I woke up this morning with a prayer running through my head. From the very first moments of a day that begins this way, it's as though I've already experienced happiness all the way through it. Sometimes it even feels as though I've been experiencing happiness forever. That's the timeless gift of such spiritual grace.

Instead of finding myself awash in thoughts already run rampant - or consciousness dragging to life like sluggish motor oil, here was this mild, steady, comforting rhythm already oscillating inside me. Delicious. All-embracing. Transporting.

This affected me so deeply that when it came time to read the prayers I customarily take time to say with my husband each morning, my voice broke with emotion. The mere sight of words making reference to "the All-Merciful, the Compassionate, the Ever- Forgiving" and "the ocean of Thy nearness" overwhelmed me with an awed, ecstatic immersion in something large and welcoming, like an ocean of light.

And even as this happened, and my body's sensations echoed this inner awe of my heart, a portion of me stood apart like an observer and thought: "What on earth is this?"

Nothing earthly at all, it would seem.

I had a pretty good idea as to why I found myself embarking on a new day in this way. I am currently in the midst of what Baha'is sometimes call the "Season of Restraint." This is a period at the close of our calendar year when, for 19 days, we are asked to undergo a material fast from food and drink during daylight hours as "an outer token of the spiritual fast ... the withholding of oneself from all appetites of the self, taking on the characteristics of the spirit, being carried away by the breathings of heaven and catching fire from the love of God."

Fasting from the appetites of the body reminds us of how insistent these can be, of course. And how much time the business of survival can consume in our day, and our awareness — especially when it's overemphasized to the point at which we might forget that we have a spiritual life at all.

A reprieve from giving so much attention to these things leaves more time for seeking and partaking of spiritual nourishment — prayer and reflection; imbibing spiritual guidance; and listening and observing for the many ways in which spirituality wafts into our hours.

In the course of such activities, I found myself increasingly attracted to the word "relinquish" whenever it appeared before me in prayers and passages. I found myself considering both restraint and relinquishment, and began to discover how intimately related they can be.

A search for synonyms for the first yields words and phrases like "self-control" and "self-discipline," as well as "moderation." (As in moderating one's self toward balance, perhaps?) Another descriptor that really appealed to me was "self-possession." True possession of one's truest self?

Whereas restraint seems like a condition that arises from my taking responsibility for my self and actions, "relinquish" means to surrender or hand over. Almost makes the two sound like some sort of opposites - or maybe complementary partners.

Surrender and handing over can be very tall orders, of course. But the list also included two other synonyms that sound like accessible first steps in that process: "let go by" and "let pass."

While endeavoring to practice genuine restraint, in a spiritual sense, what I suddenly heard in the possibility of relinquishment was an invitation to freedom — from the erroneous notions and occasional tyranny of my own thoughts.

Now, I'm not talking about the presence-of-mind thoughts we experience when engaged in focused, constructive effort. I'm talking about the ones that spin round and round, either in the past or in the presumed future. They usually suggest unhelpful things and never, ever, take me anywhere new. Noise, some might call it.

So here were all of these references to relinquishment before me each day. And here, it occurred to me suddenly in this season of restraint, was something well worth restraining or moderating - my thoughts.

And how? Why, by letting thoughts go by as they arise. And by spending time in prayer, spiritual study and reflection, using the "disc space" that scattered thoughts so often take up for something better - something that can lead to me to wake up in a taste of heaven, and feel that flood of grace that is poured out in every moment for our sake.

In a book called The Seven Valleys, Baha'u'llah wrote, "A servant is drawn unto Me in prayer until I answer him; and when I have answered him, I become the ear wherewith he heareth ... "

When we relinquish something lesser for something greater, we seem to catch the sweet notes of that higher kind of hearing. As insistent as our thoughts can be, it seems that when we're willing to relinquish them and, especially their insistence, what appears in place of them feels positively eternal.

It makes me a little wistful to think that by the time this column appears, this season will be behind me. I'll have broken this fast and celebrated Naw Ruz — the joyful arrival of the New Year at the Vernal Equinox (which coincides with Good Friday and a host of other religious holidays in a rare occurrence this year).

But like one who's had a taste of water in the desert, or of freedom after imprisonment, the mere contrast of my experience has helped me feel an imprint of the everlasting. The heaven on earth visible through the window of each and every moment.

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Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © Copyright 2008 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring.