In the center of my chest, just above the heart area, there exists a small, tight space. It is open to the top and bottom, like a funnel. The first time I encountered it, the space above it was heavily plastered with fears. In my years of explorations, I have learned not to be afraid of fear and plop right into the center of this bodily sensation. It is not comfortable, and sometimes it takes a little nudge or two to get into its core, but soon enough the fear dissipates and leaves an empty, silent space. It feels like breathing out after a danger is over, and I often linger for a while, enjoying the calm.
But lets get back to the little funnel. Sliding in feels weird, squeezy, claustrophobic. Once I move through it – with a little plopping sound, like a wine cork coming out of a bottle – I find myself in a vast, empty space. I wonder if I am in a cave, but as far as I can stretch, there are no bounds. It is completely, velvety, deliciously dark and absolutely silent. I cannot see, yet I can perceive visually, I cannot hear, yet I can perceive auditorily. I am hovering in this vast, dark, dry ocean and realize that’s what it must feel like to be floating in space.
I used to be afraid of the dark. But this changed when I went camping with friends of mine two decades ago. The campground was on the northern end of the Olympic peninsula in Washington, on the edge of an old growth forest and close to the hot springs. At night it was so utterly and completely dark there, it didn’t make a difference if my eyes were open or closed.
One of my friends challenged me to turn the light off when we went back to the tents in the evening. Walking through the forest in the pitch black I was surprised how little I stumbled or bumped into things – my other senses had taken over. Then we found a spot to lay down and look at the night sky. It was absolutey magnificent! There was no moon that night and I have never in my life seen this many stars before. The milky way was so bright, it really looked like spilled milk. Mars was shiny red, and even Andromeda was easy to spot. Being out with the stars that evening made me realize how small I was, how vast our universe is, yet for some reason it comforted me. I felt the love of the whole existence in that night sky, smiling down at me.
Being in the void feels to me just like looking up at the stars. There is a benevolent presence that I can sense. I know I am safe. I feel loved. I know that I am infinitely powerful.
I used to be afraid of being alone, but this space made me realize that I am never alone! This is where I go when I need to get away from the craziness of these times in physical reality. It gives me the calm, peaceful rest that I crave.
It is also a place of endless possibilities.
I come here often, especially during times of confusion, when everything seems to go around in circles, nothing is moving yet everything is in motion. Coming here takes me back to my roots, gives me clarity, imbues a sense of belonging and nudges me back onto my path.
I can only encourage you to go find your own void! It is nothing to be afraid of and everything to be cherished!