One of the many unusual experiences I have had. I don't mind at all if others believe them to be figments of my imagination, or hallucinations, or lies. I share them merely so that others who know me will understand me.
He said, "The things in your mind - the thoughts and fears and anguish and self-judgment that torment you - are like a crown of thorns. I wore one so that you would not have to."
I was sitting in a meadow, in a field of flowers. There was in my heart the sense of joyful expectation that I feel when one of the handful of very special friends in my life are coming to visit, and I am anticipating their imminent arrival. As I sat in this expansive meadow bordered by limitless forests, I gathered flowers to make a gift for the one coming to see me. It struck me that I was still an artist even in this place and time, as if it were something inherently woven into my being, for ages to come. I was weaving the flowers I gathered into a small wreath. As I worked, my heart trembled with a sort of fragile thankfulness.
The next thing I knew, he was there, sitting with me in the meadow. Smiling, as happy to see me as I was him. My heart brimming with an intimate, wordless gratefulness, I leaned over to solemnly kiss his temples at each place where the thorns had left a faint mark. As I kissed, at each place my lips touched, a rose appeared. The wreath I had been weaving, a wreath of kisses for his brow.
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