By Annmarie Early

I’ve always had a desire to treasure hunt—to search for a hidden gem tucked away amidst the forgotten or long since buried.  As a child, it compelled me up into the tan earth of the one hill in my neighborhood in search of something sparkly or ancient.  I would look amongst the scrub brush for geodes and wander upwards in search of caves inhabited by those who came long before me. I often found only some cast off trash or a snuffed out fire made by the local teenagers crouched down engaged in their own form of mischief.  None-the-less, I searched.

 I remember waiting outside my classroom in 3^rdgrade hoping it had been decorated for Christmas, wanting to experience the delight of a normal space turned overnight into a wonderland. Building tumbleweed forts and stepping over cracks to beckon good luck, my world was filled with expectation to be met by life in an extraordinary way.

 It was also filled with prayers of deliverance and soul calls for reprieve where the unseen world was my last great hope for reception.  I would read my Bible in search of guidance allowing verses to comfort and with long cast eyes into the shadows wondering if anything was there to give aid.  I remember the tall, blue figure who stood at the foot of my bed. I can’t remember now if it was an image of fear or one of comfort. All I remember was that it was there, my eyes saw him.

 The world began to crack open when the voices within found volitional steps forward where I would hear, “There is more to this life, go look.”  After a powerful conversion experience, the Bible became my secret text filled with meaning and messages for a companioned life.  Jesus was my guide and I was listening for my marching orders. But, as these things go, it was also filled with rules and expectations—the requirements for admittance. Life became jumbled once again and the ache of silence more common than the magic.

 I don’t know if it was the treasure hunting in thrift stores or the happening on garage sales in search of magic to arrive that slowly blew air on my dwindling fire, but, over time—with a few direct interceptions—the sparkle returned. “if there isn’t more to this life than simply living, I don’t want to live it.”

 I had to leave the boxes and risk setting out on a new course for magic to awaken.  The world didn’t change. I changed in relationship to the world.  Stepping stones were placed in my path— and once a garden hose to trip me up and knock me flat to the concrete ground, but I ended up in an energy workers office and I allowed myself to venture toward the edges in order to listen.  I said yes to the opportunities that taught me to expand beyond my skin and I learned what true centering is all about.  I was returning home after being gone for so long.

 For a time, I needed the magic to be stupendous and so I looked and waited for all things extraordinary. Now, however, it is just where I abide. The trees talk, the winds sings. The garden hoses of life that trip me up and gain my attention, reminding me to listen.  There is a feeling to it all that has a rightness where separation becomes a beacon to return rather than resist.  It truly is all around us and it is waiting for me, for you, to ready and receive.  The world really will rise to meet you—it already has been.

 I remember standing on the top of a mountain at the break of dawn in Tres Cruces Peru—one of two places in the world where you can look directly into the sun for 20 minutes at breaking dawn without burning your eyes. The story to get us there is one worth telling for it was an insane adventure, but, for now, there I was. The wonder of that moment of absolute union in the awesome color display of volcanic fire merged with infinite light, always together in the symphony of creation. I was in the fullness of that dawn and the dawn was me.  I can feel the wonder of it all as I sit and write in quiet of this early December morning as tears well within me. The beauty of that moment is every moment—it just depends how I stand and whether I’m willing to allow.

 I haven’t yet checked if the snowflakes are now falling, but as I rise from this writing I will put my parka on, pull on my boots, and walk out into the magic that waits in this emerging morning for communion.  From within the breath of the deep centered knowing comes forth the infinite in a single snowflake.  Allow the breath to carry you inward and open to make contact with all that is, for you, too, are divinely connected in this vast web of magic that surrounds us all.