. It showed me that I am capable of immense depths of reciprocal energy with someone I barely know.

And, most importantly, it reminded me of the reason I am here – a reason that I often forget in this demanding, drama-riddled, rushing, go-go-go world… it reminded me that I am here to connect with other beings and to share the light of love as deeply as I possibly can.

Thank you, my familiar-stranger-friend-loved one, for the reminder of the Divine.


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