Meditations: Jesus Looks Like M. Night Shyamalan?
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree and Rising.
Iâ€™ve been trying to connect with the child whoâ€™s following me but havenâ€™t been very successful. So far, heâ€™s appeared on the edge of my Meditative Forest, a little wary of the man who seems to have taken up residence in this private place in my Dreaming. The man and I often lie on our backs in the lush, green grass and talk, but the childâ€”while completely trusting this manâ€”keeps his distance. It has something to do with this man fearing the child, more so than the child fearing the man. So I donâ€™t force the issue. I donâ€™t send the man away and I donâ€™t force him to interact with the child who also wants to be near me. For now, I let things be.
So the meditations come in fits and spurts this week, sometimes going almost nowhere at all. Other times, they are so fast and complex and jarring that I donâ€™t remember the bulk of them when I open my eyes. Thatâ€™s true in particular of one that blended elements of my old and new spiritualities, in a vision that Christians would consider heretical.
I remember only the last moments of the meditation. The first part was quite long and I was fiercely strategizing and directing actions to protect someone. I canâ€™t remember who now. Male, yes. But I canâ€™t remember if it was a man or boy or what he needed to be protected from, only that matters had become rather dire.
In my meditations, I often am in â€œstructuresâ€ I call â€œmetaphysical houses.â€ They are representative structures of the internal workings of particular people or groups. Iâ€™ve walked through the metaphysical houses of my ex, of The Treat, of old friends and enemies, and even my ownâ€”which usually tends to encompass a vast portion of my old family farm and woods as well as the house. (see todayâ€™s other post for more on this area)
In this particular vision, the structure is one Iâ€™ve never seen in the waking world. It reminds me in some ways of the six-story â€œhigh riseâ€ where I work, but itâ€™s also an ancient stone temple, with a mix of archaic and mystical, torches, and high-tech ops. This isnâ€™t my metaphysical house so much as it seems to belong to a community of people, as if itâ€™s something we have all created by coming together.
Throughout this meditative vision, I am struggling to keep someone safe…and I am failing. I have known where all the ancient keys are to save this person but I need assistance from something Higher. Something must come about in the next few days or weeks or this person/treasure will be lost. And for whatever reason, I have been charged with protecting, with saving, this person. I am viewed as powerful and I am coordinating a huge effort, but I am not powerful enough without help and Iâ€™m growing weary even though I loathe such an admission. Matters are critical. The person I am protectingâ€”although I cannot remember afterward who this person is!â€”is crucial to the success of this communityâ€™s work.
My guides tell me that help will come. That I will receive help from someone Higher. When this happens, it will be a relief. I wonâ€™t have to shoulder this burden alone. I wonâ€™t be relieved of my duties but I will be relieved of the burden. But he will not come forward until it is almost too late. My strength is necessary until then because I am the one who rarely gives up and that is the kind of protector that is needed for this mission.
Many people are around me in this place. I donâ€™t know most of them, yet we are all working for a common purpose. Most are dressed in flowing garments. I note that some are children; others are in their teens. I know by the feel of my skirts on my legs that Iâ€™m a woman but I do not see myself in this vision except through my own eyes. For a long while, I see a boy in the periphery of my vision though he never interacts with me.
A boy in this temple. About 12 years old. Big dark eyes. Black, silky, curly hair at his shoulders. And a fantastic smile. He just seems to light up everything around when he smiles.
Heâ€™s quiet. He doesnâ€™t interfere. He simply watches from the sidelines in his flowing tunic and pants and sashes. When I first see his dark eyes, I think of M. Night Shyamalan. Then I think he looks like a young version of â€œMohinder Sureshâ€ on TVâ€™s â€œHeroes.â€ When I see this child, there is definitely a connection to India, a place Iâ€™ve always had an inexplicable fascination with.
I donâ€™t recall the specifics of my actions up until this point, only that the strategizing and the efforts to keep my charge safe have been fierce and I am refusing to give up. And yet, Iâ€™m informed by a bare-legged girl in a tunic that the critical moment is approaching. I wonâ€™t let him be lost, whoever this charge of mine is, and there are opposing forces so close to winning.
And then I am stalking down the temple corridor, much in the way I used to walk through the halls of the AMRAAM building at a 3.5 mph clip in my red power-suit and matching pumps, except this time I am in flowing robes and very much the High Priestess of this place. A High Priestess on the verge of tears, on the verge of losing my charge, on the verge of failing in my mission.
â€œSomeone Higher is coming to aid you,â€ my guides tell me, but I donâ€™t see anyone new coming to this place. Iâ€™m looking for someone forceful and mighty, athletically strong enough to take my sword and wield it with the same will that I would. But there are no warriors coming to my door. â€œSomeone is coming,â€ my guides insist, â€œand heâ€™ll join your fight.â€
I push forward down the corridor, thinking all the time of how I might re-organize to accomplish what I must in spite of the looming threats. The dark-eyed boy steps in front of me, stopping me. He stands with hands on his slim hips, legs apart, smiling at me.
â€œI am HIM!,â€ he announces.
Suddenly I realize that he is the â€œSomeone Higherâ€ who has come to take control of the situation at the last minute and keep our precious treasure from being lost to other forces. I just stare at him.
â€œYouâ€™re the one who was to come relieve me?â€
â€œI am him!â€ He smiles broadly at me, as if heâ€™s showing me a secret I hadnâ€™t guessed.
I understand what he is telling me. He is the one who will take my efforts and push them through to success. I must be standing with my mouth open. All I can do is murmur a giddy question as recognition pours through me.
He grins and nods. â€œI am him!â€
â€œSanandaâ€ is his Ascended Master name. Most people call him Jesus.