Search for Meaning – Page 2 – Voices in My Head

The Legacy of George Floyd

Perhaps when life assignments were being handed out, George Floyd raised his hand for a Save the World mission. Or perhaps he was simply another unfortunate victim of racism, ignorance, and injustice, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, his tragic death has given us the profound gift of awakening, and that makes him a hero.

His death sparked the fire of outrage that has blazed across the nation and spread across the world in sympathy and unification. It has opened our eyes to an awareness that we have a choice about whether we wish to turn to violence, destruction, and fear to make a point, or whether we will join as one and use our voice in peaceful, quiet protest against injustice, to open our eyes to see that there is a better way. What an amazing contrast.

Last night in Louisville, strangers linked arms and joined as one to create a human shield to protect a lone police officer in danger from angry protesters. Total strangers, black, white, hispanics, risked their own safety and broke from the crowd to help and protect the “enemy”. These courageous guardians join George Floyd as heroes.

This demonstration of kindness and humanity by strangers on behalf of another shines light on the fact that there is a chink in the armor of fear that creates an opening through which the light of love may emerge and give rise to an opportunity for the world to see through different eyes. The light beaming through the crack gives rise to the hope that consciousness is rising, and that soon the tide of protests will turn away from violence toward peace.

Though this man, along with so many others in the past, died needlessly, his death is not without meaning, for it shows us a picture of what a peaceful transformation looks like. It invites us to hold our government accountable to its citizens for actions and inactions, justice and injustice, to use our voice as one humanity to insist on finding a better way.

Last night in a dream, I observed a man standing knee deep in a lake. He was staring down at his feet, awed by the sight of a carpet of gold as far as the eye could see glistening beneath him. Instead of running off in a frentic search for a bucket and shovel to scoop up the gold, he simply stood quietly enjoying the gift of the beauty that surrounded him.

Perhaps such a dream is nothing more than the figment of a wishful imagination. Perhaps it represents an exaggerated version of the new world that we are hearing so much about these days. I like to think of it as a picture of where we are going. I like to hope that we are on our way to living the dream of a new world in which the reasons for protests over injustice no longer exist, where peace and harmony rule the day, I like to think that the senseless death of this man is the catalyst that will move us toward that day.

The greater our ability to focus on the goodness and beauty surrounding us, the greater our awareness that we are capable of choosing our future. The legacy of George Floyd’s sacrifice gives new meaning and purpose to the importance of our decisions that we make, and open our eyes to our choices.

The world needs hope. Please spread the legacy, share on Facebook, retweet, pass along to friends, send love and light to help stamp out fear.

To resurrect a mantra from the 60’s, make love, not war.

I Dream of Spaceships

This morning I dreamed that a spaceship landed in the center square of my small town. Small town, gigantic square. The thing was a humungous round white disc the size of a small city that glowed a brilliant luminous light as it came in for a landing. Once down, it just sat there in a silent ethereal midst, beaming light in all directions throughout the entire town. Then I woke up. Darn. I wanted more.

I love dreams like that. They get my brain in gear thinking about the great never-ending mystery of life that has intrigued humankind since forever. Who are we? Where did we come from? Is there life on other planets? Are we alone in the universe? Have I been here before? Where are we going, and where do I fit into the equation? So many questions, so few answers.

Though I am not a big student of the Bible, the great ship-landing event of my dreams triggered memories from my early Christian training of the rapture, and I started to wonder about the evacuation of the faithful to realms unknown and the return of the Christ. Now, there’s a mystery, if ever there was one.

Imagination runs rampant and I wonder about the return of the Christ. When will He appear, and how? I am intrigued by a merry round of possibility—will the Coming One return via spaceship? Will He come alone, or with a cadre of disciples who will go before Him to make smooth His way? Will He be physical or etheric? Will he appear as the Christ to me, or as Mohammed or Buddha to others? Will he speak every language? Appear on worldwide television? Might He make a personal appearance in my living room? If he did, would I stand in delight or collapse in fright?

