The Roots of Light

“Mine dwells in the heart, and neither enters nor leaves.”— Mirabai, translated by Jane Hirshfield

“Trust is your light. Work on it.” — Kathy

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” — John 1:1

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October has always been an intense month, and this year is certainly living up to its reputation. My daughter is here from Portland, and we've been spending time together every day, including an entire afternoon yesterday getting our hair done. My oldest son arrives Saturday with his puppy, Kiwi, which means none of the pups, or their humans, particularly my son and me, will be getting much sleep before I leave for the Outer Banks on Sunday.

Kiwi and my German Shepherd, Sascha Khan, adore each other, but they get so excited playing that settling down becomes almost impossible. My other dog, Sirius Rose, is naturally anxious and very attached to me, and I've never left her for more than two days. Fortunately, my daughter is the animal whisperer in our family, which is one of the reasons my sons and I flew her here for two weeks. She works with an equine veterinarian throughout Oregon and Washington and is finishing her undergraduate degree this year with the goal of becoming an equine therapist. She has a remarkable way with animals, and I can't imagine anyone better to care for Sirius while I'm away.

There is something wonderful about having everyone home, particularly when our opportunities to be together are becoming less frequent. My children have work, partners, and other families with whom they'll be spending the holidays, so this may be our last gathering for quite some time. Their uncle is coming for a couple of days, too, giving everyone a chance to reconnect, catch up, and cheer on our beloved Baltimore Ravens together. My daughter and her dad are also helping a dear friend return to her own home after recovering in a nursing facility from a horse-related injury, and I'm so happy she'll finally be home again.

The timing is a little bittersweet because I'll be leaving Sunday for a week at the Outer Banks, a trip I've been looking forward to for months. Part of me would love to stay and enjoy every minute of having everyone together, but I'm also delighted that they have their own plans and will be making memories while I'm away. I'll be doing the same with dear friends, enjoying a week at the ocean that I've been anticipating for quite some time. There is much to look forward to on both sides of that eight-hour drive, and I'm grateful that we all have these opportunities to enjoy the people we love.

Work has suddenly become incredibly busy after an already intense year, with a major renewal underway and several customers moving forward with our software. The book I've been working on for twenty-five years finally has a substantial draft, and I'm finding it difficult to pull myself away from that as well. I'll undoubtedly be working some while I'm at the beach, but I intend to enjoy the ocean, explore the vintage shops, and perhaps see the wild horses.

Today marks nine years since Kathy left her mortal coil, and I've been thinking about her quite a bit as I prepare to return to the Outer Banks. I spent so much time there with her during those early years when my understanding of life, God, and creation was changing in ways I could never have imagined. Returning to a place filled with memories of her during this particular week feels especially meaningful, and I'm looking forward to the ocean, the company of dear friends, and whatever the days bring.

In the middle of all this, I found myself transported back to my childhood by a trailer for Greta Gerwig's upcoming adaptation of The Magician's Nephew. C. S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia were my favorite books growing up, and I read them many times, so I've been looking forward to seeing what Gerwig would bring to the story. I've always thought she was a wonderfully creative filmmaker, and when I saw her vision of Aslan appearing within and as the stars and galaxies themselves, roaring creation into existence, I was captivated.

In Lewis's story, Aslan sings Narnia into being, awakening a world that had been silent and empty. Watching that image, I thought about how differently I understand creation today than I did as the little girl who first fell in love with those books. Sant Mat teaches that the Shabd, the divine Sound Current, is the creative and sustaining power of the universe, present throughout creation and drawing the soul back toward its Source.

I've always been fascinated by the ways we try to understand creation, whether through the imagination of a writer, the vision of a filmmaker, or the discoveries of scientists looking ever more deeply into the workings of the universe. Earlier this week, I came across a discovery at CERN involving matter and antimatter, as researchers continue investigating why matter survived in the early universe. I love seeing science explore these mysteries in its own language, revealing more about the physical processes that made our universe possible, while meditation opens an entirely different way of approaching the mystery of existence.

Sometimes an artist captures an image that feels strangely familiar, or a scientific discovery brings to mind something the Masters have taught about creation. I don't assume that either is describing the Shabd, but I love those moments when something in the world around me reminds me of the greater reality toward which meditation directs our attention. Before meeting Kathy, I had encounters with Amma, the Indian spiritual teacher known for embracing people around the world, and Gurumayi, the spiritual head of the Siddha Yoga tradition.

Both encounters left me with experiences I couldn't explain at the time, but which stayed with me. It was through Kathy, and her connection to the Shabd, the inner Sound Current, that I began to turn my attention more deeply inward, toward the Source of All. What had once seemed mysterious gradually became part of a daily practice of meditation under the guidance of a living Master.

