How can they thrive in me at the same time?!?  I must be human.  One minute meditating on the brilliance of a pure bright daffodil, the next wanting to scream at someone’s incessant coughing.  Here sitting in a wake of spiritual reading, there fighting obscure corporate politics.

What were we thinking to combine dirt with such lofty angelic hearts?  Why did we jump at the chance of life with the sure ending of death?  How is this the adventure we sought as bored angels? 

Dunno.

But surely I need to make the best of it, as sitting in the fear of endings, the worry of pain, the negative anticipation of loss is just simply not enjoyable.  There are just too many daffodils.

Recognizing a peculiar lack of passion, I am allowing the Way to lead me.  I walk the Path, same as always, with less control, determination or fierce habit of doing.  I sit and wonder often.  I wait until the next action comes up to my feet and kicks them into movement.

I am plagued with “not good enough” “not doing enough” “why bother” and a specter of laziness.  This sitting and waiting for the next right action exposes all my cultural and family myths and rules. “if you can’t do something right, don’t do anything at all.”  “If you need something to do, help someone else.”  And the deep old belief that my purpose in life is to bring goodness to others.

It’s like old blood being drained out of me and new blood transfusing.  Still I am slow and being me just for me. 

So I lean on the Goddess and Main Man within me.  Holding both hands of stillness and power, brilliance and comfort, we walk the Path.

That’s what it is all about, actually.  Foster and nurture some kind of belief in more than the bare empirical facts and take risks on that trust.

I believe my friend who might die this year will be on the other side with some kind of homecoming.  I trust that the angels watch over my despairing distant son.  I allow the path to take me through conversations through mine fields with my office mates.  I have faith that if I wake up in the morning, I have a purpose–even if it is in the fog of my tired human mind.

I hae no fear or bother if this is all not true after I die–I leave that adventure to another time.  today I lean on the Dear One who rests Her lovely head on my shoulders, watching me write, and nibbling on my ear.

I write this because some mornings it is a struggle to remember the spirit part of me.  The human just wants to lie down again and go back to that crazy dream world and finish the tasks there.  There are always tasks there.  And tasks here.

Why is it that some days everything feels like a task?  And other mornings, the birds coaxing dawn over the trees seems like a perfect goal of this human adventure.  No one really understands or can figure it out–all our ideas are merely guesses.  We set it all up that way–living by surprises.

And after so many years on the planet, I don’t pray for surprises any more–just maybe to hear the birdsong and see the sun once gain cover the planet in coral love.

Death has been around as long as birth has, but these two guys certainly have a vastly different reputation–especially in the west where we disavow anything after this tightly constricting cocoon of life.

So when a companion tells us that her body is breaking down with this and that, that there is a cancer wrapped around her artery and throat singing the siren song for a dramatic ending, I have mixed feelings.  Hurray to take off for the other side!  Congrats on a long 77 year life well lived!  Yipes, sorry, wow, that hurts.  I’m sad.  Are you prepared?  What kind of party do you want to have.

Instead of a wake, she’s having an “Awake” party with her present at her house.  Now that’s a nice way to go–partying all the while.

Our human bodies simply do not last forever; they are tiny protoplasmic vehicles for a short time diving into earth’s dear and brilliant colors.  Today I relish every movement, ache, stretch, yawn, sight, and smell of this precious journey.

That’s what comes to me today.  I want to spend the early morning with spiritual friends, but the Divine is anxious to try something brave at work.  So I bow to the Lotus within that is eager to work through me. 

I call on all birds of serenity to fly before me today, the firry pines to sweep the Way, the lacy skeleton empty broadleafs to herald the ease that meets me.  I pray that all my actions will flow like a warm knife through soft butter to spread kindness and goodness on the Path.

Let the soft spring rain wash me of all pouty resentment and make me a clean and pure vessel for the Exquisite Spirit, the Nothingness of Ein Sof to fill me with that spark of inexpressible darkness.

I am along for the Ride and it is glorious.

Everything is sacred.  Oh that I could feel that every second of my day.  My job is Divine Work; I am surrounded by creative, fun angels.  Each task in front of me is a new game designed by the One I love to entice me to Her more.

I go into the Temple each morning, walking through the courtyard of cars.  I look up to the nearby towering trees and we both bow to the day of working with Spirit.

To be with the Way, I do my job.  Then let go. 

Trust the Tao and natural instincts.  Easy to say, but my natural instincts are myriad addictive behaviors masking some murky illusionary fear.  Like separating the beginning, middle and end of a river–it all looks the same rushing.

Does fear prompt eating, or hunger?  Does instinct urge standing up for myself, or is that fear?  Am I compassionate because of my nature, or am I trying to be good, or please someone else?

More and more, I pray to be aware as I float down the river.  When the rapids arrive, I grip and grasp the tiny boat and know that I cannot capsize, being in Your arms.  And then I just scream “whahooooooooo!” and open up to have fun.

So many phrases in spirituality and religion talk about “It is the Father through me that doeth the works” and “letting the Divine have Her Way with me,”  Letting the Holy Spirit–whatever that means, live life through me..

I see it that the Divine can’t do anything on earth unless it is through a human spirit.  This astounding place where the most ephemeral and direst dirt meet.  God’s hands are ours.

But then there is nature.  Nature is the Divine canvas, where She gives us messages at every turn, each sight, all views. 

That is why this morning in this little corner of a small office, blinds drawn to the still-dark morning, I have a small tender stick near me, a magic wand from a forest walk.  I keep wood near me, as ir remembers Her seasons so well.

Hamlet had an easy dilemma–to be or not to be.  Me, I’ve got this argument about being of use vs. merely being.  To make a mark on the world by helping others, working as a cog in the great machine of life, or just sitting, feeling my feelings and making a choice to what serves me.

Ok, well, it’s not quite that black and white, and when I make a choice for me it could be that I am serving the world.  Not the least of which I’m not so freaking cranky if I really choose for me.  And what’s a codependent to do when helping others seems like what I DO want to do?

The problem is that I get out of balance.  Teetertottering on that human/spirit playground.  The more I breath the more I think it is just a game and the whole point is no matter what I do, to just do and move on to the next be.  Or the next do. 

Being & doing like yin and yang rolling through the Way with me bouncing along.  Bumpy ride sometimes.  Glad I’ve got a good Driver and won’t fall off.  Though She has wild red hair, squeals and giggles as She races me through the streets of my tiny life.