Ah ha! Suddenly, I get it! Clearly, I realize that all questions pale in comparison to the last one, the most important of all. My dream is a wake-up call to remind me that when there comes a day when I meet face to face with The Coming One, I want to know that I have done everything humanly possible to be ready, to be worthy of the great honor of being in His presence.

Suddenly, a life review of my behavior during the pandemic seems appropriate. It is a mini reflection of my life as a whole. How am I doing? Have there been any changes in my behavior? Any improvements or backsliding, or stuck points? Can I congratulate myself for chugging on with my daily blog-writing mission and forgive myself for lack of exercise and mindless eating?? Can I observe myself without judgment? Can I resolve to take whatever steps I must to improve, however tiny those steps may be? Bring it on! Whatever it is, I want to see it, and I want to correct it while I still have the time. I want a seat on the spaceship.

Those of us who are on a mission to get reservations on the ship are the warriors of light. We are the ones who are fighting the good fight against the dark forces. Our light is excavating evil hiding in the dark, and we are winning. We know this with absolute certainty because what has been lurking beneath the surface for eons has now been ferreted out by the brilliance of our light for all to see, and it is ugly. This is good news.

Every single person on the planet who seeks to discover and embody the best within carries a bright light, and that light, when joined with others becomes the torch that blazes the path to a new world, a new age, a new era. Every light makes a difference, and the most important one of all is yours.

Keep your eye upon the donut and not upon the hole, keep the faith, and watch for signs of The Coming One, however He may appear. What a wondrous mystery.

The Pitcher and the Pandemic

This morning I shocked myself awake by catching an unexpected glimpse of myself in the mirror. Good Lord I look like the wild woman of Borneo. Thanks, pandemic. That picture brought to mind an image of a swinging vine, and the memory of a failed bar with the same name that my inexperienced, entrepreneurial husband swore would make him rich, which then conjured up a picture of wild-woman me swinging on a vine high amidst the trees in the jungle.

In the space between flushing a toilet and walking away, I took myself on a no-cost tour of the jungles of Borneo and enjoyed a sky-high swinging vine excursion in the process. Wow. What a trip—all in less than five seconds, and I never even had to leave home to enjoy it. Isn’t the mind amazing?

I thought I knew where this morning’s writing adventure might be going, but then a funny thing happened. While sitting peacefully in my Lazygirl minding my own business, the silence was shattered by the sound of a large ceramic pitcher crashing down from a bookshelf and smashing to smithereens on the hardwood floor. Books that had been sitting in the same place for many months suddenly fell over of their own accord and that was the end of the pitcher.

This sudden unexpected turn of events leaves me in a bit of a quandary. Where do I go from here? So many options. I could just forget it and return to my original writing thoughts. Or I could shift gears and launch off on a tear about whodunit and why, or chalk it off as a freaky accident, or question the possibility of whether I might have just touched a nerve of a dearly departed ex-husband, or whether or not it’s feasible to even consider such possibilities.

It brings to mind the recollection of other strange happenings—a notebook fell from a top shelf twice, potholders monogrammed with my mother’s initials were mysteriously displaced from a hook while I was not at home, a small picture of the Charles Bridge in Prague purchased when my mother and I visited there fell over twice, pots and pans turned themselves around in a cupboard so that their handles faced backwards; is someone or something trying to tell me something? Could it have been my mother telling me that she wanted me to move? She didn’t like my neighborhood. She didn’t think it was safe. Nine years have passed since I moved, and there have not been any odd occurrences since. Until today.

So what just happened? I have no idea, but it certainly makes me wonder. Am I missing something? Is there some “reality” that I know nothing about? It makes me think about life after life, and about how the life that I live while here on this earth might influence the life that I have after I take my last breath. It makes me want to try harder to do the best that I can while I am still here so that I will be able to live in a safe neighborhood when it’s time to move on. It reinforces my desire to get it right.

Why does anything happen? Who knows? But there is always a reason, if only just to stop us in our tracks for a minute and make us think. The pitcher and the pandemic—the perfect duo specifically tailored to help me learn a thing or two. Now all I have to do is figure out what.

I think I’ll go comb my hair, swing on a vine, and think about it for a while.

Note: The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us).

