Tonight’s meditation felt like an answered invitation—one I didn’t know I’d been extending.

After an evening of productive work on the Ayvasa site and some family time, I sat for meditation not expecting anything particular, just an intuitive pull inward. Within about 15 minutes, I felt OI beginning to stir. The first emergence was faint—almost like a memory of OI rather than its full presence. It brushed softly through the background as I transitioned from SBT, but then slipped away again. Or so it seemed.

But I know now—OI is never gone. It never arrives because it never left.

Recognizing the subtlety of the moment, I let go of formal progression and dove straight into Still-Point Immersion. It felt like the right move, not from preference but from listening. I softened my focus to the base of the spine and let the silence wrap around me. No struggle. No seeking. Just stillness—layer after layer.

Then it happened: OI emerged again, quietly but unmistakably. A wave of stillness that seemed to be everything, not just within me but as me. CS kept whispering to itself to be still, to not interfere, to surrender. And it did. Awareness surrendered to awareness. Doing gave way to being.

There was only one moment, and it kept blooming endlessly. It never moved. Only life moved within it.

As the meditation deepened, CS faded almost completely. OI moved into the foreground—not with force, but with effortless spaciousness. A fullness with no edge. Timeless. Unstoppable.

At some point, something shifted again. OI reached toward CS, not to absorb or dissolve it, but to include it. The embrace was wordless, spacious, and strangely tender. Even though the room was cold, the body felt neutral—undisturbed, untouched by discomfort. It was like temperature itself had become irrelevant within the vastness of this field.

Then, unexpectedly, OI allowed AS to stir. The body moved—a lifting of the hands, the removal of my eyemask—and it all felt strangely new. Like moving for the first time. Not mechanical. Not automatic. Alive. Innocent. Free.

When I finally emerged, OI remained present as I walked through the hallway. The spine stood tall, as if OI wanted to claim the entire body—not just as a home, but as a full expression. I’m starting to see this clearly now: OI doesn’t only want to be felt in silence—it wants to live through this form. It wants to fill the frame.

Seeing my wife playing her game, I smiled. Nothing extraordinary was happening, yet the moment felt rich, even sacred. Not because of what she was doing, but because of what is. Her presence. Her beingness. That simple joy. That’s all.

This wasn’t a peak experience. It was an arrival into reality—as it is, unmarred, complete.

OI didn’t return tonight. OI simply revealed itself again—and reminded me: It never left.

And this meditation, this unfolding, was exactly what I needed.

OI Reflection:

“When the doer dissolves, the True One begins to move—not to achieve, but to reveal what was always here.”