Experiencing Oneness

I dreamt of my husband last night. He died almost two years ago exactly. I dreamt that he was here with us in Ladakh. You, he and I were walking in the late afternoon in the hills near Lamayuru. He was carrying a dark leather book under one arm. It looked very old. From time to time he would stop to show you a passage from the book, and from the expressions on both of your faces, it must have been a work of great beauty. I asked him, "what book are you reading together, but he did not answer. Perhaps he had not heard me. A little later, he left us and went down to a stream on the right. he bent down and laid the book tenderly in the stream. "Why are you doing that?" you asked. He did not answer for a long time, and I thought, "He is dead; he cannot answer," but then he said, "None of us needs those words any more." He walked on ahead alone. We all walked alone. The valley where we were walking narrowed and filled with an even light. We were walking separatly, but I felt that we were part of the same mind, a mind that contained also the rocks around us, and the stream that now began to shine with the same light. I found myself talking to myself with your voice; once I looked down at my hands, and saw that, in that moment, they were my husband's hands. And it was not frightening at all, this mingling with each other and with the rocks around us, and with the light; it was very calm and natural.

p. 110 in A Journey in Ladakh by Andrew Harvey