Being human involves feelings–at least for me and most people I know.  There are those that believe that feelings are all culturally instilled.  It does seem that feelings come from beliefs, and we certainly have had plenty of training in beliefs from before we were born.

It seems to me that emotional conflict arises when the belief smashes up against unexpected reality.  As they say, if I had no expectations, I would have no regrets.  How to have no expectations out of life?  Would that mean I never have conflicting feelings?  No matter how much I believe in heaven or reincarnation or even oblivion after death, wouldn’t I be sad to miss a friend or family?  And if I am so even-keeled to take things neutrally (isn’t that enlightenment to the Buddhists?), wouldn’t I be delighted to play with an infant or a puppy?  Even if I knew that their “cuteness” was culturally programmed?

Dunno.  My spiritual practice these days is to be aware and compassionate as I flow with the feelings and as I discover and watch the beliefs beneath them.  Accepting the gift of my life exactly as it is in each moment, ready to create a new day in a new way.  Resting in the recognition that “it came to pass, it didn’t come to stay.”  I release the fight and the debating society.

I relax on the Path rich with scented pines, soft with sun, soothing with shade, deep breathing the Divine.

What is
grief anyway, that perplexing swirl of feelings after a major change?  The shift in viewpoint so suddenly that you
lose your footing, the ground shakes beneath your feet, and the deepest faith
and path you were on suddenly seems to disappear.  There’s a shock in a split second and I’m on
a road without any orientation to where I’ve been or where I am or where I’m
going–or why.  My compass has lost true
north. 

Grief is a
remix, reset button that lasts a long time between software upgrades or new
operating systems.  Sometimes what used
to work so familiarly now is hard to even get going or find the right button or
the right code or the right way to sit, or wondering why the hell you go on any
more at all. 

I eat and
I’m not fulfilled, I drink and it’s stupid–not even quenching my thirst; there
is such a deep dissatisfaction.

So I sit on
the beach and watch the rocks so steady and patient.  They don’t fuss when they get polished though
it takes thousands of years.  They never
complain when they are sanded down, walked upon, moved against, tumbled, thrown
and lost.  They are never lost.

I know the
past is someplace, somewhere, something, and I feel the faith of eternality,
but where does that leave me?  I pray to
sit so still and listen for the wisdom as the scrub brush bends and gently
waves at the clouds coming in.

Is it just a part of being human that we think we should change the world somehow?  That my little speck of protoplasm on the huge globe circling the middle-sized sun on the edge of a small galaxy in the universe could shift all consciousness?  Or is that the pablum of ersatz-spirituality?  Or maybe it is the story that the channeled entities give us.

Or am I to live fully, open, true and singular as a leaf on a tree?  I asked one today.  She was shiney and yellow, fallen beneath her family of origin, still supple and rich with firmness and color.  How can you be you so well in the face of so many other leaves and trees?

“Other leaves and trees?  Why should they bother me?  I have so much fun being me.”
“Being you?”
“Being me.  I had lots of giggles as a tiny bud pushing out of what looked like a rigid bare wood branch.  Then unfolding was fabulous this year.  It was really really hot and I matured fast and furious–what a thrill!  After a tremendous ride through the air, I’m enjoying the rest here on the cozy comfortable earth.  I’ll be sleeping soon and thoroughly releasing myself to Gaia.  Being me is an amazing adventure.  What about you?”

I’m stunned.  What about me.

Fine
crushed gravel chats with my feet.

Night
sparrow secrets soaring low on the field

Rising
with the lightening pure gray white sky.

Hills
within the lake.

Sky
snuggled over mountain grace.

Brambles
being brambles

Overtaking
the fields

Anchored
in sweet

Grass
and wild sage.

Dew
does.

Brambles
be.

Clearings.

Clear
rings.

Relieve
me of the promise of self,

the
inevitable old stories and lies.

To
honor them but not live by them.

I
make a new life story today.

Leaving
the land of blackbirds.

Time
as one.

Change
is the One.

