There are those who smile when they hear me say: I hold space.
As if it were entertainment, some kind of trick that should be proven spectacularly.
Yet it is precisely the invisible that holds us.
Those who have never experienced it easily laugh at it.
Those who do not understand it mock it.
And meanwhile they fail to notice that malice, cynicism, and disbelief are also vibrations—
just ones that pull downward,
where the furrows are deep and the plow gets stuck in the field of life.
In times like these, when both heaven and earth groan under their burdens, it takes real strength to remain in balance.
Sometimes we stumble. That, too, is all right.
We take it for granted that the Sun rises every morning.
After all, it has always been there—its job is to shine upon us.
Yet if it shines, we complain; if it doesn’t, we complain then as well.
But when do we actually stop to appreciate what is here?
Because it fills us with warmth, because it shows the way to everyone?
Or simply because it is?
Nature has grown angry.
Even the face of the Sun is marked with spots,
as if it, too, were reminding us: see at last what the depths hold.
But you can only look at the Sun through a dark lens.
And if you don’t even take the trouble to look for such a lens,
you will never see what you are wandering around.
How much darkness does it take to make you remember
how much light accompanied you on your path into presence?
To feel gratitude while, as a human, you wear the mask of ingratitude?
I know—you hold séances every day, you wrote long gratitude lists as instructed.
Because then you’ll receive more.
But can you lift others up without considered interest—here, on this Earth?
Have you understood yet that not only Buddha or Jesus held your hand along the way,
but many people too, in whom the ascended masters live?
The ego still often keeps the spirit locked away from the material world.
Only few have been able to embody it.
Instead of the light of the masters,
we practice in an artificial circus, under manufactured illumination…
If we turn our backs on the Sun—from which life and light flow—
then we have not recognized it,
and we have learned only one thing still: to follow the shadow.
And if you see its radiance yet throw mud at it because its blinding light disturbs you,
know this: it will fall back upon your own head.
And when you need it,
and the Sun turns its smile toward you,
light-years and a hard pile of mud will separate you from its blessing.
~Dajbukát Ildikó
Spirit touch healing