The Wealth of Poverty

When I was a little kid, I yearned for piano and ballet lessons. Apparently, my mother always wanted to be a Girl Scout, so I got sucked into being a Brownie instead. It was the beginning of the harsh realization that life didn’t always produce the results to which I would like to have been accustomed. No lemonade for me. Oh to be young and have no control.

To be fair, I will admit that the cost of piano and ballet lessons was out of the question for my dear widowed mother whose sole focus was on feeding her three children and keeping a roof over our heads. But of course, my small child self didn’t see it that way. I only saw that I didn’t get what I wanted. I vividly remember fretting over how one moves from a $0.25 per week allowance to acquiring an entire house plus contents and everything else that goes with being a grown-up. I also freaked out over the thought of being put in jail because I couldn’t afford the overdue fee of a library book Hence, at a tender young age, I developed a healthy sense of poverty consciousness that I wrestled with throughout my adult years. It wasn’t really a very good start to life.

Around age six, I poked a small finger at my own body and then at the body of a friend and wondered, “who” is in there, and why is she in “there” and why am I in “here”? Why does she live in her family, and why do I live in mine? Who decides? It was this same young friend who said to me, “Did you ever think that none of this is real?” Hmmm. Heady questions for a couple of little ones, wouldn’t you say?

Hence began my lifelong spiritual quest, and what an exciting, amazing, baffling, mystifying experience it has been. I’ve heard people say they’re not interested in finding inner peace because it would be boring. Boring? Ask anyone committed to a personal spiritual quest they will say that it is anything but.

Why was I born into a financially-challenged family? Why am I “in here” and why are you “in there”? Why are there as many life situations and circumstances as there are people on the planet? The only thing that I know for sure is that there is always a reason. For everything.

I believe that every life circumstance is a divinely orchestrated opportunity to provide us with the lessons necessary for our soul’s evolution. There are so many rich blessings and lessons to be gained from each one, if we can see past the blind spots that cloud the vision of what appears to be real, but in truth is only the illusion that we make up in our own heads.

My lifetime as a spiritual seeker has taught me that my work is just to grow where I’m planted. Certainly life hasn’t all been fun and games, but my willingness to travel down this road has led me to a place where I am content, happy, and at peace with myself. And by the way—it has never been boring.

Circumstances may appear to be immutable, but minds are not. They can be changed. A change of mind brings a change of life, both on a personal level and on the world stage. Every mind makes a difference. And it’s up to each one of us how we choose to think.

I began my life poor in mind, body, and spirit, but poverty has been replaced by a wealth of spirit. Now I can afford the overdue library book fee, and the house and its contents thanks to the realization that everything I need is readily available if I look within myself. There are miracles hiding inside waiting to happen. Seek and ye shall find.

Blessings in Boo-Boos

Stuff happens. That was the opening sentence of yesterday’s original blog before the great delete debacle happened, and what could be a better example of stuff than that? Lessons Yep. It happens when and where you least expect it. There’s big stuff and little stuff and all sizes of stuff in between, but stuff it is, and the question becomes, so what am I going to do about it?

I got a chuckle out of the response from one reader who said that when stuff like that happens to her, she runs outside and yells “fire, fire!” I am definitely going to try that sometime. The neighbors may try to catch me with a butterfly net, but hey—that’s all part of the fun.

Fortunately, yesterday’s incident was a one-act play and I was the only actor. Sometimes though, the stage is filled with an entire cast of characters enmeshed in a comedy of errors or a tragedy involving pain and suffering. When personally involved in such a scenario, I like to pretend that I’m sitting in the audience observing the show from afar and not let myself become too entangled in the story. When the play ends, I go home and analyze the plot to see what I might have changed, and study the parts of the players and my reaction to them. Often, I rewrite the ending so that everyone walks away with a sense of peace and satisfaction

Ah, good old Pollyanna. She loves those happy endings.

Then I take on the role of a theater critic, except instead of evaluating the play, the plot, and the acting, I look for meaning, lessons, and blessings. Was it worth identifying with the pain or suffering happening on stage? Was there a benefit involved, however miniscule or obscure? Did I learn anything? Is there something that I could have done differently? If I had changed my reaction, might there have been a better outcome?

