Change is constant.  All is moving, from sub-atomic particles to the galactic rotation around the center of the universe.  The universes themselves rotate around some magic center.  Magic because I have a limit to my imagination, let alone any scientific conceptual abilities.

From one second to another, uncertainty rules my life.  It is hilarious to watch those who attempt control.  There are many masters of this, but it strikes me as a trumped-up story that is proliferated for comfort. 

So I have to keep on bending at the knees, dipping and bowing, allowing the earth to move under my life as it breathes.  I bring in the air–inspired.  I release the air–gratitude.  Each movement of the bellows is new and tentative.  My chest will one day be still.

I cherish the certainty that Spirit is infinite.

How do we mix those two: honesty and love?  Especially when “love” was shown to be such a an act in some ways.  We “love” the brownies, our car, your story, my dress.  Even if someone said “I love you” when I was a kid, I guess I felt it, but when nothing else was said, no other information or intimate thoughts or feelings, it came out and grew into a goodbye greeting. I find I do that now–I wonder if I mean it–“Goodbye, I love you.”

Ha, maybe the two of them together was a real linkage: If I love you, I have to say goodbye.  Or just as I’m leaving I’ll tell you I love you.  Or it was the last word instead of the first.

Plus there was an act about loving in the family.  I do something for you, thus it equals that I love you.  And that turned out to be I have to always be doing something for you to prove that I love you.  And since you don’t do anything for me, you obviously don’t love me.  “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” was a phrase that always seemed like a lie.  Or a cover up.  If I love you I don’t have to say I’m sorry.  What kind of love is that–not to admit mistakes or gaffs or stepping in it and tracking it all over the carpet of our lives?

In any case, I’m learning more and more about how to do this combination.  “I don’t feel comfortable right now.”  “I’d rather not, thanks.”  “Can I have a hug?”  “Can I give you a hug.”  “I don’t want to be with you.”  “I don’t agree with you.”  Those phrases seem simple, but they have been only evident since I recognized I wasn’t being honest, and that I could express my truth without setting fire to the house.

These days I practice and practice making honest love to myself.

What’s up with this heart stretching, aching stuff?  Why do we have this in our chest when it is pulled from my office desk to miles and miles away where my sister is weeping?  How can I alleviate this pain and break the stupid barriers of time and space and go to comfort her?  Why can’t I grab all the money I can get my hands on to go and rescue her?

Damn ideas of time and space and having a heart.  Whose idea was this human thing anyway?!  What good does it do the Divine to feel these feelings through me?!

Time (sic) to trust.  To be here and now the best I can.  To chant the easy, calm, love, safe words that keep me in my body instead of trying to send my spirit elsewhere resulting in me reacting and distracted.

I declare and claim all the love to shine through my body.  To root me in my life here and now.  I know the Divine has no limits, thus as I relish my day, so the waves of comfort vibrate through the universe to all who suffer.  I call upon the flowing compassion of Kwan Yin today to wash us warm with Her Love.

I saw a mediocre but noisy movie in 3-D last night about the battle between the gods and humans–big spectacular monsters, brilliantly beautiful heroines and a bland hunk of a hero who followed the unexpressible tough guy role.  Like so many, he will go far.  No need for acting.

In any case, it still mimicked the humanity-old struggle of the so-called gods outside of us and the combination of divine-human inside of us.  We are truly a synthesis of the two.  We can’t control the weather and monsters, but we know human feeling and love like no god seems to be able.  Or so the story goes.

These myths are ageless stories of how we do combine these elements.  A god comes down, son of the heavens, and gives his life for us in order to show us that we can rise above everything–even death.  An avatar spends an early life in luxury, a middle life in dismal fasting, and a mature life in balance–showing us the middle way.  A woman–many women–give birth to the world, nurture all of nature, and somehow also destroys everything to bring us a new fresh blossom of peace.

I’m glad I’ve claimed all these gods as my own, and can play with their stories in my life every day.  All of these tales end up in eventual reconciliation–even though the initial separation itself was an illusion.  Hurray to the beauty and power within!

I hear the birds heralding the soft gray dawn.  Cold spring morning.  Snow in the passes.  Squaws and dark clouds that dump rain and move to stalk nearby neighborhoods.

Sounds of my dear companion in the next room.  Stretching of a cat who softly mews for my touch.  Clicking of the keys.

Morning has broken.  Like the first morning.  Memories of family run from my heart to my eyes tempting tears.  There and then was so different than here and now.  Why do memories ache?  Is it truly “good grief”?  Why is it hard to hold the dearness in my body when another person’s body is so long gone?  Is it truly a spiritual existence in a temporary human form?  How do I know that is true?

