What is the Meaning of This?

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In keeping with my usual “get-up-early-so-I-can-loaf-longer” mode, it is o’dark-thirty and I have been up for over an hour and a half.  So far, I have picked up my pen instead of my computer (a major start-of-the-day accomplishment), meditated, walked and fed the dog, and just settled down to enjoy my second cup of coffee.  Somewhere between the twenty steps that separate the kitchen from my Lazygirl, a small kamikaze fly took a suicide dive into my coveted second cup. Bummer.

My normal modus operandi would be to immediately ask myself,  “What is the meaning of this?”   Today I have admitted to myself that perhaps there is no meaning in this.  But hey—it wouldn’t be like me not to wonder just a little bit—and to use the incident as a springboard to the discovery some sort of magical, mystical, amazing hidden Truth that suddenly reveals itself as a reward for my continual forward march on the obstacle-strewn path to Nirvana. What is my life after all, if nothing but a search for meaning?

The fly-in-the-coffee routine is reminiscent of the wasp-in-the-purse number that occurred a number of years ago.  It makes me wonder—why bother to search for meaning when I have already found it long ago (and apparently forgotten it again)?  That would be a little like reinventing the wheel.  On the other hand, what with my forgetful ways, I always do appreciate a good reminder because Heaven knows, I can use all of them I can get!

Just so you know—the little story that you are about to read was lifted right out of my book, Amusings—Looking at Life Through a Stained Glass Window.  Is it blog- cheating to plagiarize myself?  I don’t know, but I’m going to do it anyway, so here goes.  The following little vignette is titled The Wasp.

Have you ever popped into your car, reached your hand into your purse to find your keys and discovered that there was a wasp wandering around somewhere between your checkbook and wallet?  It is probably a moment you would prefer reading about when it happened to someone else than actually experiencing for yourself.

Well, we had quite a time, the wasp and I.  We had a little conversation—seems I did most of the talking—while the nosy little itinerant inspected the contents of my handbag.  Hitching a ride to somewhere, and looking for a bite of free lunch, I supposed.  I wasn’t much looking forward to being his mid-day meal.

Apparently, I managed to talk some sense into the tiny critter’s head, because before too very long, s/he flew out the open car window, rather than risk being bludgeoned to death by the contents of a closed purse being pounded in panic against a hot asphalt parking lot.  Thank goodness.

Once my heart rate returned to normal, I immediately launched into my usual what-does-this-mean mode, and concluded that the wasp had given me a very great gift.  I drove away thanking the clever powers that be for the experience, because now—ta dah—I had a juicy little tidbit of insight for the subject of my next writing session.

There was a time when I thought that daily bread was a tangible, like money, or food. (Naturally, I’d be thinking in terms of food).  But that day, thanks to my friend the wasp, I came to an entirely new understanding about the meaning of daily bread.  Daily bread became transformed in my mind from the tangibles of food and money into food for thought.  I moved from the tangible to intangible, then back to tangible again, by bringing ideas, creativity, wisdom and inspiration into physical manifestation through words as a personal expression of individual creativity.

Some folks can take their ideas and build buildings, or paint masterpieces, or write great American novels, or take embryonic ideas and turn them into enormous business empires. Well I had an unfortunate relationship with geometry, never got past kindergarten art, and my grandiose, highfalutin entrepreneurial ideas have long since gone up in smoke, along with the dream of making it onto Oprah’s book list.

But I’m not dead yet! Thanks to that unexpected, uninvited visitor in my purse, I was given an idea and a story to tell, along with a healthy dose of insight, inspiration, and willingness to use it creatively. So the idea is to write the idea. And who knows?  Maybe one day the idea will be published somewhere and I’ll even get paid fir it.  Now wouldn’t that be something!

Either way, published or not, when I fail to write for myself as a personal expression of my own inner creativity, I’m starving myself to death.

Oh Lord, give me this day my daily bread.  I’m too young to die.

 

 

 

 

Speaking for MySelf

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I’m kinda new at this blogging thing—I’ve only been at it for about three months now, and being the baby blogger that I am, I am still struggling to find my voice.  I tend to write whenever the spirit hits me with an idea, which could be anything and everything, once a day or once a month—and when I sit down to write, I’m never sure what’s coming or where it’s going.

People ask, “What is your blog about?”  Well, I wish I knew, but I really can’t say for sure.  Sometimes it’s serious, sometimes silly nonsense, sometimes spiritual, sometimes a tad irreverent.  What can I say?  Would that I had all the answers.  It’s a little like a day in my life when I plan to go about it with intention but somewhere along the line I’ve wandered off course and wind up at a destination I didn’t have in mind when I first started out.

