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.

 

 

 

 

The Surprise Sucker Punch

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Do you ever review your day just before going to sleep?  I do—and last night I had to face the music and ask myself, “Egad—what in the world was that?”

Yesterday was one of those head-pounding, heart-pumping, vein-popping nightmarish kind of days that nearly sent me over the edge of sanity into the brutal realization that I ain’t perfect yet.  Dagnabit.  When am I going to learn?

Here I thought that I finally had it all together (well, maybe just some of it) only to be shocked into the awareness that just like anyone else, I am not immune from the blast of anger that lurks just beneath the surface of my usual calm manner that is ready to flare up unexpectedly to pounce and punch—and Heaven help the person who happens to be innocently standing in the way when it does!

Unlike the nightmares of The Pink Panther (2/26) and Trashy Dreams (4/22), this was a daytime nightmare from which I have not yet awakened nor barely recovered.  Lessons, lessons, everywhere lessons.

In addition to owning the title of Queen of the Trash Room, I also seem to have acquired the honor of being dubbed Queen of the Movers, or chief-in-charge of the many comings and goings of the condo building where I live.  This one tops the list of the Make-Me-Crazy jobs on my list of Crazy-Things-To-Do.

Yesterday’s move was the pinnacle of the move-from-hell experiences.   The guys on the truck broke every condo rule in the book, resulting in multiple complaints from irate residents who had every right to be angry about the inconvenience created by the truck blocking the entrance/exit to the garage. They refused to move.  Period.  They simply refused to move.   Needless to say, I lost it and things went downhill from there.

My normal behavior would have been to slip into facilitator/mediator role, but I was so blinded by my own anger that I got caught up in the melee, unable to find my way clear.  Fortunately, I soon realized that I was part of the problem rather than part of the solution, and I backed off and apologized for my untowardly behavior toward the movers, but not before I gave myself a good tongue lashing for my behavior.  I felt ashamed of myself and embarrassed by my loss of control.  That sucker-punch caught me by surprise and rather than responding with kindness, I reacted to this little head-on collision with anger instead.

It’s times like these that I need to remember that I’m not broken and I don’t need to be “fixed,” but sometimes when in the midst of such a daytime nightmare, it sounds easier said than done.  Happily for me, I have a strong faith and belief in the power of love over fear, and that I need only remember that love is the best soft-serve antidote to all things conflicting.

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As my head hit the pillow last night, I felt my body struggling to recover from the nasty blast of stress that occurred as a result of the day’s fray.  Heart and head both pounded from physical, mental, and emotional strain and kept me awake and asking myself how I had gone so far over the edge so quickly.  What was the trigger that set me off?  I don’t have the answer to that yet, but at least my head is a little clearer in the light of day.  What did I learn from this unfortunate encounter?

  • It’s easier to catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
  • Think before I speak.
  • I am not broken and I don’t need to be fixed.
  • Though I may lose it in the moment and never have an opportunity to heal a rift between myself and another, I can still practice the art of love, forgiveness, kindness, and compassion with both myself and those whom I may have harmed.
  • I can reaffirm my resolve to sit down each day with the friendly voices within myself for a refreshing dip in the fountain of awareness and enlightenment.
  • But here’s the kicker of what I really learned.  I learned how important it is to have a strong spiritual belief system.  I learned that yesterday, I had failed to have a little daily chat with my sane, loving unseen voices.  I saw how quickly a situation of minor proportions can quickly morph into a major incident such that those involved might be brought to use violence as a means as a so-called solution to the problem.  Or that a family disagreement can cause a major lifelong fracture that goes unhealed.
  • This incident also reminded me that any situation may be used by the powers that be to heal, bless, and heighten the awareness of those with eyes to see and the willingness to engage in the practice of doing whatever they need to do to add peace to their world and to the world in general.
  • Any experience—no matter how comfortable or uncomfortable, no matter how happy or unhappy—can be used as fodder for a blog.  So thanks for this experience of something to write about, my friends (I think!).

