What do you suppose we are made of?  Do you suppose we are only flesh and blood and bone?  What about mind?  What about spirit?  What if I told you we are made to live and breathe and love? 

What if I told you that we are designed to give and receive love endlessly?  What if I told you we cannot live without some love?  What if I told you the planet lives on love?  What if I told you that you could be a transmitter of love if you want to be?  What if I told you we are here to spread the love?

Nestled in a quiet corner of my heart is a story I heard long ago.  It was a story that wound its way into my heart over a hundred years ago.  No, I am not that old! It was a story from another life. 

In that lifetime, I had lived in a war torn country, and although I was born into wealth, I became depressed.  For there were poor people everywhere around me, suffering people.  I decided to try to help them as best I could, which was difficult in that lifetime due to my station:  people of wealth who gave to the poor were thought lesser.

Somewhere in my dreams, an hour or two ago perhaps, I dreamt I had a crystal.  It was pure.  It was the color of liquid silver.  It was buried in my heart.  I also had another crystal.  It, too, was pure.  But its color was of the finest gold.  I dreamt I had a third crystal.  It was not pure.  But it was a beautiful color.  It was the color of dreams.  I had all of them in my heart, but the one that stood out was the one that was the color of dreams.

I was wrapping papers.  When you don’t have wood for kindling, rolling newspapers for the fire will work.  There’s nothing like a winter fire to warm the soul.  She spreads her flames in all directions, each leaping higher than the other. Some are yellow.  Some are orange. Eventually the blue flame emerges when the fire is good and hot.  Meditation is like that.  When you begin meditating, the soul begins clearing out the debris of the day.  The soul releases the tensions of the day. 

I was seventeen.  Life was becoming more complex.  I had nowhere to turn but to God.  My parents were wrapped up in their school life.  Mom was a high school teacher.  Dad was a counselor at the same school.  They were all wrapped up in their own careers.  They did not notice how uncertain I was about life.  I was a good student, was becoming a good cook, and had some respectable extracurriculars.  I didn’t look like I needed help.

The way home was narrow.  Darkness enshrouded us.  A few lights in the distance flickered here and there.  I hoped the jeep did not break down.  I hoped the lions stayed away.  I hoped the giraffe were not on the road.  I hoped the hyenas were safe in their dens.  It’s not safe to be riding around in the dark in Lewa, Kenya, as we were doing.  But the elephants we had seen at sunset were magnificent.  So were the stars in the heavens.  So were the zebra we saw at the side of the road.

A sluggish feeling arose in me.  We were walking home from school one day when I was fifteen years old.  I had to climb a hill to get home.  The road was steep in places.  Sometimes I just had to stop.  The March winds rolled up the valley and tousled my hair.  Why do I remember this day?  I was about to have a nervous breakdown if something did not shift at home.  My dad had made me a promise to never to do something again that he had done.  He had threatened to kill my mom.  Dangerous waters these are.