I’m changing my diet, cutting out all sorts of food that I’m sensitive to.  My naturopath checks out my body’s electrical response, and those that don’t have a good relation according to my body are eliminated for a while.  Of course, most of what is eliminated are those things I like to eat. 

But I feel a bit lighter already.  Not quite as heavy and down.  I am suspicious of indulgent food making me dull and stupid, sad for no reason and dragging through the day.  Then again, sometimes I just don’t like to eat after so many years of reactions to subtle tiny bits of something that will ruin my whole day.  I’ve often found myself starving and arguing that I need more caffeine so I set aside the hunger.

But eating the crops–vegetables, and certain meats (God bless the animals who bow into us), carefully and with a close watch, has helped.  I am grateful for this shift of self care, as it is so hard sometimes to bow to myself–my dear human body that has carried me so gently through this adventure on earth.

Grateful today–a glimmer of light shines.

To bless means to “call it good.”  We bless the dead, calling on all of our aching hearts to know that our only recourse is to make it good somehow.  Till the soil under for the next crop.  Plant flowers that bloom in the next cycle.

Broken homes make new beginnings.  Lost loves turn into good experience.  Changing bodies allows us to be more gentle.  Each season reminds us once again of what we forgot.

Earth is a blessing, from songbirds to tiny bright and resilient dandelions, that reminds us we truly can be called good.  Why is it hard sometimes to get joy in myself as “good” and blessed?  It is that tempter of the dark side telling me entangled stories of insufficiency, bad motives, weaknesses and cheating to feed off my paranoia.

It is just a shadow and I snicker at the illusion and move into the soft warm sunlight of Her Love.

St. Theresa writes about the meditative journey into a castle with many mansions, past a ditch with nasty animals, courtyards with temptations and disturbing entrance ways.

I feel like I am stuck on the outside of the inner wall.  I got through the courtyard, but am resting with my back against the wall, content and confident that I am inside the heart of the Divine abode, but just watching the spiders and mice, scavenger birds and other rodents live their life out in distraction.

There is nothing wrong, everything is as it should be.  I am practicing deep loving kindness to myself as I am every day distracted by the parade going by inside my head.

I am both the distraction and the unmovable earth; I am the cloudy windy sky; and I am the peace that is never disturbed resting in my Mother and Father’s home.

I am.

I’m powerless, life is unmanageable.  I do indeed believe in a Divine
Power in my life, my skin, my heart.  Perhaps I need this Friend to be
bigger, closer, in better contact talking to me.  And when I have Her
near as the hair on my neck, I will give this ache all to Her and my heart with be
lighter.

My heart is filled with Your Light.

My insides are like in a bickering argument. 
“I’m lonely”
“I don’t care.” 
“I want to do something with my life.” 
“I’m tired of trying.” 
“Helping people is good–it’s service–it’s blessed to give.” 
“I’ve given, it’s hard to receive, and I just don’t care.”
How cold.
I know, but that’s the honest truth.
Are you selfish?
Maybe.  Shouldn’t I take care of myself.
But this doesn’t feel right.
I’m in the middle of a change.
From what to what.
Dunno.
My heart is tired of reaching out.  And others don’t seem to reach to me, because I haven’t been vulnerable to them about my aches.
You can try now.
Don’t want to reach out now–my heart is tired.
So you want to mope and pout.
Sure, why not?  It’s honest feelings.
Well, yes, ok.  How long will this last.
Dunno.
And your faith?
Still strong.  She hasn’t left, still near me, still holding me.
That’s good. 

Another voice enters the conversation:
Lean into Me and I will ease your tired heart.

I’m feeling down lately.  I wonder if it is these stupid supplements I take for all sorts of naturally getting old kind of stuff.  Weird getting older.  My family didn’t revere the old, have many old people around, and never talked about the past much.  Trying to forget it I guess.  So here I am without many models of embracing the years and the aches and the feelings of uselessness.

What use are those ideas of changing the world, writing the spiritual tome or being on Oprah to impress you all?  Two children come and gone–a legacy of normalcy wrestling with the idea that I should have done something more special.

Then I go up–laugh till tears flow.  Be filled with the light of gratitude just to hear those fiercely brilliant birds grasping the dawn.  Maybe that’s all I need–to hear those birds get me up again.  The rest is human wanderings between growing leaves and sucking up the love from the earth.

Today I will be a tree–a towering full strong eternal tree–of me.

It makes sense to me that the sound of the spring birds pulling the sun out of her slumber tickles me in places hidden in other lives. I was a tree, after all, last time. I still have a lot of deep sadness that I can’t stay rooted in the forest allowing eternity to show me slow growth of my fellows.
But they remind me that I am a moving tree in this life, that I really wanted to walk, talk and dive into the challenges of free will and consciousness–as humans describe it.
Today, as every day, it is fitting to remember the world of gratitude I enjoy being on this planet. It is so much cooler than Venus, despite her passion. It is smaller than Jupiter, but not as eager in its fire. Its blue-green glow certainly warms the galaxy, and my heart orbits this dear earth.

I heard that phrase at a meeting the other day–that we’ve got to have faith in faith.  To believe that our beliefs will and are working.  Giving faith a chance to show itself.  And one way to do that is to be willing to believe.  To allow it a chance, to take steps along that path that looks like faith.

Faith isn’t hope.  Faith usually comes in when hope is completely gone.  Faith is what shows up right after complete surrender.  Surrender is when I finally give up hope–and that’s a good thing.  Hope sometimes serves as a fall-back gripping fierce last wrenching of control on a losing situation.

My desire today is to hold myself in loving kindness as I walk this brilliant bird singing spring day in faith that my dull trudging heart is as wondrous as an unopened tulip.

I’m not doing a lot of meditation these days, pray once in a while, more like a chant to calm myself down, lower my blood pressure.  I feel a little bit like on a little raft in the ocean.  It’s calm, but I keep thinking I hear a storm coming.

Faith, however, is ever-present.  I have built up an inner castle for myself that holds the truth for me inside.  I am convinced that there is a Divine Cycle of Good, that seasons follow seasons, horror movies fade, and my breathing brings the Spirit within.  Even if I stop breathing, there will be a spring of a new adventure that blooms for me.

These days I am irregular with everything–blog, exercise, food, creativity, dreams, depression, sadness and finally bright happy walks talking to trees.

I am safe in my faith; I have practiced enough that it is now part of the tapping of my fingers and resting of my head on Her shoulder as I await her next fragrant season.

I forget a lot of things.  To write back to people who are so kind.  To turn on the crock pot so we have soup for lunch the next day.  To start the dishwasher.  I forget that I am half human AND half spirit, and that this is some kind of journey, not torture.  I forget my blog.

But when I hear the spring birds singing to the rising sun behind the clouds, and see the trees still outside my window steady and true, I remember.

I remember that I am truly an adventurous spirit that volunteered for this crazy ride.  Better than the Rocko Planes at the fair, I have to squeal and scream when I’m tossed around, feel like throwing up and my heart seems to burst from my chest.

And when I leave the ride, I want to be completely satisfied that I rode and rode and screamed and squealed as much as I possibly could–whether I forget or remember what I’m doing.