By the way—in case you may have forgotten, I’d just like to remind you (and myself) that we are absolutely perfect exactly the way we are.  Let’s face it—we’re all doing the best we can.  If we could do it any better, we would.  And one day when we’re ready, we will.  Meanwhile, I highly recommend that you simply sit back, relax and enjoy the journey.

Today I’ll thank the voices who are always there for me, I’ll remember that I’m not broken, that I don’t need to be fixed, that I can own and love my behavior and see it as a gift cleverly designed to move me along on my path to enlightenment like it or not (and sometimes I don’t, depending of the form the lesson).   I can see it as a growing experience rather than use it as a weapon against myself, and know that I am always loved and forgiven and I can always love and forgive myself and all others in my world.  And yes, even my enemies.  Well—not so easy sometimes, but I’m working on it!

I also learned that my blissful, joyful, state of euphoria can be quickly destroyed by unhealed anger.  So I’m making the choice for love and will keep my sights set on Nirvana.  It may take awhile, but I plan to stay on track till I make it!  Maybe I’ll see you there, huh?

Oh—as a final note (there always seems to be a final note, right?) I want to add that starting right now, today, this very minute, I have returned to “Thank You God” mode. All day every day, Thank You God Mode keeps me in a state of joyful bliss and out of trouble. Apparently I flunked Gratitude 101 yesterday.  I won’t make that mistake again today.  It’s too stressful!

Thank you,  thank you, thank you God for ALL blessings, both great and small.  And speaking of gratitude . . .

Oh–and here’s other final note.  (Do they never end?)  This blog was produced before I even had a chance to say thank you to all of you wonderful family, friends, and fellow bloggers for your lovely and positive comments about the last post, but hang tight.  I’ll get there soon!  Meanwhile, please know that I appreciate your kind thoughts!  🙂  To those who are following my blog, THANK YOU!

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

Sowing and Reaping

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I wake up on a lovely rainy morning and search my mind for what’s up for the day.  Lunch with some friends closely followed by a nap. Well, it just doesn’t get much better than that, now does it? With nothing pressing on my agenda, I settle myself into my Lazygirl with my first cup of coffee of the day, put my feet up on the matted sheepskin that disguises a well worn hassock, and open my Kindle to Practicing the Presence by Joel Goldsmith, one of my favorite spiritual writers/teachers. Nothing to do right now except relax and wallow around in the luxury of comfort, good coffee, and infinite possibility. And listen to the raindrops.

As I sit back to enjoy my quiet time, I read a few passages about abundance and my mind transports me back a few decades ago to a day that still brings a sense of awe.  It lives forever on in my memory and amazes me still as I recollect the fullness and abundance contained within it.

I do not recall the exact details, but what I remember the most about it is putting my head on the pillow at the end of the day and looking back over what I had accomplished during my waking hours.  It was if I had entered a wormhole in space that allowed me to zoom throughout the day at warp speed doing anything and everything that I could possibly think of to do.  I shifted into Superwoman mode and away I went full speed ahead.

The accomplishments of the day were astounding—not just the little piddling stuff, like returning phone calls or doing laundry.  No, it was more like clean out the basement, organize the junk closet, run a month worth of errands all over town, scrub the kitchen floor within an inch of its life, and have a dinner party for six that night stuff.  Really?  Did I do all of that in one day?  And still have energy left to spare?  On a normal day in my life, the mere thought of tackling any one of those tasks would have sent me running back to the shelter and comfort of my waiting Lazygirl. How did this happen?  Whatever did I sow in order to reap such great benefits?

