I can barely remember when life, as it was, began to create suffering in me. I must even admit that I wasn't aware of it. Fortunately, I know now. Life, as it was before Corona, had the flavor of chasing time. Yes. I chased time. On average, I slept about four hours a night and gave myself the idea that this was just enough for me, a strong soul. The world, I believed myself, needed my work. Clients in more than one place around the world. Listeners on the streets or at events. Readers of blogs or books. Family and friends. Viewers of videos. Yes, I chased time. I raced from place to place to support my clients in connecting with themselves and resonating with their own healing power. I ran to speaking engagements everywhere to help my audiences reconcile with their surroundings and help them realize their strength as a community that holds a space of love and compassion for all. I stayed up many nights writing blog posts and books, reading my pieces aloud, and recording videos to allow every being out there—who might somehow encounter my work—to shift their perspectives and fall in love with our precious world again. The chase for time first gave me reason to go to bed later than usual and get up even earlier than before. Second, the chase for time led me to give up my "own time," a two-hour period each day that I had dedicated to myself, until I let it go. Third, the chase for time caused me to cut back on my favorite leisure activities, whether it was running, meditating, watching my son play soccer, preparing dinner, calling friends, practicing yoga, or going swimming. Fourth, the chase for time created cravings for sugar and caffeine. My eating habits "skyrocketed." My sense of self deserted me. I was always on. On the client. On the laptop or phone. On sugar. On caffeine. On the hunt. For more time. Then life as it was came to a standstill. Suddenly, my seemingly beautiful world shattered, revealing its devastated state beneath its pretty mask. This overwhelming experience left me dizzy and falling. I was unable to move, with a slight desire to fall apart and never recover. Then I slept. Five hours. Ten hours. Twenty hours. When I awoke, time had vanished, replaced by emptiness. There was no more time to chase, and chasing emptiness simply made no sense. I decided to rediscover my "own time" and went to bed for another five hours. After catching up on all the sleep I must have lost while living as it was, I got up. As strong and calm as I failed to remember ever feeling before. There was so much energy in me that I put on my workout gear and went for a jog through the park. Afterward, I decided to call my closest friend to ask how she was feeling. Then I called some friends, enjoyed their stories and their presence on Earth. Then I sat down to meditate. Until I felt hungry. I was impressed with myself because my brain hadn't craved caffeine or sugar all day. I was even more impressed when I went to the organic market to pick up some healthy things and thought about nice ways to prepare dinner. What really surprised me was that—back home—I actually lit a candle, sat down at a table, and ate with all my senses—and with enjoyment. Time was gone, replaced by emptiness. Emptiness brought back my strength. My joy for life. My energy. Emptiness helped me reconnect with myself. Emptiness helped me reconcile with my surroundings. Emptiness helped me fall in love with Mother Earth again. I decided to anchor this feeling of emptiness. The feeling of no time or space. The feeling of a joyful life. The feeling of love. The feeling of reconciliation. And then I decided to spread these vibrations, this idea. The idea of the beauty of emptiness. -- Life, as it is, has now begun. Here I am. Wallowing in the void.