I guess it doesn’t matter.  My world is made up of my stories.  And I want it to be a good story, a fun story, a story that, well maybe I can weep whenever, but not right now.  Right now I want to pull a bright jacket of thanksgiving around me for the soft cozy home I have.  Here I intend to energize my form and create a day of treasure–a treasure chest of stories to tell at a later here and now.

I have these days resisting getting up.  Turning off the alarm and then oversleeping.  Rushing around in a tizzy.  Don’t wanna get up.  Don’t wanna go to work.  Should I drive or bus?  What shall I wear?  It seems like such a silly stupid struggle this human crap.

I mean, it really doesn’t matter and I make a big deal out of it.  Pushing the river.  Struggling instead of going with the flow.

That’s why I need these tiny moments each morning to remember who I really am.  I am a Divine emanation.  I am a shaft of light from the big Bang of love stuff that started it all off on this lovely blue-green planet.  I am music from the Master’s Hands.  I am a flute through which She plays the lilting song that mesmerizes the galaxies to dance.  Leaning on Her soft shoulder, I melt into a slow rhythm remembering who I AM.

All life is, I think, is getting used to the bumps.  Laughing while bumping.  Maybe I should write a book: how to laugh while bumping with others.  That’s all we do, you know.  I’m bumping now (assuming this is being read by others–ha!).  At least bumping up within myself–what to say, how to say it, the inner critic & editor vs. the babbling excitable heart.

Every relationship is a soft bump or a hard bump.  Hard sell salesman seem to bump hard–how do I handle it?  Do I body slam them back, or use one of my trusty tai chi verbal martial arts “ward off” maneuvers.  My staff complains.  Shall I wring their necks, or find a way to guide us to a solution?  My cat yells at me for food.  Do I lovingly talk back and encourage him, or give him a brush-off and say “LATER”! 

We get polished, and/or we bump like billiard balls and knock ourselves across the years out of sight into a dark corner pocket.  We act like roller derby gals, slamming each other down like dominos. 

Or perhaps we dance a nice slow dance.  Hand on someone’s shoulder.  Hand on her waist.  Allowing the music to sway us here and there, step by step.

Isn’t it nice when you feel that mutual admiration with another person–and they seem to feel it with you too?  I seem to be dealing with enjoying the state of satisfaction lately.  A new job is settled down to routine, wolves are fed and stopped howling at my door, commute is accepted.  And yet I find that when things settle down, or seem to go well, no drama, that I get restless.

I’m not irritated or discontent–yet.  But I am familiar with the restlessness and recognize that it is time to find another creative endeavor.  Hmmm, maybe cleaning out the basement would do it.  …..Naaaa.

I pray today to be more crystallizing grateful for the mutual admiration that I feel with those who nourish my spirit.  They ask about me, laugh at my jokes, and give me warm hugs.  If I stay centered in the here and now, I may feel that ever-present admiration from the Lady of all Love, Sweet One that dances in the dark when I sleep, wide-womb Ganesha that shields me beneath her chest, endlessly rooted ancient Tree that stands by me forever.  Now that’s mutual admiration.

I don’t want to be new, I don’t want to be different–sounds too much like a struggle.  But with each breath I take, there is a new moment I stand on the planet.  Each movement I make, no matter how routine, is a different day.  I am renewed each wave of sweet spring fragrance. The trees are bigger, the tulips regenerate, new birds.

I saw a duck with a dozen ducklings swimming in a big puddle yesterday.  The runt of the litter was running faster than her siblings, but she was not the last in the line. 

Life finds a way to run and thrive and giggle and jump and look around for the brilliance of beauty.

The earth refreshes my soul.

There’s all this talk these days about “change your thinking, change your life.”  Making intentions, screaming affirmations, creating your own reality.  Sure, makes sense.  Everything you see around us started with a thought–the keyboard, my blog, the clothes I wear, my job, etc. 

But what about when life just gives you a bump.  Somebody dies unexpectedly.  You lose a job and can’t find one like you used to.  A cold sore comes out of no where and each movement of my lip hurts and I’m obsessed with how ugly it looks.  From tragedy to hangnails, stuff just simply happens.  And I didn’t intend it, or affirm it, or work to manifest it.  What’s up with that?!

Dunno.  But I suppose the best phrase that helps is: “I may not be responsible FOR it, but I am responsible TO it.”  And sometimes just facing it, allowing it, seeing it as a symbol or a sign, and just rolling with it, helps to assuage the frustration of it.

That and a big does of gratitude gets me through some days.  No heat in the car?  Just keep breathing, I have a car.  Body not working quite right; deal with it with a smile.  My body is upright and I’ve got viable daily work.

Always bringing the Divine Energy into the complaint, hearing Her smother a giggle at my little stamping foot like a toddler tired and cranky wanting to play at naptime.