There should be a global holiday for despair, discontent and disappointment. It is the most excellent motivator. Only after repeated attempts at slamming down the wall in front of me, bloody and hysterical, do I sometimes, hopefully, turn left around the wall. It amazes me how long I can do the same thing over and over and over again before it dawns that, hmm, still not working.
Thinking out of the box is a fabulous theory, but if the box is made of generations of reality theories and hypnotic cultural so-called mores, we can be doomed to a life in a bad story. Of course, it probably is the truth that we came here determined to life a life in a “bad story.” I heard of one guy that, after many altruistic and accomplished lives, tried a human experience where he completely and utterly trashed everything. Apparently he was quite successful.
And what about all the so-called scientists out there–95% of their experiments are successful failures. Three cheers for dissatisfaction and hurray if a door opens up through all that trial and (so-called) error that we discover a path with fresh air, pine scent and the ohm of the heart rushing river.
I’m present and accounted for today. Waving my hand to the Teacher–I’m here. I’m now. I’m present to the Presence that breathes me. Cool air. Invitations to be an agent of love bring me so aware of the glory on the Path that my human conundrums fade.
Watching You in your eyes. Feeling Your Presence in the presence of others like me. I am in the field of grace and I feel the electricity in the air like fireflies panting at distant lightening. Let the thunder roll through my body like the ever present river of Ohm.
To be of use has been a mantra of my upbringing–helping others before you think of yourself. Well, that’s a valuable asset, but it sure can get out of balance. When I “helped” others whether they needed it or asked for it or not, if I insisted they take my “help”, if I wanted to help them so I could look good, the whole instinct became quite a liability. Almost killed me really.
With years of re-training, I’ve been able to get a glimpse at the difference between selfish self-serving and self-love and self care. It still can be a violent teeter-totter. Especially when I am in a change (aka fear).
Today I’m off to an interview in the hopes of being once again hooked into current society’s idea of usefulness. It seems like it would be an ideal and happy place to serve. My meditation has gifted me with many chants: To be useful and live peacefully in the grace of Creation; To see you more clearly, love you more dearly, follow you more nearly–day by day; My job is filled with loving kindness, my job is well, my job is peaceful and at ease and my job is happy.
Sweet Lover, You have come to me today to live through me. Every cell in my body feels Your fragrance. I fall into Your arms, that You have Your Way with me.
Shake off the funk. Coming back down to the unreal life of day to day ups and downs from a few days living, breathing, walking in heaven. Sometimes near-death experiences–brushing so close to paradise–I just don’t want to come home to the stories I’ve built. I see them, I can even honor them, but the idea of dismantling them is formidable.
Returning to reality of life ending all around me and the paradoxical phenomena of relationships reminds me of how dearly I’ve loved to escape. Whether geographic, alcoholic, or self-centered isolation, escape from interactions with others seemed so much easier than the impossible task of “figuring it out” or “understanding.” And now I believe that there is simply no such thing as understanding–it’s a constantly moving so-called target.
Thus today I will retrieve the crystalized senses of sitting beneath towering elders, flickering forest sunlight, soft moss covered earth and brilliant bubbling rushing ohming grace of the river. I now sit on the ever-wise rounded rocks by the chanting water and watch a leaf of the story drift by.
Life
death, near misses, mistakes, dog shit on the living room floor.
It
was that kind of a day.And in the midst
of it a wondrous conversation about being in the flow of a never ending river
of pure golden good, rushing, eternal, cool, rich, laughing, gurgling, always
giving.And the practice of going with
the flow, instead of upstream.Perhaps
that is the wonder of being with the Divine–allowing the streaming river of Good
to take us with it, instead of insisting on being a salmon and driving pounding
struggling smashing ourselves on rocks and rapids upriver to spawn.We are not salmon.
But
even fighting the flow gives us the good.
Bristling
about the mistakes I find each day, whether I cause them or forget about
something or I am the gap or someone else is the gap, or most usually, I have
no idea where/how the gap happened, but charged with moving forward and forging
the stream, concocting a boat, building a bridge to the completion of the
project, whether with gaps or not, people present or missing.And trying not to take it personally or hurt
or struggle.Hard practice.Just to allow the rushes and rapids of up and
down carry me around and through and over the rocks–all of them polished in
smooth rubbing of the grace of good.