Every
tree has always been here always will be

here.

8/09

How small can the Next Indicated Thing be for me?  Is it to move this paper from this side of the desk to the other side?  Is it to remove the bills from the envelopes–just that?  Is it to put the plate on the counter, not rinsing it now, just put it on the counter. Or perhaps it is applying for another job, or taking a long walk in the dark, or going to check to see if my old dog is still breathing.

NIT picking I call it.  Nits are the tiniest period-sized lice eggs that, if you have a wide experienced life, you’ve picked out of someone’s tangled hair using a comb with tight teeth and kerosene-laced shampoo.  It is not a pleasant task.  Oh–and add a whining child to that.

It is just the next indicated thing that is required as a human trudges this happy road of destiny.  Today each breath I claim dignity and kindness to myself.

I found wide centuries of oaks last night in the dark.  Tall cedars who still tower ages above us all.  They whispered a secret or two to my silent sad self: “Breathe me and know that I am the you am that I am.”

I lean on Gaia’s open branches today as the smallest next action comes up to me.

If I rely on the Path entirely there is the fear that I, of myself, am nothing.  Like the hole in the donut.  But the hole MAKES it a donut.  Maybe my feeling of insecurity, doubt and uselessness is exactly what defines me as human.  Maybe that’s what this trip was all about–“feeling” like the hole and then eventually recognizing that I am whole WITH the hole.

I’ve spent time in my life feeling like nothing.  Like a “know-nothing.”  Then I looked around me and saw that without holes we wouldn’t have clothes to wear (need those openings for arms and legs), or earrings, or necklaces or lace or funnels or glasses and cups and on and on and on.

As the Tao says, it is the hole in the pitcher that makes it useful.  The empty space calling to be filled.  Thus I bow to the empty space inside of me today and allow it to be filled with trees, cool air, the call of my cat and the next indicated right action.

Grumpy cranky me walking home from the car repair shop.  Flowing with the funk.

Ambushed abruptly by two huge oak trees on the edge of the grocery store parking lot.  They snuck up on me and held me captive with their towering open wide arms of laced-leaves.  Don’t see many of these ancient ones here.  They reminded me of everlasting faith in strong wood spirit.

Ok, so that was a gift.

Trudging on allowing my feelings of stupidity guzzling my indulgent soda pop, I find a small park south of the reservoir.  Two tired looking mothers watching energetic truck-totting boys in the sandbox.  Along the dirt path three mammoth beech trees, friends for almost 300 years, stand and stand and stand with age, power and wisdom.  I am frozen by awe and my smallness. 

“You are as wise and venerable as we are,” they say.  “But I feel so useless,” I murmur in my sad heart.  “You are a new vibration of our essence of width and breadth.”  The leaves giggle and applaud as the wind caresses.  “This is what love feels like.”  A branch drops to my hand and offers a touch of love.

The rest of my walk was heaven.

The
center is here.

The
beginning is now.

The
new is infinite.

Growth
is breathing

Seed
to

Flower
to

Fruit
to

Seed.

From
the now

Ever
ripe.

I
am the seed of power,

Brilliant
flower and

Rich
fruit–

Infinitely
New.

Ktk
8-05

With the help of Heaven,

I’m strong

I’m healthy

I’m good.

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.

My soul magnifies my God

And my spirit rejoices in Her Love,

Because even when my life seems so
small, I am glorified.

The light of her love shines through my
family and friends for generations.

Great miracles have come to me and the
Holy Presence is as close as my skin, as near as my breath.

The grace of my Creator showers
throughout the world to all who turn to it–and to those who cannot see.

She goes before those and draws the
good to shower those who live in peace, and those that use the shadow are
scattered and sad in the heart.

The rulers of things are humbled; the
humble are exalted.

The hungry are filled and prospered;
and those who grasp and grip stand empty.

She opens her heart to me, seeing my
human hope.

The Divine Spirit has whispered love to all of
my parents and children and this Love cascades throughout time in creative
geniu