Identify as a Jack Russell for the Ascension. Never be ignored again.
When the women go off the pill, the men go on.
My best construction skill is hovering.
For the finer things in life, there’s glasses.
The role I dressed for isn’t even in this play.
Before we just wanted to light your fire; now we want to blow up your phone.
For me, a wedgie means angling sideways on the steps to avoid the cat.
Monthly Archives: April 2015
“Purpose” Unity of Rehoboth Beach – April 26, 2015
April 30, 2015 9:15 PM / Leave a comment
First I want to share with you how I came up with this topic. When I figured out that I had two talks to give in a row here, I came up with one immediate topic, but that’s the one for next week. The talk today came about because I was stumped. And when I’m stumped, I go to the bowl where I keep my angel cards, I take a deep breath, reach in & choose a card. When the card read “purpose,” I thought aha! Perfect! Then came the time to write the talk & I was stumped once again. I couldn’t say for certain I’ve lived my life “on purpose” for about ¾ of it. But here I am & here we are, so here we go…
Let me ask the $64,000 question first: just what is your purpose for being alive on this planet today? Do you have an idea? Any ideas? If you had to finish the sentence: “The purpose of MY life is…” what would your next words be? It’s an easy question with a difficult answer.
The next source I checked for help was the dictionary. Purpose is both a noun & a verb. This doesn’t amaze me, my NAME is also a noun & a verb, after all.
The Noun:
“the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. (As in the purpose of a hammer is to nail.)
The verb Purpose tells me:
“To have as one’s intention or objective.”
(As in “I purpose to tell you about this word this morning.”) Boy, that sounds awkward, doesn’t it? I think we use this word as a noun because of that. But what if you turned it into a verb? What would you purpose to do with the rest of your day? Take it out a little farther: what would you purpose to do with your very life?
Let’s look at what this means to you. When you woke this morning, what was your first purpose? I mean after the usual routine of putting yourself together to enjoy the day. I’m glad you purposed to come to Unity of Rehoboth Beach! But what else?
We all need an “overall purpose” for living. Hopefully, we get to take that beyond making enough money to care for our basic needs. Hopefully we can extend our purpose to include God. And since we all have that God-spark within us, it will become important at one moment to search for that spark, interview (inner-view) its PURPOSE and express that outwardly with & in our lives.
Living “on purpose” isn’t easy. It means not being reactive to a lot of what is going on out there and in here. It means not deceiving yourself about your motives & this kind of honesty might be like taking an emery board to file you’re your conscience.
Having a purpose would seem to make it a lot easier to live. We have probably all been rootless at times in life, sitting on our hands, driven neither to improvement OR failure in the same moment! At these times I say to myself, “I really want to do this, but I don’t feel like doing anything.” There was a time when, if the question came up of what to do when I didn’t feel like doing, I just turned on the TV to avoid it. Things got strange for me when my ex took the TV we had & I figured that was the last thing I wanted to spend money on. I will say that was when I started really paying attention to my life. Up until then I hadn’t realized how much the programs were programming ME.
I’ve sat more than once & asked God to take these hands & put them in service, Without sounding holier-than-thou, what worked for me was to ask how I could best serve God. I figured it was safe to do that. Who’d know better what I was to do with them?
When we make a conscious decision to serve, Life can go many ways. We serve ourselves with lively consumerism, filling in time with various pursuits and hobbies. We serve our families and friends with good cheer in very many ways, directly with support and advice, or indirectly through just being in their energy field. If you’re like me, you have many people you’ve touched or who have touched you with whom you no longer are in touch. But the experience of sharing time & laughter has not been forgotten. It can rise in the mind like a smell of the beach thru an open window, evocative and holy. We experience again the richness of those moments with friends & family.
Whether you ask or not, God gives us a purpose. God gives us the curiosity to go looking for it. God also gives us the will, heart and mind to discover it, pursue it, make a success of it, reveal it to the many, practice it, and exist in joy while accomplishing it. When we listen to our soul (which is that God-spark I mentioned earlier), we can find out how to accomplish all of the above with grace. Rick Warren, in The Purpose-Driven Life, reminds us that “Even if your parents didn’t plan on you, God did.”
My former minister, Cherie, at First Church Unity in Nashville opened many a talk with this quote from Jeremiah:
“I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb.”
I really like that verse: I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. While I was sometimes lost, this implied a meta-knowingness; God knew my name before I got here. It implies I was spoken into being, like the logos of the world, the light, the planets, the creatures and all the materials of this universe. I presume the same knowingness back, except for me, it’s in the possessive tense: I use the name of God to cover a lot of situations. So what does God want of me? And which me? The massage therapist, the mother, the friend? In Isaiah 44:2, we find more or less the same phrasing: “I am your Creator. You were in my care even before you were born.”
I think God wants me to live in divinity. I think God wants me to live out divinity. I think God wants me to express that beautiful sparkle of my soul for all to see. God has spent time tuning me in, like a radio dial by directing me from a job to a career to a calling. My purpose for living changed with each relationship, each job, each growth opportunity, if I lingered long enough in the moment to recognize it.
Living in divinity is not hard work, it’s heart work. If time is the illusion Einstein & some others say it is, then I’m living in a no-time scenario and it’s taking me one long time to live it out!
Step aside from time for a moment. Step into that place where time ceases to exist. If you do it right, you’ll find you’re standing in your heart-space. What’s in there? When I studied Chinese medicine, I learned the heart is the place of long-term memory storage. Once in a guided meditation, I was asked to take a walk to my heart. When I arrived, I was looking at a small building with a Dutch door. Only the top half was open. When I peered in, there was a window facing east overlooking the ocean. And there was a cardboard cutout of my mother sitting in a rocker. In my life, she never sat in a rocking chair. It was in that moment I understood how much work I needed to do to heal my relationships. And since Mom was passed, the only way I could do that was to go into my heart to find her, bring her back into life, forgive her, and, most significantly, ask her to forgive me. It always works both ways.
How will you discover your purpose? In an inspired moment, I once wrote, “My ship may not have come in, but there’s a whole lotta rowboats bobbing at the pier.”
How many chances for change have you been offered in your life? What have you accomplished with them? What will you accomplish with the next offering? This is a good time to think about being on purpose, when so much of the world seems to be random, haphazard and frenetic as it unfolds. Again, I urge you to take some moments to look into your heart. What is it telling you to do?
You may have to dial down some other organs to hear it – like a hungry stomach, or a restless brain wanting to check for new text message…I’m here to tell you it will be worth it.
Discovering your purpose serves all you do. Trusting the power you find in following that uplevels your life enormously. That “do what you love, the money will follow” really works. What is it you love? What gives you energy instead of taking it?
Start where you are. Really, where else is there? There’s always going to be something speaking up in a whine that simply translates down to you can’t get there from here. Yes, you can. You can’t fail if you’re moving forward. You can get lost in discovering what you want most to find, and live there happily ever after. Real life is where the learning is. When you infuse your life with what you believe to be God’s purpose for you, you’ve blended all the right ingredients for satisfaction.
Tama Kieves, author of This Time I Dance and Inspired And Unstoppable says: “We are not ridiculous or fragile for believing in love, strength and exhilarating possibilities. It’s not crazy to dedicate ourselves to a life that feels true, empowering, and exciting. It’s just plain crazy not to.”
Look deep within for your purpose. Search out the places where it might be hiding. Maybe leave some food near where it lives to coax it into the light. Ask for God’s help. Ask for God’s plan to be made plain to you. And then stay open to the thought that this is just how easy it can be accomplished. Sometimes the tried and true holds nothing new. What you need is that which lights the God-spark up and makes you glow with anticipation, what moves you from the inside, even in a small way because, think about it, just one match can light the fireworks display.
When you ask the questions, life will give you the answers. I want to leave now you with a poem by Mark Nepo called “The Appointment”
What if, on the first sunny day, / On your way to work, a colorful bird / Sweeps in front of you down a / Street you’ve never heard of.
You might pause and smile, / A sweet beginning to your day.
Or you might step into that street / And realize there are many ways to work.
You might sense the bird knows some / Thing you don’t and wander after.
You might hesitate when the bird turns down an alley. / For now there is a tension: is what the bird knows worth being late?
You might go another block or two / thinking you can have it both ways. / But soon you arrive at the edge/ of all your plans.
The bird circles back for you / and you must decide which / appointment you were / born to keep.
BLUE MORNING
The rocks will speak should I ask them
Their voices are decayed & brittle
Yet will I hear them with my liver.
Secrets will be exposed
I shall be the Truth-Bearer
Only once fooled, & then by a Liar.
I will uphold the words
& roll them into a starlit glyphs.
I will put them on rings all will wear to the wedding,
Blue for hope: black for knowing.
And each shall have their own.
THE TALL-MASTER AT ANCHOR
Scribes a slow, lazy compass circle
As a wake forms at the bow
While the sun sets up behind the horizon.
Its light music is humming acceptance.
I wonder how many times I’ve heard the words
“If something should happen”
yet, hasn’t it already?
Have not the stargates opened
In hunger, breathing wetly. Haven’t they claimed their last?
THERE IS A CRONE ON A BEACH CHAIR
Of green thrift-store canvas with one wonky leg.
She smells of patchouli & crackling dreams.
Her eyes unopened, she sees with other senses.
Does she wait? Then for how long?
Was she once arrayed in sweet spearmint gossamer
With sleeves like angel wings
Lounging,
Legs slightly apart
With promise of enclosure?
Did she sit for so long the whole world
Grew up around her
Saplings to trees
Trees to asphalt
To ruin
To grass?
Did she call her cave into being
A shelter never needed
For she could not leave life alone one second.
I have watched her for decades
Growing up in the tenement across the park
My own cycles now ending,
The time coming soon, to find a thrift & buy a chair.
THE PERMISSION SLIP
I remember the consent form
I signed before coming here.
I never read the clauses, nor asked for my glasses.
There was a whole page about encounters
And other words beginning in “e” for
entrances, exits, efforts, extrapolates
Experiences, extortions, extractions …
Paragraphs fluid & binding
Words unapologetic, grounded & flying.
There was a chapter on true love I skipped.
I signed with a shadow pen, winging in
On a scream I heard as a prayer.
THERE’S ALWAYS ONE
When someone says, “I don’t like poetry.”
My eyes gleam, my nails sharpen
For I know I can render their world apart with one word.
A laugh starts in my belly
And I must look away
For I Am Poet from
Underneath my toes to the last golden glow of my head.
I pick up my tools & retreat into shadow
To write them into smoke.
I await the Changed World –
Where there’s only one road from Here to There
Where snakes & scorpions line the curbstones
In teeming array…
My patience thins, then thickens
Images adjust to fit that scale
Crushing endless expanses with
Scenes from seashore jalousie windows.
= = = = = =
Starving Poets
Are not hungry of growling appetites
But ravenous for that sigh from another,
Famishing for a secret smile
As a poem hooks into that waiting Receptor Cell
Which did not know a space to be there.
Oh yes, we feast on saucy words,
On salted verbs & spiced adjectives,
But all these come together in the stew:
An imaginary aroma of what could be rising
To a thought sprinkled on the simmering pan.
So all my poems on foodstuffs
Are cries for only attention
“Come hear this,” I say,
“It is nothing you have perceived before
In this exact & specific manner!”
I awaken their hungers with stirring mine, so that
When I reach for the salt
They swoon to the table.
= = = = = =
A Scotswoman
I will be Scottish my next life,
Wrapped in Shetland wool.
A fire will burn in my hearth at all times.
I will read the runes on boulders, a language
Known to few: but I will know.
I will walk the edges afield when I call the sheep to me
Coming eager to my ululant cries,
Singing names, we join in bleating harmony.
I will revel in bald-cold starlight, feeling the chill on my ears & neck
Re-entering the hut for simmering stew
Held for heat before sipping from the rim.
My feet will be knobbed & salted,
My face rouged with lanolin,
I would be wrapped to shapeless, but clean beneath the cloth.
I would wear the aurora borealis for a boa
The colors awash over worn-gray grey.
A Queen by Default, ruling
An island studding the sea.
= = = = = =
I am a writer, I tell you!
Tamped down by folded dollar bills which take no ink
But much effort to earn!
My works pickle inside, prickle until out
Ideas sown in a breath & a glance & watered
By an appetite profound to remember it all
By writing it down in my own language.
