This morning I woke up early and couldn’t fall back to sleep. I made a strong pink salt bath and lay in it. As my body took in the minerals and I relaxed, it began to feel like a kind of rebirth.
For a while now I’ve been practicing surrender. I’m not very good at other forms of spiritual exercise, and can’t really get the hang of meditation, but surrender I am good at. I asked God to take every part of me: my heart, my mind, my skin, my organs, my bones, my breath. You want my pancreas? It’s yours. My eyes, too. My lungs. All of this is yours, and I give it back to you.
I don’t own the code I’m working. This DNA. I didn’t make it, and it doesn’t belong to me. The things I think of as most “mine”—my hands, say; or my memories—are the least mine. I am not this body. This body could be made again with this DNA and these memories. This body is not me. I am this voice—the ineffable, immaterial spark of consciousness that is working this body. And the truth we are all about to wake up to is that this voice is your voice, too. We are different pipes, but the same wind. Different glass, but the same light.
There’s something else I realized in the bath. There’s a lot of noise in the world. I love the quiet, because I can hear my deepest self think. I can surrender my small petty self to my large loving self. I prayed that I would always stay connected to God’s voice amid the din of the world, and always remain deeply in line with my own intuition. My grandmother used to say she would rather lose her skin than her faith. Today I ask that no matter how busy the future may be, I always stay inside God’s strong voice within me.