They came knocking again, well not really knocking. I’m not sure what their energy is. Palpable in a subtle yet obvious way. I can usually hear Gracie snoring in the other room – they awaken me with the words and ideas but not her.
The thoughts seem so loud. How does one go from deep REM sleep to wide awake with creative thoughts flowing so quickly? So loudly? Where is this coming from? Loud. Fast. Prolific. Insightful.
Ideas and concepts.
Proposals and pitches.
My book series, my memoir. A poem.
Titles of articles that elude me during the day will show up.
It’s always 3:18 a.m. Right on time.
The Spirit world is closer to us between the hours of 3 and 4 a.m. Musicians and creatives often sing and write about 3 a.m., it’s called the bewitching hour by some because the barrier between the physical and spiritual worlds is at its thinnest. Is this Spirit showing up?
At 3:18, there is no ego spreading its insecurities or doubts. There aren’t any negative or self-limiting thoughts. There are no judgments of myself or others, there are no hurtful words, people or news. This feels like peace, like a hug. It feels like love – the non-human, unconditional variety. They come at 3:18 to fill me with words and insight and inspiration.
I changed my bedside journal to one that doesn’t have lines or my preferred dot grid to make it easier to decipher my sleepy writing the next day. The ideas are so out of the box; words I’ve never used or written during the day show up in my journal overnight. How can I write a word at 3:18 and have to look up its definition the next day?
The message from friends and intuitives continues to consistently be, “think bigger.” I’m trying to learn how. Is Spirit trying to show me how when I am at my most open – when my physical barrier is the most penetrable?
This isn’t insomnia. This isn’t anxiety or fear. I’ve experienced all of those. This is different. This is welcome. It feels surreal – like a reflection in the water that seems so real you have to touch it to remind yourself it’s not. Yet, there is a clarity in that image and an innocence in that experience. I wait for the reflection to return to the water and touch it again.
It’s not every night, but when it happens it’s always 3:18. I don’t even look at the time anymore I just take my pen and I spill out the messages in gratitude – almost like a secret code that I get to decipher the next morning. I write the words but it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from me. Or is it? Who am I? Who is anyone? It’s all empty – that I know, but it’s still hard to grasp sometimes.
I wonder what I’m becoming? At a time when people are isolated and unhappy, alone and lonely struggling with all they can’t do, why am I feeling more connected? I go to sleep at night wondering if tonight will be the night they’ll come. My journal is ready. I’m learning to listen to the sounds of the silent night.