I live on words, like bread risen with morning,
Wrapt in a coarse linen towel, slightly sweated with salt
To be baked in live fire.
I am a root vegetable, gnarling beneath the surface
Longing for the black northern sky
A gnarled hand pulling me into it
Laying me down to ply a potion.
THEY TELL ME I CHOSE THIS, BUT
When ministers are malignant narcissists
The church doors close gently
Trapping some inside, some out.
There is proof to me I am not right-minded
Only left-brained
With a certainty of being inside out, all seams poorly stitched
Tags showing content: 100% salt – sweat & tears.
Force is fashionable now: talk over anyone speaking!
Wave off impending doom with flickering annoyance!
Ignorance is for someone younger who thinks the Pow in Power
Is righteous when delivered to the face.
I fumble for my paper prayers – a handwrit’ life dodging AI algos…
In a landscape laced with sorrow, the horizon waits, limned in light
My God says “there, there, I see only what is love,”
“Put all this down: I have a new world to give you now!”
READY, AIM, FIRE
Never a gunsmith, just a weapons-master of words
Belief is all I’ve backpacked out of this wilderness.
Risen from the thorn-bed,
Tended by midwives
Packed away in cottonwool & fiberglass
One breath away from being Sent Back In
Finding life where I left it last…
Born behind the barricades of politics & war
I rise up, bloodied & unbowed.
I take my fight to the Masters of War
Hiding all of humanity behind me.
Every time.
THE JANUARY CALENDAR
The January birthdays are no more,
My sisters gone, my brother too, before his time.
My mother’s chores forever un-done
My dad a cipher in the family photos.
The aunts all dead, the uncles no longer slipping
This wide-eyed girl a dollar for ice cream.
I still know so little of Life
The circle becoming spiral
Down & down I go.
Mornings rekindle, afternoons fleet
The dark lasts forever
As I dream myself awake
In its deepest center,
Finally free of expectations,
Debt & doubt,
And calendars.
Today: one more day before last day … 27 of 28.
Last night’s poetry under the banyan
by the bay
against an orange sunset
murmurs breathed in like fine alterations of ordinary mind
accepted as a writer so well that this morning’s let-down sent me back to bed
breakfast in a new place
with onions in the scramble & peppers
coffee dark enough to curl my short, straight hair
so much to savor: shaken awake from early stupor
watching:
skinny girls with water bottles tall as their torsos
the undulant unhoused cycling by, laden like camels, stocking caps pulled over their ears
listening:
the conversation of strangers behind me comparing eateries
all tourists, for the natives keep silent, having heard it all before
Finishing:
I glance at the watch I no longer wear
then at the light outside
I pick myself up & I go.
My life has become this. The stories have all been told & now just seem repetitive. The news is a comic strip I don’t understand anymore – in an era of bright discovery & what should be burgeoning growth into Where We Go, Boldly, we’re stuck in The Way We Were. I’m so tired & unresponsive to war & abandonment. I have simpler needs & wants now. I have lots of undefining to do.
Where are you in your world? Are your decisions valid & moving you forward, or are you stuck in the past life (half-life) of the before you were as you are now? How do you even answer that question? I can do it a bit for myself, but it’s like dabbling in discovery by putting in my big toe & expecting that to define an entire universe. It works in the way lightning does – one laser strike at a time.
I spend a great deal of time being Carol. I’m no longer sure why except I cannot seem to escape it. Habit? Definition? Commitment? Not sure how I’m supposed to find out, even. But the time for a change is approaching once more, a time for revisiting to reinvest in another future different from where I was before.
Florida is too flat to hold interest much longer. The job I have is climbing a ladder with missing rungs – I have no ambition & noplace to go if I had any. I’m too uninterested in career any longer to assume much along those lines. The new hovers like a bubble held on the little plastic wand. It no sooner gets formed than it is wafted off, or bursts in a sparkle of soapy promises. What can I hold onto?
I’m not depressed: I’m suspended. I feel as tho my feet have run me off the edge of the world & there’s nothing but space. Being 3D still, this is a bit cool & a lot uncomfortable. The 3D part needs to get out there with the rest of me & do something.
