Where You Were Always Aimed

Something in you has been forming all season. Quietly, without asking permission. This guided meditation brings you into an open field under a rare full moon — the second of the month, the one that wasn't owed but came anyway. A fire burns in the middle distance. The fire shows you what you were almost ready to know. One question waits at the center. 28 minutes. Lie down.

Transcript

Something in you is already full. Full the way a fruit is full in the vine before it's picked. The growing season has been long. Whatever you've been carrying, It has arrived at its own brightness. Notice that fullness now. Not the breath. Not the floor. Just the quality. Where does it live in you? Chest. Belly. The backs of your hands. Somewhere in the body, Something says. This has been building. And now it's here. Let that be where we begin. The room opens. The ceiling is sky. You are lying in open air late spring. After dark. And the air is warm and still. Carrying the smell of grass. And earth. And things in full flower. The world around you is at its deepest greed. Every tree is in full leaf. Every field is high. And the moon The moon tonight is completely. . . Unreservedly. Round and full. And close. Flooding the landscape with a light so clear. You can read the ground by it. You can see the far hills. You could see the horizon. Not as a wall. But as an opening. This moon came twice this month. And once was not enough to contain it. You're standing inside what it couldn't hold. You are in the center of an enormous field. The kind of feel that makes you want to open your arms just to take it in. Or turn in a slow circle to see how far it goes. The sky overhead is immense. The stars behind the moon's brightness are still there. Faint in many. Somewhere ahead. Not far. There is a fire. A real fire. Not a suggestion of one. You can see it. And you can feel its warmth before you arrive. It is burning quietly. Steadily. Someone built it well. It has been going for a while. You move toward it. You stand at the edge of the fire. The heat reaches your face. And above it. The whole sky is still there. The vast open dark. The enormous moon. Heat close on your skin. And the entire night around you. The body holds both without being asked to choose. Look into the fire not searching. Not demanding. Just look. Fire shows you things you are almost ready to know. Not new things. Things you've been approaching for a long time. The fire doesn't invent it. It only brings forward hope. The fire shows what has been forming. Whatever that is not something you announced. Not something you ask permission for. Quietly. The part of you that works while you're doing other things. Something has been finding its form. Taking aim Feel it now. Not as an idea. In the body. There is a direction you are pointed in. If what you find is steadier than hope. Older than home. Let it be that. Where do you feel the pull? One question. Hold it with the fire what is already true about where you are going. That you haven't said aloud yet. Not to anyone else. Not even to yourself. In words. Just true. Already in motion. Let the fire begin to settle the flames lower. The coals glow. The warmth remains. You brought it in with you. It was already in you when you arrived. The fire only showed it. The moon is still full. This is where you are always aimed. Let the landscape dissolve. The field. The fire the enormous skies. You are in this room. This floor beneath you. The weight of your own body. When you are ready. Let your eyes find the light in this room.