Remembering the Light

As I move through this present season of my life, I find myself remembering the light, not as something that happened long ago, but as something timeless that continues to live within me. This memory rises now, quietly and insistently, as both a companion and a guide, reminding me that what was revealed then is still revealing itself through how I meet life today.

At the time of this experience, I had been living under prolonged and intense stress. I was willingly allowing myself to feel everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly, trusting that the depth of sorrow is inseparable from the height of joy. Feelings such as sadness often felt dark, heavy, and dense. I did not resist them. I allowed them. Even so, when difficulties are layered and ongoing, it can feel as though they will never end.

One warm, sunny day, I took a slow stroll around my property. I had no destination and no agenda. I was simply in a place of allowing. At some point, I came to a natural pause. I stopped. There were no thoughts. I was not reflecting or analyzing. I was simply present. I was being.

In that moment, I was filled with light. Everything became light. I could not tell where the light began or where it ended, the light and I were one. Time stood still. I was in a state of pure awareness. All was peace. All was light.

For a moment, it felt unbearable. There was nothing to hold onto. No reference point. I completely surrendered. Because I had been practicing allowing for a long time, I was able to remain open, even as the experience overwhelmed me. Tears streamed down my face as the light moved through every cell of my being, not as sensation alone, but as recognition.

Later, what came to mind was the book Embraced by the Light, the true story of a woman’s near-death experience. Yet I was not near death. I was nearer to life than I had ever been. I was being embraced by the light, cleansed, healed, unburdened, set free, and loved.

The light carried a presence of unconditional love. Within it, I felt myself being cradled, as a mother cradles her child. I could not feel the ground beneath my feet. I felt no weight. No boundaries. Only complete and total cleansing. It was as if day was breaking in my soul, and the light was so radiant it burst from the inside out.

Even now, I struggle to find words for what happened. The closest I can come is Amazing Grace. I was profoundly awake. The light was so powerful that I sensed if I tried to see it with my human eyes, I would be blinded. This was not ordinary sight. My physical vision was not involved at all. It was a knowing that did not rely on perception.

At one point, the energy became so intense that I felt I might merge with the light and not return to my ordinary state of being. Somewhere within me, I understood that I was being offered a choice. It felt like a telepathic conversation: to merge fully with the light, or to return and share it with others. I sensed that if I chose to merge, I might not remember my personal self upon returning, if I returned at all.

The moment I made my choice; I felt a gentle release from the love and light that had held me.

I do not know how long the experience lasted. It may have been minutes, yet it felt like many lifetimes. What I was shown about myself, about life, and about why we are here is far more than I can express. Over time, this knowing has continued to unfold, not as memory alone, but as lived understanding.

What I know now, and what I knew then, is this: we chose to come here. We chose to be here. We choose when we leave. And then we choose again…and again…and again…until

“The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?”
~ Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Soul Note: Remembering the light does not lift me out of life, it brings me more fully into it. Even now, amid uncertainty and change, I feel its quiet presence shaping how I choose, how I love, and how I remain. The light was never meant to be escaped into; it was meant to be lived.

This memory is shared not as a destination or ideal, but as an invitation, to trust what reveals itself when we stop resisting our own experience. The light I speak of is not separate from life; it is what life becomes when we allow ourselves to be fully here.