But for my generation, there’s little do do. We made it (or not) to the moon. We loved (& saw assassination of that love.) We made errors of judgment still echoing from the bench with the last bang of the gavel. What could possibly be next?
Welll that’s easy to answer. If all I’ve ever known is the possible, why not go for the impossible? Change up the routine? Find a different drummer to move to the beat of?
I guess it’s time to drag out all the old habits into the sun & beat them with brooms, dislodge the dust & find some sparkle again. How & where & why come first.
The comb-over’s not working. Time to shave my head.
Human Design, this terrific descriptive (a’ la’ astrology) program for the body/soul has been around since, oh, say 1992. Actually it’s been hidden in the matrix forever but surfaced in the channeled information of Ra Uru Hu around then. I’m told in my first class Ra lived in a tree for eight months, or eight years or maybe eight days. I like eights, myself.
It’s a combination of the I Ching, overlaid by astrological symbols, & five other such systems both “energetic” & “proven.” I’ve studied a bunch of them individually, some thoroughly, some by running my eyes over a page or two, or my fingers over their book spines in bookstore self-help sections.
If the universe was sending timely information all along, I wasn’t ready to hear it. Who knew I could do anything in the world just cuz I wanted to & if I put all my energy into it? Who knew that my imitation of a bounding kangaroo-like existence this lifetime could have its pawprints tracked & even predicted as to outcome 35 years ago? I certainly did not & so fumbled about being luckier in my choice of cars than husbands, jobs, living places & so many other life events. (In fact, cars have been a one-true-love deal all along. I’m fond of saying my car loans lasted longer than my wedding vows – on every occasion.)
What does it say about the ephemeral me that I was better at choosing cars than jobs or men? Ra knew that! Had I known, I might have tapped on the bark of his tree a long time ago…dare I say going out on a limb?
And where would I be now? Living my best life (an anagram for “file,” yeh?) All this time I’ve been living in the “H” drawer under a real name beginning with “B.” Shoot!
However, I must ask if it’s ever too late to do this, even when the energy to start again needs a full-body face lift, an energy drink I can mainline by IV & possibly an energy patch of two on my ass.
That’s a rhetorical question, before you answer. Only my Human Design teacher knows for sure & she’s covering it all in three more classes, having missed one out sick.
It’s been an ant on a patchwork quilt kind of life sometimes, complete with distractions, much mileage, encroaching wrinkle patterns & a sore left hip right now. Where are those medbeds anyway? Guys, I’m waiting here, right? Languishing, in fact.
And even as I settle under the covers for another night of broken sleep punctuated by wakey-wake time I’ll spend on the computer, checking for updates, or writing, writing, writing – any activity not requiring volume since my hard-working roommate is sleeping next door.
The cat seems to have made better life choices: she gets fresh water 2-3 times each day, a spoon of Tuna every three, her litter cleaned daily. She gets all the sleep she wants albeit in the odd places cats can choose to sleep – like the glass coffee table that wobbles like a surfboard on the incoming tide. Oh yes, did I mention she gets brushed 2-3 times a day too & has her choice of sticking around for this or hopping off the table four brushstrokes in? As well as her choice of brushes? If she had any better of a life, I’d say she was a dog.
So, let me tell you a typical story in my life:
Driving along a narrow street – many streets are made narrower in Sarasota with “traffic calming” features like lovely mini-garden medians, oblique parking patterns, rotaries, or speed tables. In a flat state nothing slows down the drivers obsessed with the gas pedal & the sould of their glasspacks.
I noticed my seat seemed awfully close to the pedals. I decided to disobey Rule Number One in the driving manual – the one saying Never adjust your seat while you’re driving. I contorted my left arm to brush the top of the adjuster which released with the immediacy of a greased trapdoor in a haunted house.
My squeal of “no!” was cut off as I rocketed forward into the steering wheel. My boobs crashed into the horn, the seat locked & I was lost in a whirl of noise & blare… lights started coming on in the townhouses to either side. All the traffic calming devices effectively prevented a quick pull-over. I held my breath instinctively as there did not seem to be an opportunity to inhale coming quickly. Then I started giggling. I was pinned against the wheel, my lips practically wrapped around the top of it (having just applied “Barely Beige” to draw off attention from the wrinkles, um, the laugh lines. (I am not a multi-tasker anymore, let me add here.) My right knee was lodged beneath my chin as I had instinctively lifted it from the gas pedal & could not lower it right then.
