What happened to my epiphany? I just had it. I know it was here. It had lit up my mind and thumped my heart with excitement. It has been with me a mere few days, and, now, it is gone. It has vamoosed and high-tailed it out of my life. I am heart sick. I want my epiphany back. It felt so right. It fit so perfectly. I felt aligned, in tune and inspired. It was a wonderful thing while it lasted

It all began recently. I was having dinner with a friend. We were playing catch-up with our respective comings and goings, sharing our recent discoveries about the inner machinations of life. The conversation flowed; the iced tea flowed. We were swimming in heady depths. And, like the phosphorescence glowing in a night ocean, I became aglow. As if plugged in to a socket, I was lit with inspiration, filled with the glimmer of God. My being was illuminated.

The epiphany popped right out of me. And there it was, in all of its ephemeral glory, standing next to the bread basket with a lovely assortment of artisan breads, I might add.

Now what does an epiphany look like? you might ask. That's a tricky question, because my epiphany will not look like yours, and yours will not look like mine. Epiphanies are energetic and inspirational flashes. They are holistic in that they involve mind, body and Spirit. And, above all, they are individual and idiosyncratic.

So, there was my epiphany flashing with promise and potential, a few inches away from a killer raisin bread. That was all it took; epiphany hooked on to my energy field, after dinner, we headed home.

I was ready to put epiphany into action. I was musing and meandering down Possibility Rd. Everything looked bright and sparkly.

But life started doing life. And I let the daily drill drown out epiphany's song. And then -- poof -- it was gone. I wondered if epiphany decided to hide. I looked under the bed, between the couch cushions, on the counter, in the car, in the closet, in my pocketbook and, alas, no epiphany.

Why would it do that? It came so freely. I wasn't asking for it. It was a gift, pure and simple.

After a thorough search of my place and my belongings, I found myself bereft and yearning for what I once held so lightly and, even, so smugly. Certain, it was mine for the keeping. Yet, it had become a quicksilver flash, a starry moment of satori.

What was I to do?

I opted for the obvious and pulled out the Yellow Pages. There, I found the closest Lost and Found. I hustled downtown and marched very officiously into the office. I filled out forms in triplicate. I was asked to draw an image of my epiphany and to sing its song. I was embarrassed at how little I really knew about my epiphany.

Could I describe its essence? the Lost and Found worker asked. It all felt so fleeting and hesitant, like day-old perfume placed on pulse points. If I held my head in just the right way, I could catch a slight, almost-there whiff of its essence.

And for no-known conscious reason, I began to call out, Epiphany, epiphany, where are you? No sooner were the words out of my mouth, than there was a loud rumble of falling boxes filled with forgotten umbrellas, boots, books and what-not, followed by the clatter of hangers full of missing sweaters and misplaced jackets. My words awakened all of the lost items bundled away in boxes and hanging unclaimed by their owners. They wanted to be found.

Yet, there was no sound, no sight, no flash of energy. My epiphany was nowhere to be found. I left the Lost and Found crestfallen and certain I would never find my epiphany again.

A few evenings later, wanting to forget and distract myself, I immersed myself in a police drama on television. As I sat in the glow of lamplight, there was a quick change in the lighting. “Is that a power surge? Is this a precursor to a power failure? I wondered.

The shift in light turned out to be an advanced greeting, because, there, sitting on my couch munching a piece of killer raisin bread, was my epiphany.

Needless to say, I am very happy and have promised my epiphany to take the steps so it can stay illuminated.

© Copyright 2009 by Adele Ryan McDowell.

Author's Bio: 

Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her website is http://www.channeledgrace.com, and her email address is channeledgrace@aol.com