Sometimes I think that the stuff that happens is a set-up job to help us move forward on the pathway toward our own enlightenment. Every glitch that comes our way arrives complete with an ending that allows us to learn a lesson, find a benefit, and embrace the blessing that is inherent within it. The ending is up to the players. We can choose happy, or we can choose unhappy. Each actor decides his or her own role.

So did I choose a happy ending after yesterday’s big boo-boo? Was there a lesson? The world didn’t end because I made a mistake. Was there a blessing? Absolutely. Once I recovered from the shock of what I had done, I thought the whole incident was hysterical. I felt a profound sense of gratitude because I was able to recover quickly and whip out a replacement blog in the space of ten minutes, and enjoy the freedom of writing with the sense of wild abandon of dancing as if no one was watching.

God bless the boo-boos, for without them we would miss the profound teachings that life has to offer us. The great lessons, gifts, and blessings always await our discovery, if we will but seek to find them. Happy hunting, my friends.

Dusting Off What Truly Matters

I read that clothing sales are down and pajama sales are up. Small wonder. A life in the day of a pandemic—wait—what day is it today? Time and waistlines are partners in expansion.

This week has brought me a case of lethargy complete with days that roll on by at both the crawl of a turtle and the speed of light. Is that even possible? I get up, arm myself with my coveted cup of coffee, park myself in my Lazygirl, and suck my thumb for a while until the caffeine kicks in. I contemplate, meditate, then write the blog du jour and from there, it becomes a downhill slide.

All of my good intentions, my stabs at creating a life of balance between inner and outer work go cattywampus as I search for the eject button on the Lazygirl. Huh. There doesn’t seem to be one. Drat. An unnerving pile of laundry grows in the night while layers of dust turn the dark hardwood floor the color of ash—evident mostly in the morning sun that shines its light on a dusty path as I make my way to the kitchen. Handy for me I have a friend who loves her new vacuum cleaner so much that she runs around our condo building looking for floors to vacuum. It’s a Teneco by the way. Never heard of it, but if I didn’t have her to do it for me, I might have to buy one.

I know there’s a message in here somewhere. I just need to find it. Ummm—it might have to do with how I feel about myself as I laze away the days living like a slug. Yep. That’s it. How do I feel about myself? Not good. It feels as if I’m letting myself down again by not doing the things that I know are good for me. I’m not listening to the urging of the quiet voice within myself that encourages me to get up and get moving. Life in the slug lane does not produce a feel-good sense of self. It’s depressing and I don’t like depressing. It’s enough to make me decide that it’s time to do something about my attitude. But what?

Just get up and get moving. Oh, really? Is that all? How you do that without energy, enthusiasm, or will? What am I missing? Hmmm.

Oops. Maybe I’ve lost sight of what matters most. Maybe I’ve forgotten to keep my eye upon the donut and slid headlong down into the emptiness of the hole. Maybe I have lost sight of my meaning, purpose, goals, or flunked willingness. As much as I want to clear away the dust and return to a cleaner, clearer better version of myself, there are just times when I need help. Pay attention, Julia. Ask for what you need.

Okay, God. I can’t do this myself. I need some willingness please. Like magic, willingness appears and morphs into want to. Instant presto—the fans are flamed and I’m back. When that happens—watch out world—here I come.

Forgetfulness is a mistake that I seem to repeat, but as an earnest student in the university of life, I get to retake my classes until I learn what I must. Since one of my goals is to graduate with honors, I’d better get busy and work for an A+ in Feel-Good 101.

To Do or Not to Do

Yesterday’s blog was all about setting priorities for post-pandemic life New Normal. Then as if on cue, I received a You Tube video (see link below) from my friend Pamela for the folks in her exercise for seniors class. Perfect! Just the incentive I needed to get up out of my Lazygirl and get moving.

Before diving in head first, of course, I had to see what I was in for, so I sat and watched for all of ten minutes before I had to turn it off due to sheer exhaustion. How does she do that? Where does she get all that energy? The Jane Fonda of Seniors.