Sinking
feeling getting the call that my dad is under the knife in surgery again
tonite, with a symptom that might have been causing his difficulty for a
year–why didn’t they see it?I surf the waves of grief knowing that I have
called to remind my dad of my love for him, that all will be ok, and just to
hear him and to have him hear me–in this life together–a small path in the
intertwining mobius strip of the oneness we are.
Stunned
to talk to a friend who is a singular reason I am still alive and sober, who
has a car accident that is not injurious, but scary.The thought is terrifying.I feel the wall
of water hitting me as I face upstream with the hard thought of her almost
dying, I am filled with the river of golden good that she loves me, and I love
her.
The
good river that keeps on giving, no matter if I am in the tube of a huge ocean
wave, slamming through the white water, or quietly still in a lake, I cannot
sink, I am clear and calm, I am surfing the goodness of Divine grace.
Today
is about acceptance.Accepting that
there is an insane over-protective voice–at least one–in my head “trying to
help me get better, survive, do it right, etc.” The part to accept is that it is a voice, not a command.Screaming at anyone never really helps, and nagging
isn’t effective either.Always focusing
on the negative leaves such a sour taste in my day.So part of me wants to say: back the FUCK
off.But then it just says:See?! I told you that you were rude, incapable, insufficient, stupid, angry,
etc.
Accepting
that it is merely a suggestive voice–an opinion of the best next action–could
help.Sure, isolating in my home, not
answering the phone, being sullen and feeling stupid is an option.But is it my choice?Ohm the practice of that pause, that tiny and
thankfully slightly longer pause every day to recognize that there is a
difference between reaction and a choice of action.Considering a choice for action
doesn’t even mean action, it means looking at the options and recognizing–for
that moment–a choice that looks good among the options.
Another
choice would be getting up 15 minutes earlier each day (JEEZ DON’T I GET UP
EARLY ENOUGH AS IT IS?!?) and sitting for a brief meditation review like
this.It’s not about sharing the Divine
Word, it is about feeling it as I express it. Feeling it through my cells, my heart, my mind–soothing my tortured
freakazoid addict mind–as I put it in words on the screen, paper, voice.
Because
there is another voice that intrinsically whispers more acceptance, allowance
and gratitude.The voice of the deepest
knowledge and intuition: The One.ThatBeloved Light Within that shines through the
anguished questioning doubting terrified human stuck-on-the-earth, afraid of
the dark, dragons everywhere–human. Uniting with some thing, someone, some higher vision, power or more
beautiful essence truly is the gentle holding of my hand, accepting that even
my tiny little girl facing the street can reach up, hold on, and feel that
tender connection that adores me, watching for the cars and leading me through
the abyss.
Today
today today, as I face that broad street of ambiguous boss, twisted projects,
bumping personalities, chilly weather, and my skin that trembles in doubt, I
now claim that when I look up there is the Perfect Grandmother who works out,
strong and warm, that reaches for ME, her hand so very near, and I am never
alone and exquisitely loved.
I enjoy beding time and space. Writing is the most excellent tool for this supra-dimensional practice. Clicking keys here expressing random, if not purposeful, thoughts from a scattered human heart/mind to you, the ethernet, the unknown, the way-out-there-whatever then and there. Plus the whole idea of me writing this blog was as a meditative practice, not to express, but to allow the words along the way to soothe through me and out the dancing fingers to the screen. Manifesting moments.
Another time/space bending conundrum happening here is that for the next few days I will not be here and now, but in the deep woods, speckled sun pine scented forest, a rushing river ooohhhmming throughout my body. Sleeping so I can see the treetops, waking with tiny forest songs, napping midday in soft summer heat.
It is redundant to meditate in nature, I’ve found, as the sensually vibrating body is emersed in endless moments of the mind and heart full full full of All That Is. Fairies giggle as they play hide and seek, brownies complain and steal food crumbs, ancestors wander around with the fire smoke.
With Her cougar and rabbit shadows nearby, the Lady of the Forest sits on a rock in the river and sends Her siren love song out to me.
4-3-08
Life
death, near misses, mistakes, dog shit on the living room floor.
It
was that kind of a day.And in the midst
of it a wondrous conversation about being in the flow of a never ending river
of pure golden good, rushing, eternal, cool, rich, laughing, gurgling, always
giving.And the practice of going with
the flow, instead of upstream.Perhaps
that is the wonder of being with the Divine–allowing the streaming river of Good
to take us with it, instead of insisting on being a salmon and driving pounding
struggling smashing ourselves on rocks and rapids upriver to spawn.We are not salmon.
