Donna Goddard shares her love for the Divine and the world with a large international audience and has a strong social media presence. She has authored about twenty books on spirituality and personal growth—nonfiction, fiction, children’s fiction, poetry, and specialty books in writing and dance.
Spring had come and gone in Waldmeer and it was well into summer. As Waldmeer is in the Southern Hemisphere, summer carries with it a new year. Gabriel and Aristotle were travelling in the car to Waldmeer from Gabriel’s apartment in Darnall. It was Aristotle’s idea. Gabriel didn’t like going to Waldmeer anymore. Since Amira had mysteriously disappeared in early spring and her nasty cousin, Eve, had taken over the house, the whole of Waldmeer felt different. It was as if a light had gone out and a dark cloud had spread over the town. Nevertheless, Aristotle wanted to visit, so Gabriel said yes. Gabriel said yes to almost everything Aristotle wanted.
The fruits of serious spiritual devotion have an unmistakable flavour, sometimes even more retrospectively. It had been a challenging few years. I was twenty-six and had been progressing through an existential crisis, an involuntary falling apart of life’s meaning. I felt a profound human aloneness, and with all my praying, I failed to feel God’s love in any way that could help my state of being. Besides the care and protection of my two little children and my spiritual studies, I had no interest in anything. Everything seemed trite to me, meaningless and often painfully intolerable. I had lost faith in everything human to give solace to my soul. It was not intentional. It is simply what happened over the space of a few years. I was at the bottom of the valley—all things lost, but nothing gained.
What else could I do but pray? Only God could rescue me. I did not doubt that God would do so, but first, it seemed that all would be taken away so that new ground would be available for working with. One morning, during the earlier years of this struggle, I walked along a path at a quiet beach near our home. I had my toddler in a stroller and my baby in a tie-on carrier. It was a beautiful suburb in seaside Sydney and all the more beautiful for the glorious day. However, try as I did, none of this had any ability to lift my spirits.
The preceding few days had been particularly difficult. Even the tiny bit of hope I was given after prayer seemed to have disappeared. Tears of grief and despair were my increasingly constant companion, though I knew not what I grieved. Much later, I realised it was the necessary grieving that accompanies the loosening of the ego’s hold over our consciousness. It is the inevitable struggle of being born human, yet the soul seeks release from the bondage of thought that constantly revolves around the precious one—ourselves. We grow up trying to develop enough of an ego to be able to survive and thrive in the world. That, in itself, is a mighty effort. Even before we have it mastered, the deeper Self starts speaking to us, whispering in our ear that this life is not enough. Then we, almost without noticing, begin the quest to pull apart the ego we so courageously tried to build.
Having no other option but to go forward, I walked along the beach boardwalk with my little ones hoping that the natural beauty would, even marginally, rescue me. After a while, I must have forgotten about myself. I was looking out to sea, and the grandness of it all caught my attention. I forgot, for a moment, to feel so bad. That was the chance. And given a chance, It came rushing in. It was so brief that it was over before I even noticed it. But there it was, nevertheless, unmistakable. It came like an invisible breeze brushing past me, coming from the sea, returning beyond, into the Infinite. It wasn’t a breeze. It was the breath of God.
As soon as it went, I called internally, No, stop! Come back. I have been trying to find you. Stay with me. I need you.
I knew it was the Divine by the lightness it brought. It was a sweet presence, softening the mind. It was a very welcome breath of fresh air. It could not stay at that time, but it would later return and become a progressively more comfortable acquaintance. The veil was beginning to part.
Falling in love is falling in love with our own and another’s truest self. It is ignited by the presence of another but we become beautiful ourselves as well as seeing beauty in the other. A man or woman in love is a magnet for love and affection from everywhere. While we deeply appreciate who God has given us to love, nevertheless, we can learn to be in love with the whole of life. To be in love with Life is to be in touch with our spiritual essence. It is to see beauty and loveliness wherever we go. It is to see the glow of divinity in all those around us. There is less need to fret over our loved one’s presence or absence. There is less need to possessively fear our loved one’s affections or interests. Love does not come from another person, although it will pass through another’s heart. It comes from the great source of all life.
If we try every day to find that place inside us that can see a little more light and give a little more love, the quality of our life will improve significantly. We all long for love. It is the human inheritance to have such a longing. However, we must discover that in order to find it, we must give it. And when we learn to give it, we find that it is, quite amazingly, everywhere around us.
Amira hadn’t had the nightmare since she was twenty which was six years ago. Back then, she was known as Maria. It hadn’t even crossed her mind in the two years she had been living in Eraldus, in the city. Now that she was travelling each weekend back to Waldmeer, the nightmare was occasionally returning. It was strange because nothing could be more charming than Waldmeer; going to sleep and hearing the distant sea, waking to the forest birds, walking to the rhythm of the breaking waves. Some years ago, she had come face to face with the nightmare malevolence when she went to see her teacher, Erdo, in the forest. That occasion marked the first time Amira spoke to Maria. It was the beginning of many years of instruction from Amira to Maria.
The gardener walked into their lives bright and sharp. Her need was covered by a ready smile. She came from a house with walls that echoed loneliness. On the very first day, her eyes were drawn to the little flower in the corner of the garden. Its beauty was in its simplicity. The gardener’s jealousy was already born. She watched it every day. It moved to the breeze and reached for the sunshine. The flower did not complain about the dark, the wind or the cold. Its roots had strength unseen.
The little flower was called Amira. She was guarded by Farkas, the garden spirit. Farkas loved Amira most of all the garden residents. However, he was wounded. He had lived many lives and carried the damage inside himself. He, often, went away and they would not see him for long periods. Sometimes, Farkas would sit near Amira. He would then remember the things that he rarely let himself remember. He would rest there until the wind called him away again.
The gardener watched it all and her loathing grew darker. How can the little flower have such a hold over the garden spirit’s heart? she thought. One morning, before the rising light had given its blessing to the day, the gardener, sick with her own longing, left her bed and killed the little flower. Now, Farkas will learn to love me. He will come to look at me and feel alive. He will protect me instead of the pathetic, dead flower.
Dancing has helped me to feel connected to myself and life. It fulfils an inner drive that has remained with me since I was a young child with a treasured picture of beautiful ballet couple Margot Fonteyn and Rudolph Nureyev. I didn’t know who they were, but they were fascinating and lovely. We are no one else. We are ourselves. We must be that, with no regrets, if we wish to be happy. If we keep going forward, following our natural, intuitive, and sincere path, everything will tend to align with our good intention.
