Oracle ✥ Artist ✥ Author ✥ Time Traveler

Bigger on the Inside


My beloved says that my world is getting smaller. That I’m disengaging with life. That I appear to be less alive, less vital.


Do you know the TARDIS? It’s a space-and-time machine cleverly shaped like an old-fashioned blue British police box, one of the primary enduring non-human characters on the sci-fi TV show Doctor Who. There’s a running joke: people who’ve never seen a TARDIS get inside it and are floored by how vast it is inside (so vast that we only ever see a fraction of it). They say, eyes big and mouths agape: It’s bigger on the inside!

I dare to say I’m like a TARDIS. In fact, I think we all are.

Our skins house muscle, bone, blood, organs. Our bodies are as big as bodies are.

But we — our essences, our beingness, all that makes us unique — are so much more than muscle, bone, blood, and organs. We are experiences and memories and emotions and thoughts. We are spirit, vibrating slowly so that we appear solid. We are light and starstuff. We are gods.

And, I find, we need our bodies to access the TARDIS-like magical mysteries of our humanity.

I’ve been sinking more deeply into my body.

I think my beloved fears that I will just disappear entirely. His fears are justified. It’s true — I do less now than ever I can remember. I do less and write less and speak less. I sleep more.

I keep telling myself this is a good thing, that this is me surrendering to my healing/ailing body, that this is me in the throes of a huge spiritual initiation.

How do we know what is right?

One of the tools my beloved teaches is to access one’s inner compass. We all have one. It’s just that most of us have forgotten how to access it. Inner compass helps a person know their true direction. It’s extremely helpful in making choices that affect one’s future.

I don’t see a future, my future. It’s hazy. Blank, even. A wide swath of nothing. Where the hell is my inner compass?

Coincidence? I also have trouble making choices. Choices exhaust me now, so I walk a path of ease and do pretty much the same things over and over. Bingo. No more choice exhaustion!

But is this purposeful limiting of choices the same as not engaging with life?

How do we know we are ALIVE?

I don’t mean simple measurable things like breath and heartbeat. I mean VIBRANT LIFE.

What is ALIVE to you?

My inside world is vast. Immeasurable. Like a TARDIS.

My outside world is small. Getting smaller.

I don’t know whether to be alarmed. I keep thinking I will be all right, that everything will be all right. It’s a strong belief, a conviction. I will fucking be all right.

Maybe “all right” means different things to different people.

To me, “all right” means safe, evolving, and in service. I could be severely limited (in a coma, physically debilitated, even maybe dead) and still be “all right”.

I keep feeling that there is so much more to life than we know. I’m so close. I can almost touch it.


Much love, as always.

One Comment

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  1. Shawn Jezerinac

    Yow. There is some peace.

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