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Tractor Beam




When I sit down to meditate each morning, getting to my seat is the all the work I need to do. With my cup of coffee, I get comfortable. I light a single piece of sage on fire and watch the light grow for a second or two before blowing it away. The light transform into a small column of smoke. As it rises, the smell of ritual surrounds me. 


I am in no rush to push my mind into stillness. Caffeine slowly finds my brain and brings clarity. My thoughts wander all over the place. Petty, angry, annoyed, fearful, loving, hopeful. Thoughts flicker through like a multitude of cats competing for my attention. I do nothing to corral them. I play with them, make them important for a moment until we get bored with each other and they wander away.


My meditation comes on me slowly. Getting myself to my seat is enough to signal to the Universe that I am ready and willing to engage my spiritual practice. And then I let it come to me. Like a tractor beam, I am drawn effortlessly into a higher state of consciousness. I allow it. I welcome it. I cannot force it.


For years I gripped the wheel and leaned forward, glaring out the windshield through the pouring rain of my inner nonsense. The irregular wiper action of my early practice clearing away the blurring thoughts for a few seconds before they rush back blinding me once again.


Now, I let myself be chauffeured. Like riding in the back seat of a luxury car, I let myself be carried along. I pay no attention to the gas or the brake. I give up responsibility of navigating the way.


It’s the same with sex with my partner. We have a deeply satisfying sexual connection and I feel a similar tractor beam attached to our regular need for one another and the powerful orgasms that erupt between our bodies. 


The embodied memory of his cock pulsing deep pulls at me gently and slowly across time and space. Like the gravity of the sun pulling at comets at the far reaches of our solar system. Slowly, imperceptibly, every few days, the pull accelerates as I am drawn toward our reunion. Speed increases. Heat builds. I surrender to its power. Pulled deep into its obliterating healing vortex until we both emerge on the other side transformed.


When I sit to meditate and the tractor beam has lifted me into alignment, an energetic ecstasy flows up my spine and I find myself swimming upward into a river of light. For years, I looked so hard for answers. Meditating daily, exploring with plant medicines and twisting my body into shapes in search of some embodied truth. Some real knowing. Some identifiable difference. For freedom from myself and my ugliness. My imperfection and humanness. To rid myself of the parts of myself I didn’t want to see. Or perhaps more truthfully, the parts I didn’t want others to see.


But now, I appreciate the gift of those shadows because without them I wouldn’t see my light. And the way to an evolved version of myself is not to cut my anchors but to be strong enough to lift them with me.  


And in the end when I finally approach the focus of my meditation, the Source of intelligence that created me, I can only imagine that it will heat up and gain incredible speed. After all the lifetimes of learning and loving, I will return to my spiritual home and when I do, it will be an orgasm of a million lovers throbbing inside me. 


Until that moment, I will sit with my coffee and rest in the tractor beam of meditation, of my creation. Being continuously, imperceptibly pulled. Knowing it’s ok to be flawed, that there is nothing to fear, there is no way to get lost and there is absolutely no reason to rush.


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