If I were sitting with you right now, I would ask you to look into my eyes and take a deep breath with me. And another. And yet another. I would ask you if it was okay for us to have a hug—as long as we needed, until both our hearts settled into the rhythm of who we are when we remember we are one.

But wait. Can we? For years, I wondered—one-dered?—how this could be. My body is here. Your body is there. When we hug, we are two with a thousand souls or more in this embrace, but one? 

Is it akin to the myriad monkey breads we saw on the British Bake Off last night? Doughy balls of life, each ball molded by each our/baker’s hands with our own flavors and ingredients, some sweet, some savory, some well proofed, others underbaked, and each of those joined with others in the baker/maker’s pans of time, rising, and temperature?  

Then, are we plaited braids eventually cool enough to be pulled apart and shared, or is that maybe just for show? Do we stay in oneness beyond this tent? Do we judge or allow judgment of our melted/risen/baked form? Do we sample, enjoy all our parts as much as the image of the whole here, or did we set aside some of our delicious existence under another tent? We are part of the Oneness that makes us part of the sacred whole, but how we share is ultimately up to each of us? To bite or not to bite? That is the question of a much-kneaded metaphor for Oneness. 

So many have tried to explain through poetry or sacred verse what Oneness means, but if that definition seems a little farther away than usual due to the hot bake of your state on the great lawn of a greater world, let’s return to how you feel when we both are melting into the safest, sweetest embrace of one you love and profoundly trust.

When the gift of the Dancing Hands first lifted my hands to dance ten years ago, and then, danced my hands, just that noticing was my last thought for at least an hour. Next thought, two hours later, felt like a baby was crawling over my legs (there was no baby in this dimensional room, I knew later) as I was lying down in what I later can only describe as “Oneness.”

Be here now. Can you subtract everything but the knowing that we are One? 

Breathe in this.

Peace. 

Peace.

Once more… long, deep breath and further melting… 

I love you. Tell yourself the same.

Be in this. Rise in love.

I keep flirting with the idea of going very quiet so that I can refocus on what Source has asked me to do during these times. You, too? But then, my mama heart and monkey-bread mind are pulled into a request wanting my help getting more eyes on the incoming storm. The “do you see what I dilemma?” I do. I get it. I listen to friends in need. I watch my blue skies even when they are smoky or grey. And I’ve put up storm windows and listened to the tsunami sirens, as well as helped others get to higher ground. 

You may recall that years ago, I lived in a glass home just above the tsunami evacuation zone when a hurricane was hours out and due to make a direct hit. I love wind, and I’d never seen the skies more beautiful than they were as the village below me battened down everything that could move outside while boarding up any fragile windows to the inside. But not I. I was in awe of the beauty of everyone pulling together to make sure everyone was safe. I wanted to chronicle it with my camera. I wanted to watch, dance, and be on the edge of it. I had stored food, fresh water, and tools if we lost power. I had boxes of candles and matches. I had enough fruit and protein bars for days. I wouldn’t starve. I set my car away from the swaying palms and watched, grateful and trusting that the five mountains (volcanoes, really, but we call them the five mountains) would break the storm up at least where I lived. And if it hit my home, I had a safe interior closet with a good hurricane shelter.

The tsunami hit. The winds spiraled where I lived, but spun through the five mountains and smacked the other side of the island. Every tree that wasn’t native was flattened–miles and miles of beautiful trees planted by the missionaries a hundred and more years ago—eighty-foot-high trees blew over like dry grass under those mighty winds. The entire landscape was changed. Houses were damaged, too. It was a whole new world. Plumeria blossoms littered my lawn and lanai with the fragrance of the mighty Presence, but I was safe. This isn’t a brag, just what was held in most profound gratitude for grace.

The devastation was harsh to some, but for most of the native Hawaiians, they understood that this wasn’t to be mourned over. It was a necessary wind. We can all only do what we can do to honor the best and highest good of one and all, individually and collectively, and prepare ourselves when nature does her thing. We thank the winds and the Source of the winds for the lessons learned and vow to help one another better now and each day forward. Take nothing for granted. Bless and bless and be grateful if you still have shelter. Make things right with the land, all that is sacred, and your sisters and brothers.

Where are you in this storm? Are you taking stock of All-That-Is, all you have, and reaching out to others to check in and make sure you and everyone are alright? I hope so.

Our country is facing many storms right now. Storms that have global impact. Please prepare for the coming days with love and talk to your most trusted community. If you need safe space to weather these times, please reach out. Talk about it with those you love and trust. 

What may help: Join our monthly Quanta Circle. Source is sharing tools of greatest love and peace. Details are in the poster below or click here, beginning a week from this Wednesday for three consecutive nights of deep, Dancing Hands and profoundly impactful, supportive Oneness.

This Tuesday, our Noon Miracle platform has a second salon—a Find Your Fearless theme of how we women all around the world can gather for our divine right to be free in the Oneness of our Love. There is a small fee, mostly to keep the bots and trolls away, and keep the space clean, but if this is too hard for you, please let me know. Salon for Women Writers, Sept. 30, 5:30 PM Pacific. Like all things that are generated from our Noon Miracle Creative Platform, you are warmly welcomed to this event and all events via noonmiracle.com 

The following Tuesday, we also have our second round of Amy Ferris’ Write to Bloom Course, four consecutive Tuesdays that is a bit like a book club, but you, in a small group, write the book of where you are, how you feel, what you know, what you’re growing in a safe community of women. It’s magnificent, and the women gathering are loving, supportive, brave, and kind. I’ll be writing there, too. Link above and below.

I am here. I am there. I am dancing beside you everywhere.

Blessed Be, my friends. These are busy times, but I hope we can dance again with one another in joyous celebration again soon.

BE Light. BE Love.

I am sending you ever-flowing hugs now and always.