But
even fighting the flow gives us the good.
Bristling
about the mistakes I find each day, whether I cause them or forget about
something or I am the gap or someone else is the gap, or most usually, I have
no idea where/how the gap happened, but charged with moving forward and forging
the stream, concocting a boat, building a bridge to the completion of the
project, whether with gaps or not, people present or missing.And trying not to take it personally or hurt
or struggle.Hard practice.Just to allow the rushes and rapids of up and
down carry me around and through and over the rocks–all of them polished in
smooth rubbing of the grace of good.
Sinking
feeling getting the call that my dad is under the knife in surgery again
tonite, with a symptom that might have been causing his difficulty for a
year–why didn’t they see it?The answer
my stepmom tells me gives me absolutely no information.She’s in a fog of being present, getting some
food, waiting for the nod to approve anesthesia that we have no idea will yield
another living human breathing father/husband on the other side.I surf the waves of grief knowing that I have
called to remind my dad of my love for him, that all will be ok, and just to
hear him and to have him hear me–in this life together–a small path in the
intertwining mobius strip of the oneness we are.
Stunned
to talk to a friend who is a singular reason I am still alive and sober, who
has a car accident that is not injurious, but scary.The thought is terrifying.And she is still shaking and I’m the second
person she calls.So as I feel the wall
of water hitting me as I face upstream with the hard thought of her almost
dying, I am filled with the river of golden good that she loves me, and I love
her.Then the silly struggle comes again
that I am now charged with guilt and duty to see her more often, love her more
dearly and take the time to express myself, be with her, give to her as she has
given to me.
The
good river that keeps on giving, no matter if I am in the tube of a huge ocean
wave, slamming through the white water, or quietly still in a lake, I cannot
sink, I am clear and calm, I am surfing the goodness of Divine grace.
The Divine Lady sits on a rock in the river and sings Her siren love song to me.
Just like my dad, I talk to my old dog about heading for the door, letting go of this life, and he sparks up and revives. His legs are working, he’s got a tiny lift in his step and even gave a little whorly “we’re home!” howl on the way back from his walk. This is often the gift of a near-death experience: we want to stay.
It reminds me of the resilience of the grass, vitality of the screaming crow, singularity of the snake-bark slender tree. I’m not sure if the next life has these things, probably other spectacular phenomena, but the brilliance of everything is the same and everything is completely always different certainly is a facet of earth-life from human eyes.
I am recognizing the familiarity of ancestral worship. Maybe it is those who were here in the past that whisper from beyond the veil: “EnJOY yourself! The earth is beautiful. YOU are beautiful! Swim in that beauty.”
Indulging in grace, right here, right now, I’m doing the back float in bliss.
Today I want to be a water flower. Rooted deep through all waters. Allowing all tears, all sadness, all feelings to wrap around me and nourish me. But I will never be waterlogged. The slime and mud, dead leaves and silt, memories and useless future frantacies feed me.
All the shadow always fuels me, cools me, is my shade. I can slurp it up and let go that which does not serve me.
On top of the pond of this day, I am the lily in the cool of the willow tree. My petals listen to droplets glistening in the morning sun. I am that I am that I am that I Am.
God Knows. So I follow signs and cues. I’ve been trained in acting, and I know how to do improvisation–to follow the lead, watch for openings and go with the flow. Go with the flow. If I believe I am always in the River of Goodness and Grace, the practice is to allow my unsinkable raft to dip and bob, up and down, slow and furious, hold on and laugh or cry as prompted.
Dogs wag their tail. Cats mew for food and hugs. We all have instincts, urges or feelings–whatever you want to call them, however they are planted in us with beliefs and patterning. It is so much easier to allow for them, watch them, and sniff around for the belief behind the feelings and flop it on the table like a smelly fish. Cleared of the emotional clutter, I can decide if I truly want to believe that or not.
I have released the belief in worry. I am no longer teased by the fear of financial insecurity (I might to the outside world still have financial insecurity, but I’m not afraid of it any more). I recognize that my moods are my choice–conscious or subconscious–and truly cannot be blamed on others.
I believe in a Loving Creator, a Good Universal Spin, a brilliant First Idea and the adventure of human life. I trust that I can indulge in personalizing this Spirit any time I wish in ANY way I wish, fairy tale or made-believe, faith or fantasy. I am grateful for this graceful indulgence here and now that relaxes my shoulders with Her giggling whisper in my ear.
