I close my eyes and wait. Sometimes He is here moving around. Sometimes it's only feet. Sometimes he sits motionless in his chair. Sometimes there is nothing but presence. Sometimes nothing. Even after that body has been buried under marble it's still somewhere here inside this stone sarcophagus called Jackie. Sometimes there is sound. Sometimes silence. Sometimes light. Sometimes dark. Sometimes flashes of memory of interaction with Him. Sometimes strands of thought pass like clouds. It's not like I have anything to do with it. Just seems to 'do' itself. Whatever meditation used to happen all those years ago (for hours and hours) is very different now. Can't make it happen. It happened all by itself then and whatever is happening now...same thing.
The last dream I had before He left his form came after reading about how He once, while playing with childhood companions, was rapidly tossing a ball of garland strung jasmine flowers to a number of them. Each saw him as tossing the ball only to him/her and no one else. He told them later it was akin to Krishna dancing with each Gopi individually at the same time. After reading this I had such a longing to have been there in that play with Him and the companions.
That night I dreamed he came to me, lifted my bare feet onto his (like a father would his little girl) and we twirled and waltzed for hours. It was the 'last dance' while he still had that form. After He left his body I understood. My feet never touched the ground in the dance. I did nothing but ride along on his feet in the most incredible dance. Isn't that what we're doing all of the time? Form or no form...we are dancing. No meditating...just dancing.
