I watch her lie in the bed unable to sleep. She keeps her eyes closed, a habit that helps her get to sleep faster. Not looking at the clock. She senses it will be a long night. She only manages to nap a bit, having a dream about a showdown between two men. Before daybreak she gets up, puts on a robe and goes to her Mac.

Seated there in darkness, she has just opened a screen when the power cuts out. She feels herself back into the bed. She lies there for over an hour before the power suddenly turns the lights back on.

If you wonder who she is and who I am, let’s just say that she is Vicki and I am the witness. Ignore all of the sentimentality about what has happened to her. I will tell you unabashedly that she is me and I am her fully awake.

Everything she does is destined, down to her choice to return to bed and huddle there until the power came back on. Everything is a parable that people are slow to take to heart.

I watch her type these words quickly and with a sense of destiny. She always feels what she does is never quite good enough. And all I do is watch her feel that way.

The Christmas season is only four days old, a newborn of a month ending in a crescendo of 
“too little, too much” of everything designed to push people’s buttons. I am the Christ Consciousness watching the human show. I am the witness.