Meditative Work â€“ the Long Hall (Haul)
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree Curves.
I am in a dark hall, wandering. The ceiling is low and the walls are made of stones, grayish and larger than my hands, with grout thatâ€™s Â blackened. This is an old place. The floor is either dirt or stone thatâ€™s as smooth as concrete.
I donâ€™t feel the floor under my feet because I seem to be floating along the hall. Iâ€™m aware of a light at the end of this tunnel/hall but Iâ€™m not looking at it. Instead, Iâ€™m focused on the doors on either side of the hall.
To the left is a large wooden door with ironwork for hinges Â and Â handles. Â Light Â spills Â out Â from Â behind Â it. Bright, intensely bright light. Thereâ€™s someone behind the door but I canâ€™t see who it is. The light shines through on all sides, illuminating the darkness in the stone corridor.
Farther down the hall is another doorway. Itâ€™s open. I donâ€™t Â even Â see Â a Â door. Â Just Â an Â opening Â in Â the Â stone. Thereâ€™s a man in the doorway. Itâ€™s him. He stands there, sometimes leaning into the hall and looking back instead of looking Â forward Â toward Â theÂ light Â somewhere Â at Â the other end of the corridor.
As I near him, I can see the glowÂ around him. So much darkness around him that I can hardly see his face. Heâ€™s in a shirt and pants, hands outstretched to clasp the openingâ€™s frame on either side and to keep his balance, so he neither plunges forward nor backward into the hallway but canâ€™t go back into the room behind him.
Heâ€™s silhouetted against a huge furnace behind him. Lots of energy and fireâ€¦and heat. But the heat is so in- tense, he cannot stay here much longer. It spurs him to action but he still doesnâ€™t move. The heat is comfortable and known, but it pushes him to move into the unknown of the corridor and heâ€™s conflicted over leaving the safety of what he Â knows and leaping back into the movement stream of time inside the long hall.
I, in my floating state, am omnipresent, and Iâ€™m suddenly back at Â the first door, seeing the light around the edges and looking in the distance at the man in the door- way of the furnace room.
The closed door bursts open, falling flat into the hall, and light streams out from behind a woman in the door- way. I canâ€™t see her face, Â but I recognize her. Sheâ€™s the way I sometimes see myself in the astral: Â taller, thinner, longer hair, flow-y white dress that flutters at my ankles like curtains in the summer breeze. Sheâ€™s me.
Sheâ€™s also barefoot and has just kicked down the door that was holding her back.
She steps forcefully Â into the hall and I merge with her, feel her stalking purposefully down the hall. She/We reach the man in the doorway and donâ€™t slow down. He waits until I am even with him and leaps into the corridor with us, taking my hand, running to match my stride. And then weâ€™re running forward, hand in hand, not looking at the Â darkness Â behind Â us or any lightÂ ahead but at each other. And smiling. Neither of us has to walk this corridor alone.