As I allowed Joel Goldsmith’s words to sink into my head and heart, I realized again what I have heard many times before and often forgotten.  All things are possible, provided that I acknowledge that God, All That Is, the Universe, or whatever one wants to call it, is the total and complete source of all, and I am part of that all, and therefore all that God is I am. And so are you.  Period.  All that I am and all that I have is simply an outpouring of that which exists within myself, and is mine provided that I recognize, realize, and acknowledge the Truth of it. The minute I forget and think that I, or a friend, or family member, or job is the source of my happiness or my supply, I have lost sight of my divine nature and fail to experience that which is my natural inheritance, my birthright.

If the miraculous expansion of time is any indicator of the miracles that God can pull off without even being asked, imagine the possibilities of what can be done with those little strips of paper and stacks of metal disks that we call money.  Can they not multiply and stretch as well?  If I have $100 in my pocket, can it not disappear in a heartbeat as if never there?  Or by some miraculous phenomenon can it seem to stretch into twice as much or more, providing greater benefit than it’s apparent limited value?

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Was that magical day a gift to teach me about abundance, to demonstrate that there is always enough time, always enough money, and that there is never a need to live in lack of any sort?  The gift of abundance comes in many forms.  One can have an abundance of misery or an abundance of joy.  It is a matter of choice.  It is all a state of mind.  As a man  thinketh in his heart so is he.  As ye sow, so shall ye reap.

If, in my limited way of thinking I can find nothing to write about, and then suddenly I awake one morning with an idea so compelling that I have no choice but to run to my computer and start typing, is that not also abundance?

“The principle of abundance is:  “To him that hath, so shall be given.” Practice this principle by casting your bread upon the waters, giving freely of yourself and your possessions, knowing that what you are giving is God’s, and that you are merely the instrument as which it flows out into the world.  Never look for a return, but rest in quiet confidence in the assurance that within is the fountain of life and His grace is your sufficiency in all things.  In that certainty, born of an inner understanding of the letter of truth, you have.  The cup of joy runs over, and all that the Father has flows forth into expression.

Joel Goldsmith ~~ Practicing the Presence

 

 

Trashy Dreams

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Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Julia, self-appointed Queen of the Trash Room.  This honor is bestowed upon me courtesy of my own idiocy as a result of my willingness to join the board of directors of the condo building where I live. Clearly, we do not have a janitor.

My kingdom includes a 300-square foot trash room with cinder block walls, a concrete floor, and a dumpster, the receptacle for whatever crazy stuff that residents can think of to send down the chute from six floors above.  I don’t recommend vacuum cleaners.  The result of such folly inevitably creates a horror show that would send a janitor running for his life.  Would that we had one but alas, I’m it.

If the dumpster is overloaded the bags bounce onto the floor and heaven help anyone who might be standing in the way.  The room itself is the collector of an unimaginable assortment of dumped household belonging—an unholy mix of trash, garbage, and recyclables—fluorescent bulbs, half empty paint cans, discarded electronics, mattresses, broken desk chairs—the possibilities are endless.  Happy am I when the room is tidy and clean, empty of assorted litter and junk because then in my world, all is well and God is in her heaven.

It’s bad enough when I have to deal with this garbage for real—but really—do I have to do it in my dreams too?

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Last night I had a hideous nightmare in which someone dumped a 60-gallon dirty yellow container down the chute, and rather than using a securely-tied plastic bag to rein in the contents, the expletive-deleted perpetrator had filled the thing with a broken down cardboard carton full of loose trash.  Naturally, the container landed upside down and emptied its mountainous load of yukkiness all over the floor, a horror show of epic proportions.  The Queen of Trash nearly had a fainting spell at the mere sight of it, not to mention the mind-numbing prospect of having to clean it all up.  To make matters worse, the container had a wheel broken off, a sure indicator that it too qualified as trash, providing an even greater puzzle to solve.  Is it recyclable? Is it plastic or rubberized? Is rubber recyclable?  How am I supposed to get rid of that?

