Experiencer

In the first Vipassana retreat I ever attended in 1998, I followed the outward rules of no talking and no eye contact, but nobody knew what I was doing in my own mind. I loved that. I could have a silent nature retreat and just play games in my imagination all day.

I went with about ten friends from my Portland Mayan Calendar posse, which was distracting to say the least. Still, I did my own thing, because I had been raised by a new age mom who was critical of religions and control and who showed me how to be independent in my thought and weary of dogma.

I had grown up with creative visualizations and hypnotic induction tools, so I had a lot to work with. And with the Mayan Calendar’s thirteen tones and twenty tribes, I could work out riddles on my fingers, poetic patterns that only make sense if you understand the rhythm of that cosmic counting. It kept me mathematically delighted.

I caught only a few of the instructions, missing nearly all of them, and instead built my own private retreat in my mind. I made my own meditations, letting imagination and whimsy guide me. In the complete silence, no one would ever know that I was following my own path. The mischievous child in me was filled with glee.

I was about 25 years old, not quite an adult but no longer a kid. I delighted in playing with the contents of my brain, singing songs, skipping along, and feeling blissed out. Not all Vipassana retreats were this way, especially once I started following the instructions and doing the real work.

But this was my first retreat, and I wasn’t ready to join a cult, so I was just doing my own thing.

I was at Dhamma Mahavana, in North Fork, California, where I would later return to do extended service. The air smelled like sage and sweet grass. Such a nostalgic smell, a future memory perhaps. On our breaks between hour long meditations, I would walk in the long grasses and in laps around a pond. Around and around and around. My chosen meditation has always been swirling or twirling, going in circles. Singing Indigo Girls songs to myself on repeat, round and round.

One afternoon, I found myself a beautiful, warm, flat rock to sit on and watch the dazzling acrobatics of the dragonflies. There were thousands of them buzzing around, seemingly independent, until they found a partner to fall and play intensely with, and then they would zoom apart as if on cue. Watching these miraculous and ephemeral friendships fascinated me. How random, spastic, yet strangely ordered. I watched them as if in a trance.

The trance turned into a sharp awareness of a presence, viscerally.

I felt a warmth rise behind me, a living energy pressing gently against my back. It was like the weight of sunlight and water combined, wrapping around my shoulders, my arms, my chest. I was being held by a vast presence, enveloped in a hug that went beyond skin. I was not afraid. Waves and waves of pure love rolled through me, tingling in my fingertips, settling in my belly, spilling over my heart. Every part of me felt seen, cradled, and held in reverence.

I don’t know if I had ever felt that held until that moment on that rock. So loved. Cherished. Held. Boundless tenderness.

In my mind’s eye, I could sense a huge luminous being behind me, ten to twenty feet tall. A radiant presence, a timeless guardian.

Resonance set in, slow and liquid, settling into every inch of me. Every cell drank it in. A feeling of such love, reverence, protection.

I’ve got you.
I’ve got you.
I’ve got you.

It pulsed, rising and falling like a heartbeat through my body:
It’s me.
I am here.
I am your love.
I am always here.

I will always be with you.

I could sense the familiarity of this presence, but had no name, nothing to tether it to in my reality.

The energy cocooned me, pressing close, cradling me.
I could feel it in my heart center, my solar plexus, my root.
I wish I could be with you in the flesh this lifetime,
but I am here with you energetically. Can you feel me?

It sank deeper, flowing down my legs, grounding me:
I couldn’t be with you this time,
but I love you eternally. Our love is eternal.
I am always here.

Every pulse, every wave, every breath was the message itself.
I was held. Fully. Completely. Eternally.

This moment came softly and left quietly.
What lingered felt like an epiphany, a quiet miracle.

I couldn’t tell anyone. Not at the center, where silence ruled, and probably not in the world outside either. Who would believe me?

I don’t know.
Maybe it was my imagination.

And yet, it still makes me cry. I’m starting to realize that tears are a signal, a sign that something resonates deeply.

Tears are not sadness. They are love made visible.

I suppose it is tragically sad that this guardian couldn’t be with me this lifetime, and I feel that pain sharply.

Twelfth-house Venus conjunct my South Node in Cancer. Can you feel me?

And yet, even with that tiny sadness, all I feel is love from the being.
A love as bright and constant as the sun,
shining on me with all of its might.
So grand. So vast.
Just holding me.

Later, just before falling into the UFO rabbit hole, I began to try to name this angel. Through a series of synchronities, I came to Cazimi, an astrological term that means “in the heart of the sun.”

The sound of the word resonated deeply. When I learned the meaning, when a planet sits exactly in the heart of the sun, in the same degree and sign, I felt a spark of recognition. Cazimis are said to offer divine downloads and insights if we are open to receiving them. The heart of the sun. My love is in the heart of the sun.

Over the years, whenever I touched in with this energy, I felt an abundance of A’s and Z’s, as if their real name was hidden somewhere in that sound. Still, Cazimi feels right. It carries their warmth and presence in a way that touches my heart every time I say it.

Looking back through my journals, I can see that exactly the same time when I named Cazimi was when I became aware of the dragons in my backyard.

I do not know if what I experienced was real or imagined. Perhaps it does not matter. What matters is that it left me changed, more awake to the quiet presence of love and guidance moving through the world.

In later retreats, I would meet a far less friendly energy, and there are at least two other angel stories I carry, one from before this encounter and one from after, that each in their own way saved my life.