The Divine Dance

THE NEXT MORNING, SITTING HUDDLED ACROSS FROM THE BAKER, Smythe broached a topic with him. Her lifelong desire to deepen her understanding of the human experience, particularly as it related to her Beloved, interested Smythe, and she enjoyed his perspective.

“Joao, how do you hear God? I mean, do you even hear God, or whatever you call God?”

“Oh yes, I hear the whispers of the mystery.”

“How?”

“Many ways. The Universe communicates in many, many ways. Thoughts, feelings, experiences, and words. For me, lately, it is a feeling. I feel a certain way about something I am doing or saying; a tingle like electricity I feel at the base of my neck.”

“Interesting.”

“I also have a knowing, like a thought. They are like pictures in my mind. Often, feelings come with the images to complete more of what the Universe wishes to communicate to me.”

“I have heard God in similar ways as you’ve described. How do you think experience plays into all of this?”

The baker tilted his head to one side.

“Tell me, daughter, why so many questions?”

“I keep thinking I made a mistake, that I wasn’t really hearing or feeling the Universe. That all of this jumping into the great unknown was just some made-up crap that I just got myself into. Nothing seems to be working out the way I wanted it to. I had this clear path in mind, and it is anything but clear. Forgive me, for I am simply attempting to more deeply understand.”

“The Universe has not ever given us the complete guidebook to our journey, my daughter. There is only an overview. You can choose to walk away at any time, but that would only delay your journey and grieve your spirit. You must have faith—’tenha fe’ in my language.

“It is hard to have tenha—”

“Tenha fe. Only if you make it so. Do not seek to know the how. Seek only to be in the now.”

Smythe rolled her eyes. That could have been a meme. The baker caught her look.

“In so doing, you will follow the next step that opens to all the Universe desires to do through you.”

“How then? I thought I was.”

“My daughter, you had in your words an inspired thought. The Universe whispered to you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. We must now believe that we can do the thing we are inspired to do. This is where you are now. You must choose to believe or not to believe. Believe, my daughter.”

She smiled. “Can I come back to that?”

“Ok.”

“You’ve used the word communicate versus speak. Are they different?”

“Mmm, yes and no. Yes, often words do not convey the entire meaning of the Universe. So, for me, images happen in my mind, and sometimes feelings, too. It is more complete for my little soul to understand.”

“So, they’re like visions?”

“Yes, in a way. Although the word ‘vision’ has had a variety of meanings and understandings. But yes, I get a picture in my mind, and I know what is being communicated. Often, I find it is so that I prepare for something or offer someone a word of encouragement or knowledge.”

The “shadow of a thought” unexpectedly returned to Smythe’s consciousness. Her breathing became shallow, and a frown furrowed her brow.

The baker beheld the change in his friend.

“What troubles you, daughter? Something has shifted your energy.”

“An old story.”

“I love stories. Tell me.”

“You wouldn’t like this one. At any rate, it’s not important. Do you ever get warnings?”

“Yes, of course. When I go to the market, I may have a feeling to not go a certain way that I would prefer to go, like a path that I am more comfortable going. You know we all have our sulcus—mmm, how you say… ruts. Forgive me. I move often between languages. I sense danger, or I see cars hitting each other. I have learned to heed the feeling or sight. I simply think for a moment and go a different way, and I am grateful for the direction.”

“I think, sometimes, I have a knowing to say go one direction, but my experience tells me to do something else. I’m not sure which to follow.”

“Often, we must take a step in order to know. The Universe will always let us know if we are on the right path.”

“Explain.”

“Joy, my daughter. There is joy on the right path.”

“That’s funny. My mentor does this activity; he calls it feedback. We’re to take a step into action and then pause and listen to the feedback, then take another step and listen to the feedback again.”

“That it is good advice. Does he speak of joy?”

“Yes. He says he doesn’t do anything unless it brings him joy. He just follows the next inspirational thought and listens to the feedback.”

“Good, good. That is correct.”

“But doing it that way seems to take so long. Act, wait. Act, wait. I must admit that I tend to want to rush things.”

“And it is in the rushing where you often miss the stillness of the Universe speaking. Your journey is like a dance. The Universe leads, and you must simply follow.”

Smythe smiled. “I like to lead.”

The baker laughed out loud. “Oh, my daughter, do you not understand. The Universe dwells within you. You are leading as the Universe leads through you.”

“But it often feels like I am dancing in the dark.”

“You want control, but the dance requires you relinquish it. It is similar to hiking at night. I used to do that quite a bit in my home country, especially when the moon was bright in the sky.”

The baker paused for a moment, fondly recalling the days of his youth as he hiked through the mountains of Pico Ruivo, a rugged, volcanic green island with high cliffs. Its sister, Pico da Torres, is the second-highest peak of Madeira.

“But I digress. Imagine you hiked at night. It is not advisable, no, but perhaps there were unforeseen circumstances, and to get to safety, you must go forward in the dark. Yet, your headlamp only allows you to see so far. You must slow your pace and go only as far as you can see, no further. You must go at a pace that allows you to see all that is around you. Otherwise, you will fall off a cliff. That would be bad feedback.”

“Advisable then to slow down and follow the light in front of me.”

“Yes. Follow the whispers of the mystery. Those whispers dwell within you.”

The baker eyed his friend. He studied her change in demeanor. He closed his eyes and sensed the ache within her soul and shuddered.

“Smythe, do not allow your old story to darken your spirit. Release it.”

Smythe bowed her head, pursed her lips, and nodded. “I have. It just comes and goes.”

“Then it has not been released. Look up, Smythe.”

Smythe raised her head and met his eyes. The kindest eyes which allowed one to drink in divinity were now glassy.

“Then it has not been released. I sense your trouble—there is fear, and that fear you feel lives within your heart. Go to the core of it and see what it has to say.”

“I know what it says,” snapped Smythe. She took a breath and willed herself to shove the memory aside.

“Daughter, we can only be free by unhinging the chains we have placed around ourselves. Your freedom is not the thing connected to attaining a goal, but that which lives within your spirit. Release the chain that binds you.”

Smythe smiled at him. “Thank you for the conversation. It has helped, but I have to go now.”

“My pleasure, daughter.”

The baker watched as his friend left the shop. A tear trickled down the baker’s cheek as the door closed behind her. The only sound in the shop was the echo of the tiny bell which hung over the door.

With no one left in his shop, the baker spoke aloud. “What shall we do for her? I feel her ache. It lives within her and has grown cancerous, threatening her progression. She is needed.”

The Universe remained unmoved as the silence spoke. “While she edges near the abyss of despair and may soon plunge into its waters, she will not drown. She need only use the gifts given to her to find her way out.”