I Am Living My Master’s Dream

By Noelle Crocker

It has been a hot summer, the kind that stretches the days long and heavy, the air thick with fatigue. Relief came only in rare moments of rain. After one such relentless stretch, I woke to the sound of showers cooling the air, softening the mental pressure that the heat had pressed into me.

At breakfast, I noticed the sky had taken on a reddish tint, streaked with unexpected colors. Drawn outside, I stepped onto the patio for a better view. And there it was: a half-formed rainbow that arched delicately out of the clouds, incomplete, yet brimming with promise. A soft wind stirred through the trees, as if reminding me that unseen forces are always moving, guiding, lifting. And that’s when it struck me: I am my Master’s drone, piloting from this to that, feeling one feeling today, another tomorrow. I allow the feelings – the big feelings, the yucky feelings, the joyful feelings – but I do not clutch them like baby birds. They are felt, acknowledged, and then freed.

I’ve often wondered: why do we humans feel so many heavy, crappy emotions in a day, yet cheat ourselves out of equal airtime time with the lighter ones? It turns out, it’s all about survival. What we needed as cave people wasn’t joy or delight but the sticky emotions that kept us vigilant like fear, worry, and anger. And even now, mass consciousness keeps us wrapped in that cloud.

Some mornings I wake up feeling so heavy I’m surprised the floor doesn’t collapse. Other days the spark of dreams lingers blissfully until my breakfast of tea and cereal hits and then reality flattens in me again. 

Life in my body is mostly achy right now. Soreness comes and sleeps over and finally leaves like overstayed relatives. The irritation phantoms are constantly at work, and then there’s the odd thunderbolt of pain like an electric current rerouting itself through some hidden wiring junction. 

I know it’s happening at the deepest level, in the building blocks of our bodies, the cells themselves. They’re charging up with light every time I allow, and in turn, they’re updating their programs in real time.  Does this mean I’ll start glowing soon? I keep checking the mirror.

I plead with my Master Self: Can we get this over with please? And of course, the answer is no.  It must be slow.  It took you a long time to drive the truck this far into the countryside so backing it up is going to be a slow process too. If it wasn’t, this 3D human frame that our consciousness hangs on would probably explode. And really, if the world isn’t on fire enough already, exploding humans might just tip it over the edge.

Speaking of fire, it doesn’t always come from forests. Sometimes it starts closer to home. My friend’s house burned down about a year ago. Not a wildfire, but her own criminal son. The ancestral ties there are so thick you could weave a wall tapestry.

My instinct was to rush in with buckets of water, new furniture, even a new iPad if things got desperate enough. And I did. I hauled boxes, paid bills nobody else would touch, stepped into places no one else would. For a while, I thought that was Presence: carrying her load until my back ached alongside hers. I wore the white knight costume well, but the truth was, I was feeding what I needed to feel useful.

Here’s what I finally saw: withdrawing didn’t mean I didn’t care. It meant I understood that I had given enough. I had fulfilled what was mine. The rest was and always would be her journey. I couldn’t live her healing for her. I couldn’t rebuild her house or her heart.