The horn blared, my breath halted, my boobs were crushed. I had noplace to pull over for the nonce & I realized this is serious but I could not stop laughing. My fingers vaguely brushed the adjustment bar, but because my shoulder was pinned into immobility, I could not pull off the movement required to wrap fingers arouind it. I finally found a shallow pull-in spot, finger-crawled my hand to the latch & fumbled the door handle to extricate myself, popping off a button as I scraped out.
Thank God for quiet! I did it! I got loose!
If I had done my chart properly, would this have shown up in the Daily Predictions? Does Human Design DO daily predictions? Not sure on either count. (Found out later, yes, an ephemeris comes with the basics.)
This is the kind of event that adds reasonable doubt to the thought that any system is going to help me at this point.
My only predictive programming seems to be “pretty much anything can happen at any given time.” It’s a fortune cookie life I Iive here. And I won’t even try to tell the story of the blank fortune cookie I once received.
Proof to one & all I need to simply go with the flow, all power to Ra.
Obeying the driver manual now runs a close second…
Haven’t I affirmed & had it affirmed for me lifelong… One day you will … One day I know I’ll be able to …
Well, hey, I’m past ready & one day has turned into 27,890 of them, give or take 50-60. Ok, Great Universe, I’m waiting! Yes, I have, too! I HAVE tried, I have declared… I claimed, I demanded, I surrendered, I laughed, I cried, I stamped my right foot & then my left one even harder. I swept the altar & scraped off the wax drippings, I’ve burned wagonloads of sage, palo santo, practically mainlined Rescue Remedy, I smoked sacred substances, I’ve entered the many mansions in my mind moving swiftly thru doorways, shouting “Clear” at every one as I rounded it with a lit candle & a crucifix.
I’ve learned very little is sacred when it comes to humans & for all my fly-in-the-jar buzzing, I am so. And I’ll say it again, I’m ready!
I know so few of those who believe they know me would even take a flying leap into what I’m about discussing this with the universe. I know this is because they are each on their own path, the drums repeating behind them.
Each day it comes clearer. The world isn’t going to admit to anything. It will say, ‘Haven’t I made you happy? Haven’t I been clear & blue & scarlet & fragrant & flowered & butterflied enough for you yet?’
No.
You don’t understand either!
And what will it accomplish to declare what I want now? Aren’t I doing some sweaty little dance off in the corner keeping time to my own heart?
My life hides in the wrinkles now. I get a little desperate now & then. I’m watching down the road for the bus that isn’t coming, that may have changed routes a decade ago while I balanced on the curb. Did the announcement come the one time I took my eyes away?
This world isn’t made to satisfy what I believe my desires to be. This world is a paean to dissatisfaction, to falling short in the moment. I no sooner say yes than someone nearby begins singing no no no no no. Those two letters trip over in eagerness to assert their negating power.
When I was a child, my mother had to go to a meeting when a nor’easter was coming in. The sky was dark, the wind whipping itself into a real blow, the rain becoming a personal affront to whatever one wore. The Atlantic crossed the four blocks of our tiny peninsular neighborhood. The bay crested over the bulwark traveling one block to meet it. They formed a widow’s peak in the parking lot next door, gleeful & super-charged, a discovery of elements & forces against which few had any control & certainly not my 4’5″ Mom breasting the current to Come Home. My brother & I watched her out the window, cheering her on – “Come on , MOM!” We stripped up the bathroom towels & raced to the second floor porch door as she tiredly emerged from the flood, both hands on the wooden railing. “Mom! Where’s the car?” we stupidly asked – she’d have needed a motorboat at that point. She pulled the towels from us, wiping her hands, her face, wrapping one around her soaked hair.
“How did you do at the meeting?” we chorused, “Mom! What happened?”
“He said no,” she tiredly replied. So her mission to reclaim the Grail of my brother’s reputation had failed & he would not be allowed to return to school for the three months before graduation, but would always bear the diploma of the known-to-be-inferior public school. The entire senior class would graduate with him from there.