Well duh. She does it because she does it. Obviously, there was a point in her life where she simply decided to do it, so she did it. She works out. I watch. The good news is that my ten-minute excursion into Exercise by Voyeurism sent me off on another round of self-exploration.

I’ve always been better at dropping bad habits than adopting good ones. Clearly, I’m better at passive activity (is that an oxymoron?) like not smoking, not drinking, and not watching TV than I am at the stuff I have to do—the aggressive stuff, like changing my diet, exercising, meditating, building good habits. I guess that my lazy nature simply prefers the not doing to the doing.

But in keeping with yesterday’s venture into creating a new game plan for post-pandemic life, a balance between doing and being was high on the list, right up there with exercise and time management. Hmm. I guess it’s no accident that Pamela’s video landed in my inbox when it did.

I am happy to say that today marks the one-month anniversary of my commitment to write and publish a daily blog. One month! That’s pretty doggoned miraculous for a reluctant doer like myself, I’d say. Kudos to me.

As Pamela keeps on exercising, I keep on writing—at least for now. Her dedication fuels mine. It gives me the incentive to keep on keeping on and to do whatever I can to improve daily, not just writing, but my life in its entirety, even if requires getting out of my Lazygirl and shaking my booty. Rats. Oh wait—I can do it joyfully, or I can do it grudgingly. Always my choice, right?

Today I’m going take a stab at exercising, even if I last less than five minutes. Today, I added fuel to my writing fire by ordering a book by fellow blogger Jessica Davidson (Free Your Pen Website). Today, I will do my best to do whatever is before me to do. As I persevere, I’ll get stronger and last longer by strengthening muscles, both physical and spiritual. The more I do, the more I can do.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life and there’s a whole lot of doing and being yet to be done. Today I will celebrate that I woke up this morning and that I have another day in which to do it. Today, I will give thanks for it all. Including the exercise.

PS: Link to Pamela’s video: https://youtu.be/MUBPOa6P8IQ

PPS: To all of you beautiful life giving nurturers out there, Happy Mother’s Day, with love!

The Road to New Normal

Oh my. The day is half gone—well, not really—it’s only 8:35 am but I’ve been up since 5:30 frittering away time. Well, not frittering, exactly—it’s been productive, but still—even in spite of still being confined at home, the hours seem to cave in on me and before I know it, the day is over and I’m left wondering where it all went.

It’s a funny thing—before I retired and hung up my working duds for the very last time, I was really concerned about how I would keep myself busy for 20 or 30 years without a job to keep me occupied. Oh, silly me—what did I know? Whoever said that “life is alike a roll of toilet paper—the closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes” got it right. The faster I run the farther behind I get, even with nowhere to go.

So much to do, so little time. When the world reopens and we’re living our new normal life, how will I be? Will I lunge back out there again in the hustle and bustle of it all, running around like a rat in a maze searching for the cheese? Or will I be sitting at home in my Lazygirl sucking my thumb hoping to never leave home again? Is there a balance somewhere in between? I don’t have a clue about any of that yet, but it behooves me to figure it out soon because someday the world will be open again, and when that happens, I want to have a game plan.

This at-home time has brought me the awareness that if I don’t “do lunch” with friends several times a week, I won’t die from it. The world will not end if I have to get in the kitchen and cook a meal for myself. I don’t have to answer the phone every time it rings, or respond instantly to the emails that flood my inbox. If I run out of eggs or butter, I’ll make do. Toilet paper and coffee—well, that’s another story.

I want to crank up the energy to do the stuff that I’ve been putting off by using the too-busy excuse. I want to find the balance between writing a daily blog while also getting a grip on the rest of my life. I catch myself in the act of wasting precious time and I don’t want to do that anymore. I want more paper on the roll, I want to expand time. I want to increase focus on doing what is good for me—exercise, eating a proper diet, meditating, resolving to strive for a higher and higher awareness all things spiritual.

I want to resign from the world of perpetual doing and move into a state of beingness because out of that glorious state of being, time expands and the doing becomes effortless.

So that’s my story. How are you doing? Have you figured it out yet?

