To Be Fed in the Course of Feeding, a meeting in Balboa Park

That morning I felt defeated. My body was tired and heavy.  An infection had been with me for five weeks, and the low, grey weight of it had seeped into my spirit.  I knew I needed a Visual Vitamin, be restored by the nutrition of beauty. Balboa Park, I would go there! But I also knew,  I needed first to stop. To enter the sanctuary of silence. To open Eternity's window before stepping into the day. So I sat in my cream leather recliner, facing the ocean — the place where I meditate and write every day. 

And in that stillness, a whispered voice came. It said:
Bring me my children.  Let me serve my Future Human babies.

Those words broke me open. I wept the kind of weeping that comes only when a hunger you had been too tired to name is suddenly named for you. I realized how much I craved to do this work in the world again — to feed the Future Human, to support this great unfolding of Higher Wisdom, conscious evolution. I did not go to the park as a defeated woman. I went as one who had just been given her instructions.

Her name was Ellen. She was twenty-six, a nurse from Tennessee on a three-month assignment in our city. She was walking past me with her friend when her radiance stopped me the way beauty is always meant to stop us — as a threshold, as a summons. I turned and told her so. I told her she was radiant. And because beauty, when recognized, always opens a window, she stopped, and we began to speak.

I asked her what she was letting go of in this season of her life. The cocoon question. She said she was letting go of the part of herself that got caught up in what other people thought of her, the part that tended to everyone else and forgot her connection to the Lord in the tending. Then I asked her what her butterfly was. She said she wanted to be a servant of the Lord. I felt myself filled with the exact substance I had been hungry for. I had come to feed her, and she was feeding me. I had come as elder and she had come as seeker, and within a few breaths we were sister and daughter, daughter and sister, at the same time.

Then she asked if she could pray for me. We gathered in a circle, three women in the park, and she asked the Lord to heal me of the infection I had been carrying. As she prayed, I felt a warm golden strand of energy with us in the center of the circle. I knew it at once. It was the same golden thread I had seen descending from Eternity's window in the image I had been given for my own healing the day before — the thread connecting the cosmos to the elephants walking on the curve of the Earth. It had left the image and come into my body. Or perhaps it had always been there, and I had simply, at last, grown quiet enough to feel it. The night before, I had dreamed I was sitting with Jonas Salk in a stadium. Our bodies were pressed side by side. And in the moment of prayer with Ellen, I heard him speak. His words rose up in me like something remembered from long ago:

To be fed in the course of feeding.

There it was. The whole teaching, in a single line. Salk, who had imagined himself into the virus in order to find the vaccine — who had used his own embodied imagination as the instrument of healing — was telling me what the Living Fabric has always been telling us. The one who offers and the one who receives are not two. The hand that gives bread is nourished by the giving. The mother who pours milk is remade by the pouring. The hunger and the feeding are the same motion.

This is the secret the Future Human carries. Not that she gives without tiring. But that in the true giving, she is filled. The window opens, the golden threads descend, and she discovers that the elephants on the Earth are not only bearing the light down — they are being crowned by it. Served in the act of serving. Fed in the act of feeding.

I came home that evening no longer defeated. The infection in my body may heal on its own timeline. But something else had been healed already. Whatever part of me had wondered whether the world would still meet me when I came forward again to do this work — that part had its answer. Ellen was the answer. The golden thread was the answer. Jonas, sitting beside me in the dream and in the park, was the answer.

Darling, if you are tired today, if the work feels too large and your body too small, remember: you do not have to hoist the window open by force. Sit down. Be still. The window opens by stillness, not by will. And when you walk out into your day, let beauty stop you. Let a stranger's radiance turn you around. Offer what little you have to offer. You will discover, as I did, that the substance you were hungry for is the very substance that pours through you when you feed another.
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This is how the Future Human is born. Not in grand acts. In a park. In a circle of three. In a golden thread nobody else can see but everybody can feel.


Copyright 2026 Lisa Longworth. Excerpt from the forthcoming book: Higher Wisdom, the New Inner Technology for Human Evolution