Hold Somebody’s Hand

I want to tell you about a magical experience I had. It came to me in a dream.

It was dark.

I was a point in space. I was not a person, I was an awareness. I was way out there, in the dark, star-filled, universe, floating in a slow orbit. There was no planet earth. I was floating engulfed by the planets and the stars. Imagine, it was night, and from where you were, the stars were above, below, and, in every direction. That is how it felt, there was no ground.

I was suspended and gliding, alone in the universe, yet I felt like everybody was with me. It was a vast expanse, everything seemed fixed, in perpetual slow-motion. I felt privileged to be riding this wondrous carousel.  A wicked chill was in the air, a continuous, ravaging wind, had produce a galactic whistling. It was like an open air concerto, an audio and visual delight.  I did not have a face but, I could feel the chill in the breeze. I was not afraid, there was nothing to be afraid of.  I must have been in orbit, forever, and then, it happened.

At a distance, east of my center, I saw a movement. Far, amidst the distant stars, there was something, coming in my direction.  I was transfixed on this unidentified flying object, until I finally recognized it. It was an undulating flying blanket. I was surprised. Like, no way, a flying blanket?  Flying blankets are not real. It was moving, the way a stingray moves in the water, occasionally illuminated by the distant stars. It was riding an air stream and slowly approached, the way a space ship would approach in space movies, finally becoming massive as it passes over.

It was a flying blanket, a sight I wish, you could all see. I wish you were there with me. The threads in the blanket were of every color.  It looked like a quilt grandma would make, with different pieces of cloth. It was large enough to cover the entire milky way. As it approached closer, I could notice that this immense, colorful blanket had dangling threads. For the most part, it was fine, but in some parts of the blanket, there were holes.  At the holes, the threads were falling apart and barely hanging on.  Yet, it was beautiful, in spite of the sporadic tears in the fabric.

And then, I was blown away when I noticed that he blanket was made of people.  It was everybody, it was all of us, every last one. It was every woman and every man. There was no one that has ever lived, that was not there. Some were dressed in their work clothes. Others with their traditional costumes. I saw a lot of service people. Most were just regular folks. It was the biggest blanket, I have ever seen and it was on the move.  The threads in the blanket were made of human beings. The blanket was held together by people holding hands. Where the holes were, for some reason, the people had let go of each other. Where the blanket was strong, the people were holding on to each other.

Then, as in a flash, I saw the people in the blanket as positive and negative symbols. There it was, it was mathematical. Those holding hands, with their arms outstretched looked like the positive symbol. Those that refused to hold hands, with their arms down, looked like the negative sign, and the dangling threads were people barely hanging on. The symbolism was awesome. It was simple.

It slowly passed over me and I felt infinitesimal.  I was humbled and at that moment, I felt like I was looking at God.

So, I say, no matter what, no matter how discouraged you feel, don’t let go,

hold somebody’s hand.

The Greatest Story Ever Told

It was told by a simple man, whose simplicity and bare circumstances allowed him to think clearly and made him wise. Some say he was a slave. His name was Aesop. They say he was Greek but his fables remind me of the wisdom found in African folklore.

The Dog And The Bone

There is a lucky dog who does not know how lucky he is. He has a bone, in his mouth, the dream of every dog. The only way the dog can lose the bone, is if he decides to let it go.

The dog then has a rather mundane experience looking over a puddle of water, where he believes he sees another dog, looking right at him, with a bone in his mouth, and that bone, appears to be a better bone than the one he already has. Keep in mind, the dog already has a bone, and there is nothing wrong with the one he has.

So, the dog decides to trade the bone he has in his possession for the one in the reflection. He let go of the real bone for the one that looked real. In the process, he got none.

Poor dog, right, not really, the story has nothing to do with a dog.

The bone in the story, that is your life. The reflection, that’s the afterlife. The puddle… look around.