Follow the Light of Your Heart

Most every family has a member who is different, one who is misunderstood—the oddball, the black sheep, the one who never quite fit into the mold laid out by the generations that went before it. In my family, I was and it. My fellow members of the oddball club know what I’m talking about. It’s not an easy role, but somebody’s got to do it.

As I reached young adulthood, it became quite clear to me that the traditional Christianity in which I had been raised was not my path. Please understand that I do love God and I do love Jesus the Christ, and though I deeply honor and respect the value of Christianity, it is simply not the right one for me. But what is?

This question led me to conduct a little survey in which I asked about 30 people if they thought they had a soul. The answers were equally divided among yes, no, or I don’t know—what’s your definition of the soul? To the soulless, I asked what they thought would become of them when they died. Squish. Just like a little ant. The lights go out.

The third answer sent me further into my self-quest. What is my definition of a soul?

The question unveiled layers of deeper issues to ponder. My need to define soul in a way that makes sense to me is similar to trying to define God and seeking to discern the difference between personality and ego. What’s true? Where do I fit in?

Today, if I repeated the same survey and replaced the word soul with heart, of course those 30 people would say yes. They may even agree that the same physical heart that keeps them alive also registers the profound feelings and emotions that guide them in determining what lies in their best interest, if they will choose to listen. That sounds a bit like the job of a soul, doesn’t it?

Though I imagine students of theology and esotericism may heartily disagree, I have boiled down my definition of soul to a one-word definition that works for me. That word is heart. Ahh.

My heart sustains my life on this earth. My heart knows what is best for me. It is the container for the all-pervading love of God, the seat of wisdom that leads, guides, and protects me. It lights my way as I travel along the quagmire of a confusing return path to my spiritual home. It is my human connection to the Divine. Hmm. Could heart and soul be one and the same?

Finally, here’s what my heart knows beyond a shadow of a doubt. Though we may travel upon different paths along the way, we will meet at the end of the road and rejoice in the Lord that we have each finally found our way to our True Home. Hallalujah!

Meanwhile, I hope to meet a few other oddballs to keep me company in my travels. My definition of oddball: World-serving, light-working, kindred-spirits in love with the world and all of humanity.

Defining the Undefinable

As I was pondering the mysterious, unfathomable nature of God, two thoughts came to mind. The first is my need to examine my concept of who or what I think that God is. Just as I have a need to define ego and personality for purposes of my own understanding—though such definitions may be far afield from the establishment—I also dig deep within myself to try to fathom the depths of what God is so that I can understand my relationship to him. Or her. This too may be far afield from theology.

When in search of a pronoun for God, I often use the word It rather than he or she because I believe that God is neither masculine nor feminine, nor does It have a long white beard. God is pure energy, infinite intelligence, all pervading love. God is the glue that holds the universe together.

There may well be as many definitions, descriptions, and names for God as there are people on the planet, many of whom also seek to solve the same mystery for themselves. Just as it helps me to define my personal understanding of personality and ego (The Seeds of Learning), I also search for an understanding of God as It relates to me and my life.

Spoiler alert: My conclusion may sound blasphemous, but here it is.

In my early years as a Truth seeker, I often puzzled over how it could be possible for God to hear my one small voice amidst so many billions of others around the world also clamoring for attention. How could such a thing be possible? After so many years of questioning, I finally realized the answer.

God is not One. God is All. God is energy divided up and lovingly installed into the heart of every single living creature on this planet. God is the source of every aspect of my being. It is my creative energy source; It is what lives me, breathes me, moves me, fuels me, teaches and guides me, blesses and heals me. God is hiding a piece of Itself within every cell of my body. It lies patiently awaiting my recognition and acceptance of It. even though I sometimes turn my back and walk away for a spell. Yet It is always there. But am I?

My personal definition may defy reason, logic, and theology, but for me, it solves the eternal mystery of how God hears my small voice among so many others. Right or wrong, it works for me, and that knowledge is elixir for my soul..

The Divine Spark of God is right here with me for now and forever. My only job is get myself out of the way long enough to clear away the manure that is clogging up the channel of communication.

I know there’s a pony in here somewhere. All I have to do is dig deep enough and I will find it. Note to self: There’s no time to waste, so giddy up.