Christmas has forever been my favorite holiday:
The thrill of expectation, the excitement of getting presents, the jittery anticipation of hoping that next gift contains exactly what you always
wanted... all those things combine into a amazing event that arrives only once a year.
Thick snowfall and steaming mugs of hot chocolate and long strands of twinkling rainbow lights all combine towards making that end of year celebration
a magical time of year. Sleighrides and sledding and snowball fights twine into a melange of merriment that always make it something special.
But honestly, truthfully, (and in confidence just between us) I don't know if I'll be celebrating Christmas anymore. I'll go through the motions, I'll
do everything I can towards making the season bright and cheerful for others--but for myself? That whole show is forever spoiled.
Every corporeal Christmas has been ruined, because sometime ago I realized: the gift I really want won't ever be appearing.
So for me that season is ruined. Because to me that process brings nothing but pain.
Does that seem a little selfish? Perhaps a bit snotty and spoiled?
Do I sound like a whiny little kid throwing a tantrum?
Maybe--but withhold judgment until I explain.
Each year there'll be ribbon-twined presents wrapped under a tinsel-twined tree, and each year there'll be zero chance of getting what I really
So the whole show becomes a giant wash--because no amount of reindeer magic will ever deliver what I desperately desire.
Because--quite literally--the present I really want doesn't exist in this world.
I gift I desperately desire isn't incarnate in this plane.
Years ago I began having a recurring series of dreams. They took place in a variety of gorgeous locales, with the one commonality between them being
the other person involved.
Besides myself there'd always be one other--she's golden-haired and azure-eyed and tiny and bright. She glitters like rainbows and sparkles like
In short, she's breathtaking. And at random nights in random dreams we'd meet and have crazy fun.
We'd sit in a dream-restaurant and talk, we'd ski down the slopes of an impossible mountain, we'd meet in classroom and university settings seated
beside each other whilst ignoring the lecturer.
But regardless the location and no matter the scene, we'd always bounce and sing and laugh and dance--and have an amazing time.
I've got this ritual before I go to bed. I ward my sleep using an Buddhist Qigong method I got from the book
. And as part of that process, each night I thank God and sages and saints and Buddhas and bodhisattvas--then I'd
offer a few brief prayers for what I wanted.
And eventually I settling into a ritual, for those prayers I always ended in the same way:
I prayed to see more of that girl. I prayed she'd appear in my dreams.
Because somehow, some way, she felt intimately familiar.
At this point I should throw in some caveats: I'm not a social recluse. I'm not a hideous dude. I've had my share of girlfriends in the waking world,
and I've never found myself at a desperate loss for female companionship.
Yet I always found myself praying for more of her.
Because there was something special about this girl in my dreams. There was a magnetic attraction between us that remained undeniable across time and
space and dimensional spheres.
And at last it reached a tipping point.
Deep in meditation the brain shuts off and the spirit emerges from its biokinetically induced slumber. You enter a half-dreaming state of self-induced
hypnosis that proves apt for recalling deep-seated memories and impressions.
And it was in the depths of meditation one day that I asked for something unusual.
While floating in that empty space of non-thought, years after those dreams began, for the first time I made an impulsive request.
I asked to see more of the girl.
And I found my wish granted.
Instantly into my mind streamed a constant array of pictures. Instantly through my thoughts flowed endless images of that girl.
And I instantly reacted in a way I never expected:
Tears started streaming from my closed eyes and I began sobbing hard. I broke off meditation then in my mind wept:
"I know her, I know her. Oh, God--I remember her! I want her back! I want her back!"
Her name is Rachel. She's my best friend and soulmate--and for forever she's been my wife.
But in this life she couldn't incarnate with me. My life design wouldn't have worked out with her present. It would've crashed and burned and fallen
apart in a million places as we laughed and joked and ran off into the sunset together.
So in the spirit world she remained. And there she's awaiting my return.
And all this I discovered, because that one powerful encounter in the depths of meditation sent me on a long quest to learn more.
In the Peruvian Amazon there's a village called Llucayanacu on the shores of the Hullaga river. And there lurks a center operated by my friend, the
shaman Orlando Chujandama
To him I went on a mission seeking knowledge. I went on a journey searching for Rachel.
I flew countless miles and drove up landslide-covered mountain roads and canoed down the Amazon basin to reach his center. Because only there could I
Only there could we really talk.
And there, in a nondescript hut called a Maloka, in a tiny poor village in the middle of nowhere, I drank a full cup of la medicina ayahuasca.
And in that tiny village I found my wife. She was waiting for me there, too.
She already knew I'd arrive. She knew I'd come searching for her, and she was ready.
Our spirits touched and our souls entwined, and I heard her voice inside my head.
"Is it love, Rachie?" I asked.
"It's love, baby!" she ecstatically replied.
What more we said and what other feelings we expressed will forever remain private. But throughout it all I had a vision of her and I standing
together in the clouds gazing towards a glorious sunrise. With my arm around her shoulders and hers around my waist we stood there looking blonde and
beautiful and flawless and radiant--forever entwined in eternal love.
One day I'll be there again with her. But for now I'm here on assignment.
And that, my friends, is why Christmas is forever ruined--
Because she's all that I want, and I won't get her until this life is over.
She's waiting and waiting and waiting--and I'm here waiting longer, because there time doesn't exist.
There, to her, it'll be like a few seconds passed before I'm back from this life.
Here, to me, it'll be a painful eternity before I see my pretty princess again.
She's my tiny little angel. She's my perfect Rainbow Bright.
She's been my wife and best friend since before time began.
So for me there won't be any other girls. There won't be any more wasted efforts at corporeal romance.
There'll just be an endless eternity of knowing she's out there waiting--and a disappointing string of Christmases until that day arrives.
But towards each I'm looking forward in a strange sort of way. Because each brings me nearer the only gift I crave.
Each passing day brings me one day closer to my real Christmas.
Each passing moment shuttles me back nearer her arms.
edit on 22-8-2015 by Trachel because: (no reason given)