longer.blue

When You’re in Touch With Your Higher Self, You’re Never Alone - A Short Story By The Technologist Rain had just started to fall. Light at first, then heavier as dusk crept into the sky, turning everything a smoky lavender. Mason didn’t mind the rain, not really. It blurred the world just enough to make him feel invisible, and tonight, invisibility was comfort. He walked the trail behind his house slowly, taking each step like it might matter. He wasn’t looking for anything, only trying to walk far enough to feel something different than the constant weight in his chest. The same weight that had followed him since his father passed six months ago. Since his best friend moved across the country. Since the world began to feel like it had left him behind. There were no grand signs out here in the woods. No burning bushes or parting clouds. Just the rustle of wet leaves, the slow drip from branches, and the occasional hush of wind through pine. But Mason had read once, somewhere in an old book he didn’t remember the title of, that when you’re in touch with your higher self, you’re never really alone. He had scoffed at it back then. It sounded like a thing people say when they don’t know what else to offer. But tonight, it circled back to him like an echo he couldn’t shake. Mason reached a clearing where the trees opened up like theater curtains. The ground was soft from the rain, a little muddy, but the air was clearer here. As he stood in silence, he closed his eyes. Not to meditate. Not even to think. Just to ask. He didn’t know what he was asking for. Maybe peace. Maybe a sign. Maybe just not to feel so hollow. And then something unexpected happened. Not a voice exactly, but a presence. Familiar and calm. Not outside him, but within. A memory, a sensation, a knowing. His father’s laugh, quick and warm. The way his friend used to elbow him at concerts, smiling without words. The quiet strength he once felt on long solo bike rides, when the whole world seemed to expand with his breath. These things surfaced. Not as ghosts. Not even as thoughts. But as a feeling so vivid it filled the space around him. It was as if some deeper part of himself, older and wiser, had risen from below the surface. A self that knew joy could follow sorrow. That solitude could bloom into insight. That he was never truly alone because he carried everything that mattered within him. The rain slowed. Mason opened his eyes. The world hadn’t changed. The sky was still gray, the trees still dripping. But he felt steadier. He took a breath that felt like a beginning, like turning a page. And as he walked back home, each footstep felt lighter. Not because the world had answered him, but because he had remembered how to listen. To the rain. To the woods. To himself.