"Somewhere beyond all ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing, there is a field. I will meet you there." Rumi
I close my eyes and focus on wrapping Earth in a rainbow. Each color receives special attention: Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Indigo. Violet. With my mind, I carry each ribbon of the spectrum across the surface of our spinning planet, cradling it first in one direction and then in the other until it looks snug—like a dearly decorated Christmas gift or an infant in a sling. Light radiates from the rainbow Earth, and, as it spins, the light pushes back the rainbow ribbons. On its surface, some people’s souls glow brighter with the shimmering of the rainbows. Others dim and fall away with silent grace and drift out into the universe like snowflakes sinking softly to the ground. I think of a light glowing within my throat and the following words come to mind: Speak truth. Be peace.
The next day, the rainbows have been replaced by candle flames showering the Earth in a warm-orange glow. I see a crystal around my heart begin to shatter, and my mind draws rainbows around my husband and me, simultaneously warming us and cooling us down. Flames burn out from people’s mouths as their thoughts catch fire around the world. Then silence descends, candle light returns, and the soft glow comes from me.
On our third day of meditation, my husband and I sat alone. Instead of closing my eyes, I consulted my oracle cards to guide my mind through the chaos of its thoughts. These urged me to stop pushing rivers and allow life to flow, recognize appreciation when shared and find a way to express myself with strength, grace and sincerity.
Yesterday, I took my meditation in the park, nowhere near 11:11, as I strolled my infant son. At home, my husband built a pretend world with my stepson after posting to Facebook his thoughts on God’s existence independent of religion, and my daughter napped deeply in the safe embrace of her room as I rounded a weatherworn track at the local park. The vision that unfolded happened in real-time as I watched the birds ascend from the ice-speckled ground. First, I saw a small memorial built to honor men who fell in war and, just beyond that, a steeple rising up through the snow. Then, after the signs of politics and religion, was an empty expanse of sun-sparkling snow, spreading out alongside the railroad tracks, reminding me of Rumi’s field which exists somewhere beyond all ideas of right-doing and wrong. The thought, “May this be the future,” lit quickly in my brain. Resting in his carriage, facing toward me, my sleeping son smiled, and we headed home.