Text to self;
“I don’t think that death and the ‘normal’ things, like obits, are what we are supposed to think of, but more the life before that. Maybe even, the life within it. Then again, saying that, I wonder if we shouldn’t think of it once in awhile- life without the ones we love and how the days without them would be. It’s such a fine balance to be found, the balance within awareness.”
I’m in Minnesota. I love everything about Minnesota except for the mosquitos. I’m here though, for a funeral. I find it…normal, I suppose, that most everyone involved, is somehow trying to make the death seem less…death like. For example, a poem is being read called, This is Dying by Henry VanDyke, and some of them actually want the last line, which says, “This is Dying”, taken off. I get that. On the most basic level, I get it. But it’s death. And this is dying. And it’s rocking my soul, but it allowed me to swallow that lump in my throat. If you missed that blog- it was called, A Lump in My Throat and a Spot on the Dial. I swallowed. It’s just that the lump in my throat was more than death. Last Saturday, I realized that it was also life, all tangled up and mangled up with death. This is dying. Life is dying. Don’t fret my friend, dying is life.
Death begets grief. Not just the immediacy of the fresh and new, of the sudden, but also the grief of things long dead and never buried. Life itself is the resurrection story. Breathe. Live and let live. Rise up. It’s a story as old as time, as universal as the stars, as necessary as air.
“The instant fish accept
that they will never have arms,
they grow fins.” Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening
If I were a fish, it would be safe to say that for the last umpteen years I’ve been flopping around on the shore with only the grace of God’s ocean to grant me reprieve from my own suffering. I wanted arms. I was sure that it was arms I needed. I was wrong. I was so, SO, wrong.
From a dream;
I’m in a familiar place- familiar town, streets and house, but I can’t find what I’m looking for and it’s hard because I don’t know WHAT I’m looking for…I just have this idea in my head that something is lost. Missing. Like a name you can hear and see but not remember how to say. The more I look, the more lost I get. I keep thinking, I know this place! If I could just find that one road that would lead me back to that other road… I know where I am, but I can’t find my way back and the harder I try to find this thing that I think I must have before I can go on, the more lost I get. I just get more turned around, more lost. I know where I am. I can see where I want to go, but I keep looking for something that I’ve already found. Something that isn’t even lost- and now, I’ve lost myself in the search. Like looking for the keys that are in your hand or the sunglasses on your head. It’s this search for what I already have that has left me feeling lost and astray from it.
How do you end up losing yourself in the same place you were found? Maybe my past has kept me lost? Maybe it has kept me from the future? Always thinking that it’s something done to me…done in the past…but rarely, if ever, seeing that it is something that I am doing now. I can feel the accountability coming. I can smell it. I can taste it. Like a tall glass of ice-cold water. A refreshing, familiar, shock. And I crave it. How long have I been thirsty? Note to self; By avoiding our reactions we come in touch with our intuition.
I swear. The things I note to myself. By avoiding our reactions, we come in touch with our intuition.
My intuition- NOT the intuition that wants to “guide” everyone else, but the one that guides me, is screaming. She is pounding her fists on the table of my soul-
“Listen to me!!!”
And then she calms and composes herself and she says, softly,
“Don’t let your refusal to experience all of life keep you from living the one you are destined for.”
And so the question begged; How do I become what I know? How indeed.
Text to self;
I think that if you’re always looking for the end of something as opposed to just accepting something, then what you’re really doing is perpetuating a constant state of ending. And so, you could never begin. It’s not to invalidate you, but to give you a perspective on it. Are you living an expectation or a reality? Are you living a bygone era of your own life?
“She came out of nowhere and was everywhere I am.” Me
At some point, some part of me, decided that I had to begin. Again. And, that my way wasn’t working. A new way had to be found. In a new book I’m reading, The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, her 12th commandment is, there is only love. Before I even read the book, I knew that this might be, quite possibly, inevitably, the only answer. Love. So there I was, begging for love, unconditional, forever, resentment free, guiltless, love…and I wasn’t giving it. On my morning mirror it says, “You get what you give.” Damn the truth. Dammit if it isn’t the absolute truth. What am I giving? My life is so often now full of those questions…the ones that are already the answer. You’re getting what you give. Now what? Give more? No. Give right.
This post is dedicated to Albert Mohr. A man who shifted from life to death, to life again and in doing so, shifted me into love. I am. God is. And Albert Mohr will always be.