Knowing what I know now, I would have known: The church existed to condemn, to pinch off mercy at any source, to draw a woman out into a force of nature to be admonished in person by a man in black, his Roman collar declaring his loyalty. Mom had no tithes to offer. no way to stay the storm.
She went into her bedroom; we hung up the towels. The storm blasted us all night & left a shambled neighborhood in its wake.
My life is only one of so many, all deadlocked in a “no.”
But here it is, Universe, I’m going to keep singing yes until I die & quite probably for some time afterward. I WILL find my way to Some Day. It may be the one before they bury me, but I will have mine.
I will sit in a shaft of winter sun, cozy & warmed clear through. I will write all my tomorrows & hide the book in the cedar chest in the attic where I will know them to be. I will watch for storms from the windows, a supernatural self in the fore, a preternatural force of the pen. I will write all day & my hand shall not grow tired. Food will appear nearby, & only my favorites & I’ll ignore it all to get what I have to say, said.
That Some Day is this One Day I have now!
This is a transplant from a Weebly Blog I kept during 2015. The words ring truer to me now than they did then & at the time, I considered this a rant.
Anyway, read it & let me know what you think in the comments.
Haven’t you had enough of the divisiveness? Isn’t there a way around this disconnection of truth which skips over itself, like flat stones skipping across a river? These create ripples wherever they touch, all the circles eventually push over and around each other, everything touches back upon itself.
But we are tired of this now. We have grown weary of deceit, of ugliness, of never having enough, never being enough, never doing enough. All of that is artificial since we are and always have been enough. Our future was stolen, the past mislaid, the present deceived. And when they say this was done with our free will, I stutter in anger. I never! But somewhere in the past I must have and the filth lingers in my aura since this still is affecting my light, splintering it, reducing it, minimizing it.
Many of us just want out. We got caught; we were so close to scuttling out the door and someone stepped on our tails, picked up our squirming bodies and threw us back into the milieu of time. Time was frayed, circular, looped, caught up in itself, on itself, by itself. I know more than a few people who have said, no matter, they simply don’t want to return again. Me? I haven’t seen enough of this world, nor will I ever do so; every day is a miracle of light, life, beauty, spirit and breath. But I would appreciate it more if others took the time to do so and if we all could simply love what’s in front of our eyes. I don’t like disorder, I don’t react well to someone who litters, whose trash lines my roads.
Here’s a story: I picked up trash along a walk one day and put it into an empty trashcan at the end of a driveway. Next morning all six or so pieces of trash I had put into the can were dumped at the end of the driveway. What does that mean? My trashcan is only for my trash? But in dumping it at the foot of the driveway where you live, hasn’t it become yours in a more personal way? I do not understand. These are the kind of folk I’d like to see removed from my planet. Yet the Texts tell me this person is also me. Oh Lord!
I find it wearying to blame them, or even to hold it against them. They are entitled to a private trash can if this is a manifestation of their sovereign free will; however, it seems easier to not redistribute it to the road. That’s my easier…not theirs. Stay calm, carry on.
There’s no need to rub my eyeteeth against the container, trying to scrape off whatever I can to prove my point. My past isn’t the most shining example it might be and future will surely become if I keep up with my soul’s opening to the Light. I’d like to think none of this is my fault, but f we are all one, it’s all my fault. I’d sure like it, though, if you stoppped blaming me!
When will people find out how much we have been manipulated? That’ll be a tipping point of major proportion. There’s good and bad in everything, if not necessarily in everyone. Situations can always go more than one way. It is up to the individual I AM to parse the event into its components, decide which to keep, which to push away. Like stripping cellulose strings off celery, are there any you would hold onto? For sure we don’t need the roughage – we have had enough of that and in spades.
There is always a vision of the best thing in the world calling us forward, asking us to forget the past, forgive it, lay it aside, yet I know few who are willing to do this. Even I balk, at times, with just letting of that which has been done to me in the name of my life, my progress, my reaching set goals. Each is a chance at letting go…each is an end run made easier by all the times I’ve set myself toward the prize before. I’ve worn down the path, stomped all the weeds, made myself a crop circle that bears my fruit when others look at it. Since I’ve made the way easier, why not just follow along and marvel at this efficiency. I could use the praise and you could use the simplification.
