I love rock and roll.  I used to sing lullabyes to my babies with slow rock and roll.  The word “baby” is used a lot.  I was a head-banger, I have to admit, loving the hard guitar riffs and pounding drum beats.  I’d transcribe the music and recognize the elegant simple lyrics that still inspire me.  These days I appreciate the movement, the upbeat and the resiliency of the fast-moving music.

Right here and now I claim the rock and rolling of the river on rocks–bursting with energy, constantly bubbling and rushing without any hesitation over the boulders, pounding them to tiny round pebbles.  Life just does that, and arguing with the flow just doesn’t work.

I throw myself on the sometimes rapidly moving Path of Heaven, wrapped in the safety of my Divine Friend.

That’s today’s message.  Over and over and over and over again.  Power is in ease.  All I need to do is take one thing at a time: death, red-eye, major event production, stressed partner, unfinished business, finding a job (or not), dying dog.  All day-to-day human stuff.

In the center there is no movement.  I claim stillness.  I do nothing and everything gets done.  Easy is truly what does it.  Whatever “it” is.

And right here, right now, I am swimming in the warm clear womb water of the Mother Elephant, Ganesha with all the universe in Her heart, standing at the doorway between the demons, the angels, the humans and the gods.  I am safe beneath Her breast and She and I rock and roll with laughter and dance as the galaxies spin as Her veils.

Breathing in, I remember who I am.  A creation of the Creator.  A flute of my Lover.  A friend in hand in hand with my hand.  Breathing out I honor the human, the child crying, the mother distracted, the hot day.

We all breathe today.  We are At One in All That Is.  I hold your hand and Your hand in mine.

Feeling overwhelmed.  Aware of the call, hearing the waters storming down the mountain from the melting snow of frozen dreams.  The rushing scares me.  The swollen raging river feelings are pushing me to speak, to declare, to manifest that calling.

I surrender.  I grip the tenuous float, the tiny raft and reluctantly agree to an exciting adventure–a frightening shift in my life.  The blank rune says: Time to jump empty handed into the unknown.

Like a reluctant sad flute, I am chosen by the Master and She is practicing with me for a concert.  I need only to rest in Her arms and let Her fingers have their Way with me.

It seems absurd to me that this is the only “reality” or “dimension” of life.  Nature is constantly transforming.  A caterpillar is cocooned into DNA mush and comes out a new being fluttering and flying away.  Dreams at night and when heart breathing stops for minutes at a time reveal something beyond the transparent wall of these simple senses.

Thus these days I reach beyond the gossamer fabric and touch the face of my mother, my father and my grandmothers.  “Hello there!  Someone is on their way to your side, please greet her.”  This grandmother now faltering with consciousness, skin raw with sores, joints stiff for years, bacteria raging through her organs–is ready to be born again on whatever side there is.

Since belief is an inside job, and proof of heaven, hell and gods are relative, I indulge in the wonderful world beyond and within me.  Breathing in the Presence of Paradise, resting in the soft sofa of Hugging Arms, all is safe, all is easy, all is love.

This combination of having feelings and a brain to analyze them can get me caught up in a little twister.  Are feelings real?  Are the culturally determined?  Is what I feel truly a side effect of what I believe?  Would it be better to only have good feelings and dissolve all “bad sad” feelings into facts of life?  It’s my belief (whoops, there I go again!) that there is no answer to these kinds of questions, just preferred opinions.

My opinion is that some memories just simply bring tears.  My mom says (from the other side) that we cry because we love; that’s how humans do it.  Despite that I talk to those I love on the other side, salt water still can leak from my eyes without warning.  The mind of my heart knows I am one with them in Spirit.  But the heart of my mind just wants to cry for missing them, missing the dream of what we might not have had even when they were alive.  Crying at stories maybe.

Today I’m going to let my heart be a sponge.  I can squeeze it when I want, so all the water love tears sadness joy weep out.  And I can rest in the hands of the Divine Housekeeper, ready to fill up with the sweet nourishing new love all around me.  What a lovely thought, to be Her sponge.

Here we go again.  The meditative vision started with scat.  Cat scat.  Dog scat.  They are such dear inspiring angels.  And scat is part of life.  Fuel goes in, we take what we need and release the rest.  Scat.

Now I have a friend who backpacks out here searching scat for signs of cougars.  That’s one way to use scat–as a sign and a guide.  We flush our scat down a nice clean (usually) facility that whisks it away without a second thought.  Some of us buy bags of chicken or steer scat and spread it all over our gardens.  Scat can be very useful.  There is good scat.

And then it can be seen as dirty, in the way, horrible and is used in conversation to refer to hard times, bad incidents, challenging people.

If we are in paradise, if I am in my Father’s mansion, the garden of the Creator, and an essential part of All That Is, every bit of scat–whether on the basement rug or on my shoe as I try to move into a new business–is valuable.  Reminding me to slow down, watch where I’m going, clarify boundaries, and use it for fertilizer.

Just like the Divine that guides my every tiniest movement, briefest breath, and confusing feeling, I yield to the Spiritual Scat in my Path.

Say we came here with a vision of our lives.  Perhaps with our Deeper Power we described a scathingly brilliant idea for an adventure and with jumping up and down glee begged to take it on.  “Pick me for this life!  Pick ME!!”

And of course, part of the game was to forget that we designed it that it was laid out ahead of time with a Divine and Glorious Purpose of expanding more and more of All That Is.

Today I trust the vision of huge rich goodness that is coming to me.  I rely upon the consistent reminder from within and around me that this is the Path that calls to me.  That I have been struck with a calling and Her song draws me forward in mesmerizing beauty, soothing sweet soaring surrender and infinite delight living the life as Her, for Her, with Him, through Him.

Abandoning myself to the Path of Heaven overflowing from within my chest to you.

If I could just constantly repeat “Ohmmmm.  Hum,” I think I would be making spiritual progress.  If I could not urgently insist on trying this solution and offering that suggestion and trying to understand why this and that doesn’t work out–I’d be in heaven.

But as it is now, I’m firmly anchored in a human existence.  My feet are connected to my shadow at the ground level.  Ground level–humus, earth, humility.  They say that humility is recognizing that I am not in charge of the world, that I cannot make things happen the way I think they should, that it is the opening of the heart so the grace of God can enter.  Cleaning house and opening it up for a potluck of gods maybe.

The key is to set aside what I think “should” happen.

I set aside for peace of mind here and now, there and then, all day in every way to feel the sweet shade of the Presence that is in the pause.  The pause that refreshes is the awareness of the Divine working through me, not me as the god of the world struggling to force solutions.

Pause.  Refresh.

Shade is cool.  Sun is hot.  Sometimes just sitting in the shadow gives me a break from the Light that is always there waiting for me.  Sometimes the truth is just too big and I want to retreat into the cover of the trees, sit under an old One and cry.

It’s the swarm of brain gnats flying around my eyes, nose and mouth.  Buzzing me with things I shouldn’t say, ideas that are illusions, fears that are the background humm of human life: my dog will die soon, I don’t get enough attention, too much of nothing to do, I’m always the one cleaning, guess I’ll go eat worms, etc etc etc.  The bitter kind of whine.

Even the thought of sorrow wipes the mind and empties the heart.  It is hard to understand the unending tears that are uselessly damned behind the facade.

In the middle is the Mother.  Standing behind me is the Father.  Above me is the Dove; below me is Gaia.  To my left is my Sweetheart and to my right She whispers soft giggling erotic temptations to stay centered in the Divine–in the shade and in the sun.