What if we were guaranteed satisfaction–by just claiming it?  Maybe we’d be angels and never have a human experience because it seems much of this earth-bound body-life is about frustration–or at least the belief in frustration.

I claim satisfaction guaranteed whenever I—

…have no expectations (thus no regrets at all).
…am in the woods, in nature, in a field.
…am with my animals.
…finish a job with people acknowledging and thanking me.
…clean the house (at least for a day)
…make dinner that turns out well
…write my feelings.

And wouldn’t it be terrific if I was really guaranteed satisfaction when I–
…ate ONE cookie or ONE potato chip or ONE soda pop
…allowed people to be just the way they are without my suggested solutions for their life
…recognized that everything I am and do in this very moment is perfect.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I recognized that there is nothing needed in order to feel satisfied.

Maybe it’s a function of being on the planet for a number of years, but there is this realization that the group of people I was born into–they call that family of origin these days–is not the same as the family I choose.

Looking up the root of the word “family”, I had to laugh that the old Latin meaning was “servants in the household.”  Now that makes sense.  It is those that used to serve the owners of the house.  Or these days perhaps, it is the group of people that make up the household. 

What is a challenge is to recognize the patterns of expectations that pretend to rule families.  “We’re a family–we stick together.”  “No need to speak about that outside the family.”  “Why didn’t you tell me–I’m family!”  All hints of expectations of how we “should” treat one another.

Thank all the Gods that I have found something better than all those family rules, myths and unspoken patterns–I am a member of a tribe.  I am thrilled to have chosen sisters who chat and delve deep into life’s mysteries with me, give me a slap on the butt when I’m a jerk, hold me when I’m down.  It is fabulous to enjoy my brothers when they do connect with me (once every three months?!), whether kin or members of my herd.

Thriving where nourished; setting aside that which does not fuel me with a blessing.

Poplars prematurely brown still applaud the stirring symphony breeze.  Grazing geese on a stopover from the north flutter at me slowly driving through their flock.  Holy water from the sky sprinkling blessings.  Faithful boots splashing pouting puddles into childhood delight. 

Nature, simply itself, erases my deadening doubts and pours down, dissolving the past and muddying the future.  I sit inside the dark stormy day, cozy with all change. 

Divine Diva humming and soft singing chanting through the rain.

One day in heaven, She said, “I’ve got an adventure for whoever wants to go.  It will be up and down with feelings, beliefs, illusions, anxieties, and brilliance.  The volunteers need to be courageous, as part of the journey is to forget that you are angels.”

“ME ME!!  PICK ME!”  I shouted out, waving my hand vigorously above the crowd, “Pick ME!!

And She did.  I was so excited to be one of the Chosen!!  When I heard it was to go to Earth–the most magnificent planet on that side of the little galaxy of the middle-sized universe to the side of the cosmos–I was thrilled.  Though it certainly was a long way away.

She was certainly correct!  It is quite a roller coaster.  But today I remember that I am an angel in a human costume, playing that hysterical human game, and I truly want to play well. 

What a blessing that would be!  To always have peace that goes beyond all understanding.  To set aside trying to figure anything out.  To release the idea that anything can be comprehended at all.  And no matter what seemed to be going on (all of it stories), to feel a core-quieting calm.

Someone said to me this morning: “If it is a paradox, it must be truth.”  That statement in itself is a paradox, but certainly sounds true.  Especially as a human merely being, what a laugh to even pretend to assume understanding of anything.  God is too big, the universe is endless, even the tiniest microscopic element in this mysterious computer and fascinating explosion of time and space for me to type here/now and you read it there/then is hysterically uncomprehensible.

Thus, today I keep with the peace.  Calm at the core.  Claiming personal instant here and now love.  Declaring that I am, as I am, no matter what seems to swirl around–and within–me, good and plenty.

Ok, I know what “willful” means–I’m totally full of my will.  That’s been one of my finest qualities, also known as “a know-it-all.”  Being somewhat independent from childhood, my assertiveness got me out on adventures and back again.  I knew who I was and what I wanted.  But then what I thought I wanted didn’t give me the feeling I sought.  Or rather, the feeling that I finally was aware of what I sought.

But willingness is a different story.  It is a treasure hunt allowing the next indicated action to come right up to me and nudge me.  Sometime I show that I am willing by getting more information and staying right where I am.  Perhaps I pretend I’m over there, acting as if I’m happy.

