Mystic in the Coke Bottle

(Note: this is about the moment of ‘coming back’ from one of my early mystical experiences.)

I am squeezed back into a tight, tight life. I stumble to find my balance, open my eyes and know from the sharp shapes and muted hues that I am back in the physical realm. I hurry to throw myself against the glass pressing fast against my mind. I lean my cheek against the cold transparent wall, bang my fists thud, thud, thud, and cry out, “Pleeease noooo! I don’t belong here! Pleeeease!”

Every word I speak inside this Coke bottle echoes back in deadened, distorted syllables. The thick, wavy glass obscures my view; I can only see what is right in front of me. My physical senses feel validated and worthy in such close quarters. My spirit, however, refuses to yield to such limitation. Thank goodness, for it alone knows the way home.

 

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