Interlude: The great miracle

A perfect spot for meditation. (Photo by M. Robertson of/for Jillian Page)
A perfect spot for meditation. (Photo by M. Robertson of/for Jillian Page)

“When water, land and air meet, there is the place for magic to be wrought.”
— Esoteric teaching from the Rules of Magic, as told to Alice Bailey and reported in A Treatise on White Magic, or The Way of the Disciple

On Sunday, I found myself reflecting upon the great miracle.

It was a rare midsummer day in late September, and there I was sunning myself on a rock of ages by a lake with cool water gently lapping at my toes, the air both warm and fragrant with the smell of autumn leaves.

I felt fortunate to be part of this beautiful setting, to be one with it, and to be one with whatever it is that animates it. All this, I thought, evolved from a universal seed that sprang to life billions of years ago, perhaps with a big bang, perhaps with a single word.

Aummm . . .

I felt timeless, even though I know there is more sand at the bottom of my current hourglass than there is at the top. But I know — and have always known — that the spirit that animates my physical body, and yours, is beyond time itself, that we are essentially manifestations of the Great Animator, and that we don myriad cloaks in order to experience the playgrounds of a multi-dimensional universe.

In my Father’s house are many mansions . . .

Yes, my mortal body will pass away in time, but my immortal spirit will return to the Source and eventually take up another physical cloak and set forth on another grand adventure somewhere . . .

I remembered a scientist friend whose explanation for our existence was simply: “It’s a f–king miracle.”

Indeed.

What a miracle, I thought, it was for me to be able to sit on that rock and reflect upon the nature of things, both in the physical and metaphysical realms. What a miracle it was for me to be able to witness the beauty that surrounded me . . .

Yes, there is magic where water, land and air meet.

Deep magic . . .

Such was my interlude on Sunday.

— Jillian

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