Always

He first came to me during meditation about two years ago.

Alone, in the silence of my room, I'd been posing one of life's questions to the great beyond without any expectation of an answer. Suddenly this being seemed to just be there. He was right beside me. His presence was profoundly real.

My first thought was not, how is this possible? It was, why is he male? For a very long time I'd proclaimed to anyone who seemed willing to listen that God - however one defines God - was certainly around before genders. I could see no reason an infinite entity would feel the need to be limited to one gender or another. Yet, here before me was a being that seemed to exist beyond the physical world and I couldn't deny that he was a he.

The question--the all consuming life-journey question I'd been posing to the Universe--was an ussue I'd been struggling with for years. I felt desperate and pushed resistance aside. 

"Are you really there?"

"I am here."

And right then and there, this being showed me the way through. A new understanding unfolded around me and my issue resolved.

Since then, he's come to me again and again. I came to think of him as my guide, and whenever I sought him out, 

"Are you there?"

He'd appear.

"I am here."

Sometimes I'd forget. I'd struggle on my own until I couldn't stand it anymore and then suddenly I'd remember and ask, "Are you there?"

"I'm here." 

As trust grew between me and this seemingly all-knowing one, I called on him more and more. 

"Are you there?" 

He began to answer, "Always." 

And recently, I've come to call him with a single questioning word. 

"Always?"

"Always."

I've just returned from a women's retreat. We shared songs and strength,  deep connection and gentleness. The experience filled me up with love as I bonded with fifty spirit-filled women. On the last night, I had the opportunity to read something I'd written to the whole group. 

But I didn't. 
Out of nowhere, I suddenly found myself filled with fear. This was much more than stage-fright. I was in a full-blown panic and this brought such anger--anger at myself--that it brought me to tears.As far as I've come, despite all my hard work, I was so full of fear that I could not even speak.

I was crying from anger at my fear and embarrassed that I was crying. It was all so confusing! I ran outside and found a dark place to hide my tears far from the rest of the group.  

I walked aimlessly until I saw the labyrinth. I'd walked it the night before with several others, but it was empty this time. I paused at the entrance and wiped my face on the backs of my hands. 

"Always?" 

"Always."

I stepped onto the path. My guide matched my pace around the curves and bends while I gathered my thoughts. Through gritted teeth I finally called into the night, "Am I ever going to be rid of this fear?"

"Yes."

The word was so clear and true in my mind, but my anger wasn't finished. It bubbled up and I spat out, "I've worked so hard! It isn't fair! I could have read to the whole group and I wanted to. I wanted to share with them, and it was safe to share with them and I've worked so hard! But this fear... this fear! Why haven't you taken it away?"

He smiled as I seethed, exuding a gentleness that seemed to stroke my hair. He said, "You've never asked."

I stopped still, gasping at that truth. 
A breath. 
Another breath. 

I started forward again, my pace slower as I ran over all the things I'd tried to rid myself of fear. Doctors and therapists, massage and reiki, meditations and medications... I've struggled through so much of my past but the one thing I'd never done was ask to have my fear taken away. 

It had never occurred to me.

And so, through a fresh layer of tears and in a much softer voice, I asked, "Can you take this fear away? Because I am 
so 
tired 
of living with it...
in it... 
through it...
Will you please please take it away?" 

"I will."

We walked into the center of the labyrinth where I paused, eyes closed, to reflect on the simplicity of asking. In time, I began the journey back through the labyrinth's tracks and turns. Since another question was right inside me and my ever-present guide seemed also ever-willing, I asked, "When?"

And the answer, of course, was, "Always."