My erratic writing habits give those who know and love me a chance to stick by my side and love me in spite of myself.  As for the rest of you, well that’s entirely up to you, but I’d be really happy if you’d hang in there with me on my journey to wherever and allow yourself to be as surprised by the ending as I often am.

Take today, for example.  I sit down with my journal and take pen in hand.  An unexpected conversation shows up on the page.

“I am always here to talk with you.”

The vague recollection of a conversation seeps into my awareness and I wonder—did I imagine that?  Dream it?  Read it?

“You are never alone.”

Hmm.  No wonder that my blog is called Voices in my Head.

Who is speaking, I ask?

“It is the Lord,” says the voice.

The Lord?  Do you mean God?  That Lord, I ask?

“I am the Lord of your Being, the voice that speaks to and for your soul.  I am the voice of your higher self.  I, along with others form a group comprised of those who are your guides, angels, teachers, protectors, and guardians.  Together we are a team assigned the task of keeping your best interests in mind and heart, and we function as a group under the leadership of the One who is in charge of your spiritual journey.

‘We speak on behalf of The Great Lord, the team of Jesus the Christ, the Holy Spirit, All That Is.  Our job is to help guide you back to your true home.  On behalf of the Great One, we teach love, forgiveness, kindness, and compassion.

‘We invite you to allow your voice to be the voice for all that is good, of all that is truly helpful. We challenge you to gather the courage to use your voice on behalf of The Great One with the wild abandon of the eagle that flies with wind beneath its wings, soaring for the sheer joy and the freedom that it brings.

‘We urge you to simply allow the spirit of this message to live in your heart, and not become caught up in the mechanics of terminology which the ego would use against you to derail your journey.  Simply allow what is to just be, and relax and enjoy your journey.  We are with you each step along the way.”

End of conversation—at least for today.

Okay, so do you see what I mean?  I don’t know what’s coming next folks, but whatever it is, I think I’ll sit back, relax, and watch to see what unfolds along the way.  Meanwhile, I’m just going to spend some quality time hanging out with my teammates with gratitude and appreciation for the miracles that they perform on my behalf, and for the blessings that they endlessly shower upon me.

I enjoy my little chats with my team.  I hope that you enjoy mine with you.  If you do, please push the “follow” button on my blog site and you’ll receive emails notifying you when I post a new blog.  To quote the over-quoted legendary Forest Gump, “Life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you’re gonna get.”  I hope that you’ll be willing to dig in and enjoy the whole box—even if it means that you must take the risk of getting the jelly one that you’d rather spit out than swallow.

One of the things that I love about blogging is that I can make mistakes and don’t have to follow the rules.  There’s nobody to correct me or tell me that I’m doing something wrong.  Love that!  It’s a place where I can be myself, and don’t have to worry about being perfect, but instead can do my best to do the best I can, and maybe as time goes my best will keep on getting better. Meanwhile, you, dear reader, if you wish to do so, have the opportunity to practice forgiveness and love me anyway (and my incorrect grammar and punctuation) in spite of myself.  Isn’t that great?  Isn’t God great?

Before I close, I’d like to share a little PS news flash that just happened before I could put the final “amen” to this little epistle.

I was as happy as a little lark just finishing my blog when I hear the ominous sound of wretching coming from the direction of the dog.  Uh oh—I know what that means!  Charlie has moved himself from his bed on the hardwood floor to the carpet (why do they always do that?) while I start saying NO NO NO in my insistent STOP THAT voice.  I jump out of my Lazygirl to get to him in time to redirect the action away from the carpet back to the hardwood but as I try to stand up, the calf of my leg is gripped by a Charlie horse and I am temporarily and painfully disabled.  Meanwhile, Charlie continues to wretch while I continue to curse at my inability to reach him in time to avoid the inevitable.  Curses indeed!  My leg returns to functional just in time to clean up the mess.  Gee thanks for the dreaded chocolate covered jelly, Charlie dog.  Were you and Charlie horse in cahoots?

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Oh—did I mention?  Those voices in my head sometimes have a wicked sense of humor.  Haha.  Very funny, you guys.  Thanks for the opportunity to remember that it’s not what happens to me that matters—it’s the how do I handle it that counts.  Oh yeah, and thanks for the humorous little antidote to end my story as a diversion from the serious back into the silly.  I know that you dog lovers out there can relate!

That’s it for now, folks.  I’ll see you next time (I hope)!  I wish you blessings, miracles, and grace today and every day.