Here’s the catch: we all have to do it for ourselves. Yet I follow along in the tracks made by others’ words. Few think for themselves anymore; TV and mass media have removed us from the need, the current state of stupefying education has removed from us the means. Google has relieved us of the responsibility of research. We can gather opinions and ideas like wildflowers to make a bouquet, never noticing the locoweed settled among the daisies. It’s just another source of greenery.
What makes you scream? What frustrates you to gnashing teeth? How much disorder is needed to make you move your world back into order? When someone pulls the rug out from under you by telling you everything you know to be truth is a lie – from your religion to your financial state, to the nutritional content of your foods and how this relates to your ability to reason, what is your next step? Not only have they pulled that rug, they’ve shaken every single thing off of it and laid it down bare. Now’s the time to rebuild, repair, replace, resource your life. Don’t let others do it for you. Don’t let anyone else mess with your brain. Edward Snowden has pointed out so clearly just how much we have been messed with.
We are both consumer and consumed in the way of today’s world. I can’t say it gently: there are entities that have fed off of us like those in the worst of our horror movies. We are their feed lot and they don’t really care if we befoul our living space because it gives them more nourishment when we wax into complaint. The spider deliberately snares the fly. The fly has enough facets on its eyes to see its way, yet it enters the web: how is this so? We have all the tools and intelligence we need to step away from Ground Zero and instead plant a tree. However we have a powerful tendency to stand restlessly in place, gesticulating, moaning and generally carrying on about the destruction.
Declare who you are. Become all you can be! You are your own and only advocate. Live your life and taste what it brings you. Imagine synesthesia: “hearing a color” or “scenting a musical note.” Imagine if Beethoven came through in your eyes in greens and yellows, Wagner in deep browns and grays. Imagine if your garden simply sang to you, its melody both haunting and delicate. Each composition of this world should lead us to another way to say what needs to be said.
Let go with vigor. Toss stuff away that no longer serves. Clean out the garages in your minds, muck out the stables in your gut…find a way to move off dead center (it’s called that for a reason, mind) and go to the peripheries and the edges. Whether the earth is round or flat, we are made to live in it. It is ours. It’s a bit stupid to wait for rescue from the motherships when we can’t even get our heads out of the refrigerators, our hands out of the snack cabinets. Stop devouring chemicals like they are good for you, demand whole-grown food, healthy life, clean water, beautiful skies, temperate weather, cooperative children, intelligence-gathering leaders, well-paid teachers and an education model that models…even moderate government which takes an actual interest in its constituency. Imagine these to be so. To believe otherwise is to place your hands firmly under your buttocks and only wave your mouth about.
Still your tongue for a day; watch how the world assumes a different shape when you’re not hacking away at it verbally. See, consider, construct mindfully. Grow a plant, plant a tree, hold someone’s hand and walk with them awhile.
Understand the world is on the cusp of change as it has never been before. Decide who to back and let it be the good guys – enough of the nastier alternatives. Hold them in anxious regard no longer and watch them melt back into the primordial soup. Enjoin your heart with the sun, mind the world with your third eye, bury your own dead after a final washing with careful soap and your salted tears. Catch your own food, feed your own children, and become aware of your world as you never have before. The world is just that different and far more deserving. Treat it like your best friend; write it love notes…we’re celestial sonnets here to create beauty, love, peace, grace and joy. Huh? If this is too much for you, find something you can begin with. It is too small for you, discover free energy and get the word out to everyone.
All of this, all of these, are activities you can accomplish. Making the effort brings the light to us. We become visible to others and to our gods as we perceive them. when we all take an interest in becoming our best selves, our children go no longer hungry, our adults no longer under-nourished on so many levels. Our wild pets become our dear friends. Life abounds in blameless movement and joy. Become a part of that dance, enter the elemental, allow the heavenly, abhor the unnecessary, avoid that which makes you feel badly, feel unhappy or lost or victimized.
The water remembers everything. This is why the bad guys want to kill the water. They have tried in slow ways, pollution, poison, discoloration; they lay waste to the water on the land, the water in the sky, the water in our bodies. It seems like they have us just the same, if they desire, because the water cannot harm them no matter how their manipulation of it destroys us or our lives.
It’s all about the I AM you are!
Riding the Light 