Shortly before Kathy left her physical body, she asked me to go to the redwoods because she told me the trees were sick. I understood that she wanted me to meditate directly on one of them, and she explained that I didn't need to concern myself with healing the entire forest. By helping even one tree, I would be helping the others because of their interconnected root system, although I didn't fully understand the significance of what she was telling me at the time.

Deep in the redwood forest, I found two trees growing close enough together that I could climb up and settle between them to meditate. A fine mist of rain drifted through the towering trees, and I was completely alone in a silence that seemed to envelop the entire forest. It felt as though I had wandered into Narnia, a world both familiar and mysterious, and there among those ancient trees I sat in meditation, remembering what Kathy had asked of me.

During the year I lived in San Francisco after Kathy's departure, I had an experience in meditation that I have never forgotten. I saw initiates living across the country connected by an immense underground network of brilliant roots of light, extending from one person to another like an enormous generator beneath the surface of the world. I immediately understood what Kathy had been telling me about the redwoods, and the image has remained with me all these years.

We don't generally discuss our inner experiences, and I've always respected that, but I feel comfortable sharing this one. I understood the connection between the initiates and the redwoods when I had the experience, yet now, nearly nine years after Kathy's departure, I find myself seeing something more in what she was showing me. Perhaps it's because I have spent so many years watching the lives of initiates intersect with one another and with people who may never know anything about the Path.

For many years, a number of us who are initiates have worked together at a computer software company David founded with other initiates. Through our work, we've developed relationships with people at some of the largest companies in the world, many of which have continued for decades. Some of those people have eventually come to work with us, and our lives have intersected in ways we could never have anticipated. We understand this work as seva, particularly because the company helps support our spiritual community and the many people David assists, but there is also an unseen dimension to these connections that I find myself thinking about more and more.

I sometimes wonder about the countless ways our lives touch one another and how much may happen through those connections that we'll never know. The people we meet, the work we do, and the kindness we offer may have consequences far beyond anything we can recognize at the time. And while so much of that remains unseen, there are also changes in our own lives that become more apparent as the years pass, sometimes in ways we never expected.

This year has brought one of those changes for me. After twenty-four years of taking pain medication to manage pain associated with several chronic autoimmune disorders, I'm now almost completely off it, and I've been doing surprisingly well. I've become much more mindful of what I eat, the supplements I take, and how I care for my body, and I believe all of these changes are helping. I've continued working out regularly, and exercise has become such an important part of my life that I found a gym I can use while I'm at the beach.

I have a workout after work today, and I'm looking forward to walking along the ocean and practicing yoga while I'm away. I plan to continue both walking and yoga when I return home, alongside my regular workouts. I'm also enjoying taking care of myself in other ways, whether that's spending an afternoon getting my hair done with my daughter or making time for a facial. After so many years of dealing with pain and the demands of everyday life, I'm appreciating how good it feels to take care of this body that has carried me through so much while learning new ways to navigate daily pain.

Making time for exercise has reminded me of the importance of making time for the things that sustain us. Meditation has been the foundation of my life for more than thirty years, and I know how easily the demands of everyday life can pull at our attention. The Masters ask initiated disciples to devote two and a half hours daily to meditation, and that commitment requires us to make room for it among all the other things we need and want to do.

I often think about the value of making a sincere six-month commitment to daily meditation, particularly for those who struggle to establish a regular practice. Six months of sitting every day, without demanding results or waiting for perfect circumstances, gives us an opportunity to begin changing the habits of a lifetime. Kathy used to remind us that when we were struggling to sit, we could begin with just three and a half minutes, knowing that once we were in the chair, we had already overcome one of the mind's greatest obstacles.

Over the years, meditation has changed my relationship with worry in ways I couldn't have imagined when I first began. I do everything I can to take care of my responsibilities, whether that means preparing for a major business negotiation or making sure my pups will be comfortable and loved while I'm away, and then I let go. When I drive away on Sunday, I'll leave Sirius and Sascha in God's hands, knowing I've done everything I can to prepare for their care.

Of course I'll call and check on them, particularly Sirius, but I won't spend the week worrying about what might be happening at home. More than thirty years of meditation have taught me the freedom of being present where I am, rather than allowing my mind to carry me somewhere else. I want to be with my friends, enjoy the ocean, and appreciate this opportunity to spend time with people I love, while trusting that everything at home is unfolding as it should.

Nearly nine years after Kathy's departure, I continue to discover new meaning in things she told me and experiences I had along the way. I miss her physical presence, especially at this time of year, and the connection she gave me to the Shabd remains the center of my life through every change and circumstance. As I prepare to return to the ocean, I find myself grateful for the life unfolding around me, for the people I love, and for the connections that remain even when we're far apart.

I will continue turning inward each day, caring for the people and responsibilities immediately before me, and leaving what I cannot control in God's hands. I don't need to understand how far those roots extend or what may be happening beneath the surface of our lives. I trust that the connections beneath all my relationships cannot be broken, because those roots are made of God's Light.