Part of me does not believe that “action is the proof of willingness.”  Certainly if I’m showing up for the creativity, new experience and beginner’s mind, it shows that I am committed to moving in a new direction.  However, I’m still in the mud-fertilization period.  Like a seed starting to soften within the cool wet earth, just rustling like a chick with sticky feathers in an egg, or a fetus the size of a lemon starting to kick against the wall of life.

Gestating a birth.

A friend has this saying, “If you have no expectations, you’ll never be disappointed.”  But expectations are grounded in cultural beliefs.  A marriage should last–well, for a while anyways!  Family should help each other.  If you say you’ll do something, you should do it, or at least communicate a change in plans.

Hahahahaha!  So how do we let these expectations go?  How to release all these rules of engagement that generations of cause and effect experience?  Rather, how do we detach ourselves from those ideas and live a life true to ourselves?

Dunno.  Good question.

This combination of being at one with other human beings and communicating connections and even fences that make good neighbors is a delicate balance.  Keeping my heart steady on my sense of purpose while being a good partner, neighbor, worker, social participant, is a daily, minute-by-minute adventure.

So today I’m in a fantasy park life, riding rollercoasters of downtown work, getting a ticket to watching a dear friend in fear–and NOT being in the movie myself, being in a good game tossing ideas back and forth–and leaving the game court when the game is over.

I breathe in a pure full heart of Divine inspiration to be the Light I seek, and release a breath of ease and joy that blesses me from within me, around me, above me, beneath me.

I’m not convinced that any of us are “normal.”  As a friend says, “It’s a setting on a washing machine and nothing else.”  But I often feel “abby-normal” (as they say on a favorite old movie–abnormal).  That is, a part of me is convinced that when I feel insufficient, lonely, hurt or in fear that isolation is the best cure.

Sometimes it does work, when I’m in nature.  Under towering pines, walking on soft mossy ground, babbling brook and twittering hidden birds, there is no judgment.  I’m never alone, I am completely at peace and there is nothing to fear–not even death.

But walking through downtown in shoes that are not for walking, preparing for a new task, meeting new people, traversing renovated paths filled with unfamiliar animals, I have to practice peace.  I have to remind my body that I am safe and loved.  It is time to chant the Prayer for my Children.

With the help of Heaven, I’m strong, I’m healthy, I’m safe.  Every day in every way I’m getting better and better and better.  I am, I can, I will be healthy, wealthy, wise and safe.

Not journaling.  Some days it is just that my feet are on the Path.  I do believe I signed up for this–heck, this could be a reward for a previous life struggle.  Or a terrific gift: “You picked the grant prize!!  You get to HUMAN!!!”  And the crowd cheers.

But the belief that I should have a driving dream and maintain a focused spiritual purpose leaves these human days of “now what?  Hmm, whatever.”  A fallow time perhaps, when the soil is left on its own.  Grass, weeds and wildflowers certainly grow on their own.  But there is that muddy messy time.

Here I am in rich mud (aka shit), reveling in the fertilization of my soul.  Reminding my mind (remanding my mind) that doing nothing does not mean I’m not going somewhere.  As Rumi says: “Keep walking, but there is no place to go.”  It is the journey, not a destination.  We live on a globe; the horizon just keeps on moving in front of me–always out of reach.

Thus the path is important today.  Who I meet, the city, the bustle, the dog barking, the breakfast the journey.  And if I really want, I can cry into the pillow of Her arms for some kind of sadness that I am far away from my home.

Woodstock certainly wasn’t a garden, it was a mud bath, acid trip, furious and constant brilliant music.  It was a marker in a decade of children that defied the bombs promised during the Cold War and knew that putting our heads beneath our knees in the basement of the old Catholic school would not save us.  We never believed the stories, the blood mixed with flowers on the campus lawn broke all those facades.

Today the meditative walk revealed tiny chartreuse leaves unfurling from tired long wooden branches, dried from a hot summer.  The old dog reminds me that there is always something worth sniffing.

What if this world and this life was a great adventure rather than a struggle or a lesson or a punishment?  What if this was a fabulous reward?  What if death and fury were a comma rather than a period or new paragraph.  Even if it is a new topic, how can I be excited rather than anxious?

Church bells in the distant and tiny sparrow chirping defy the heaviness of constant breathing and the pull of gravity worrying of the next right action.  Low gray cool clouds cover the horizon–no mountains, no city, no far away path.  Just a walk in the park.  Even when the invisible jet tears a scream through the sky, it holds no wounds.