 

 

 

Gone Fishin’

IMG_1592When I finally learned the meaning of the word blog, (the net really has some weird lingo, right) I remember that some rather unflattering thoughts about the whole concept invaded my head. Hmm. I think that some folks might call that judgment. Whatever. Anyway, tending to be the sort who shies away from the opinions of others, I wondered what could possibly intrigue me enough to make me want to sit down long enough to read the ramblings of a stranger. And now here I am, a stranger—and getting stranger every day—writing my own opinions about whatever zany idea comes to mind, mostly comprised of the ramblings and opinions within my own head.

So I say to myself, “Self,” I say, “Why have you devolved into doing the very thing that turned you off so many years ago?” Why? Well that could be the subject of an entire book that may or may not ever be written. Well maybe someday, but certainly not today . . .

Meanwhile, I’ve been fishing around the WordPress website and reeling in a lot of insight thanks to some of you bloggers out there who make otherwise boring old mundane everyday stuff sound so fascinating and scintillating that I can’t stop reading. How do you do that?   The least I can do is say thank you for inspiring me to get busy and try to figure out how to make my own boring mundane stuff, like doing the laundry or cleaning out a junk drawer sound so appealing that it lures in even the wariest of readers.

Reading stuff from other bloggers almost makes me feel like a voyeur, peeping in on the private thoughts of similar minds. It makes me think that maybe I’m not the only crazy one out here in the world, all alone and trying to make sense of what is.

Those private thoughts are a vein of gold that offer insight into the heart and soul of the one willing to share. But for some reason—mostly fear, I suspect—most of us are unwilling to tell on ourselves because it can feel unsafe and it’s really scary to be vulnerable which makes it tempting to take the safe route and hide out behind plastic smiles.

Here’s one of the most valuable lessons that I ever learned about vulnerability. The more willing and able I am to tell the truth about my deepest, darkest feelings to a trusted listener—someone who will not judge me for whatever heinous crime that I have committed, or for the way I feel—the more there is of me to love. And the more someone shares with me, the closer I feel to that person because I realize that we’re all struggling with the same human stuff and it helps me understand that we’re all trying to keep ourselves from drowning in the same fishing hole. That makes us all lovable—at least on some level—if we sink the lure deep enough to reel in the treasure.

Well schazzam—I just went from zero-to sixty-in five seconds, from humor over the mundane to the infinite depth of a soul. I guess life’s like that sometimes. One minute I’m wallowing around whining about how hard it is to get a grip, and the next I am laughing at the antics of the great cosmic clown who thinks its very funny to confront me with a wasp wandering around in my purse in a car barreling along at sixty mph, or finding chewing gum stuck to the side of my shoe. Hello? The side of my shoe? What—was I walking around on my ankles?

So I’m going to tell you the truth. Well, I’d really like to tell the truth, but to be perfectly honest. I’m not really sure what the truth is. But you know what? My game plan is to figure it out and start learning the lessons that I flunked along the way before it’s too late. Straighten up and die right.

One of the first things that I’m going to work on is finishing what I start. I have a myriad of incomplete stuff that I’ve written, just hanging around waiting for an ending. My life in a nutshell.

And it would be a little embarrassing to fess up to all the other loose ends dangling around in my life, so I won’t, at least for now. Maybe later, when I feel safe enough. Making a commitment to doing a blog on a regular basis is a step along the way.  Allowing success to creep in—even better. That would check a couple of things off of my bucket list—perseverance, procrastination, completing the incomplete, not giving up in a fit of “I can’t,” drop the fear of success. Oops. That sounds like a lot more than just a couple of things, doesn’t it?

Meanwhile, ho boy, I’ve got a lot of work to do. Maybe I’ll just take a little minute and go fishing.   Well maybe not. I must confess that I have gone fishing only once in my life, and that was the day when my fish hook got caught in my cousin’s eyelid. Therein ended the fishing venture forever after. So that’ the truth—albeit a tiny part of it. Stay tuned.   And that said, we have reached the end of the fake fishing blog.

Hey wait a minute! Did I just finish something?

So it would seem.

Yeah, but will anyone read it?

Why? Does it matter?

Oops. Something else to figure out before it’s too late!

Here’s a little PS that just popped into my head.   The instant that I push the publish button and post a blog, I’m riding on a high that lasts for two or three days. Then slowly, when the high begins to fade away into the ethers, something nags at me until I get around to doing the next one. Huh. Have I just acquired another addiction? Well, whatever. I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Oh, and a final PS.  The picture that you see is one that I took myself.  AND, I might add, I am very proud of myself for figuring out how to get it from my personal photo library onto the top of this page.  For me that’s a huge deal–even bigger than writing a blog.  Now that’s something worth celebrating!