As I stood at the intersection of horrified and enraged, an idea popped into my head.  “Hey, wait a minute.” I thought.  “Maybe this is just a nightmare, and if so, I don’t have to worry about how to clean it up.  Maybe I can just wake up and poof—problem solved!  Wouldn’t that just be miraculous?”  And with that, my eyes popped open and I woke up with a realization that it was indeed, just a dream.  Words cannot possibly begin to describe the mixture of gratitude, relief, and joy that I experienced to discover the unreality of that nasty situation.

This trashy nightmare brings to mind a question that I have pondered many times over my lifetime. What is real?  What is illusion?  While I sleep, my nighttime dreams become my reality and are as concrete as the floor of that trash room.  They are as real as the world seems to be when I am in a so-called waking state.  Yet when I am walking around in the daytime with my eyes wide open and think that I am awake, the dreams that I have at night vanish into thin air and quickly fade and are forgotten.  Where do the nighttime dreams go?  Where do the daytime dreams go?  Which one is real?

Perhaps none of it is real.  Perhaps it is all only an illusion.  Perhaps we are all asleep and dreaming and perhaps one day we will all wake up to a new reality in which we realize that life is nothing more than a dream, a movie projected by our minds based upon what we think, feel, perceive, or believe is real.

In the meantime, perhaps we are all living in the same dream with a common belief in love and fear, good and evil, right and wrong, black and white, beliefs that divide and separate us from one another when in truth we are all one, we are all the same, we all are only here on classroom earth learning how to get along together and to let go of fear and replace it with love.  We’re all teachers, we’re all students, we’re all in it together.

Let’s face it—the world we live in today could qualify as a nightmare.  I don’t know about you, but I’m going to do my best to turn the nightmare into a happy dream and wake up to the Truth that the only thing that is real is love.  Meanwhile, I’m going to practice loving my enemies.  It isn’t easy, but the result is surely worth the effort.  Care to join me?

Bye for now. See you in my dreams.

With love,

Julia, Queen of Trash

 

When Is It Gonna Get Hot?

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This morning I checked the weather before I took Charlie out for his morning constitutional. The temperature clued me that I needed to bundle us both up in our winter duds and brace ourselves for an unseasonably chilly morning.  What is wrong with this picture?  It’s 33 degrees on April 8, that’s what.

I don’t know about the weather where you live, but I can tell you that in my lane, we’re all sick and tired of layering up when it’s supposed to be spring. Down coats and scarves just don’t go with cherry blossoms and daffodils.  As I zipped and hooded us up a “Once Upon a Time” story popped into my head.

Many years ago when I was an outside sales rep, my days were spent pounding the pavement (ouch—sorry feet!) hiking from door to door in building after building in hot pursuit of hot prospects in a big city full of big buildings.

Oh there was a whole lot of hot out there.  One year in late May and early June, the weather moved from winter directly into an endless stream of days so brutally hot that the very thought of going outside sent folks scurrying back to the safety and comfort of their air conditioned zones.  Day by day as I slogged my way from door to door I began to notice that mine weren’t the only spirits drooping from the scorching heat.  There seemed to be an epidemic of general malaise in the air, a fog of depression that had engulfed the entire city.

Oh for an inside job where I could sit at a desk in air-conditioned comfort all day.  Fortunately for me, most of the kind folks I encountered took pity on me, but I could only linger for just so long before someone thought that it was time to kick me back out into the oppressive heat.  It would be times like these when any self respecting outside sales rep in her right mind might consider a new occupation.  Alas, such was not the case, and the person I worked for was not sympatric to the plight of her soggy beleaguered sales team.  Off we went.  Out the door and into the blistering heat.

 

 

On one such as day I stood propped in the corner of an elevator on my way down from the 9thfloor dreading the thought of having to exit the building, the elevator stopped long enough to collect a new passenger.  “Oh good, I thought.  A brief momentary delay before venturing out into the inevitable.”

I can still see him to this day.  A handsome hunk of a guy wearing a crisp, clean Fedex uniform and a smile so bright that it reminded me of those toothpaste ads where a sparkle of light pings off a front tooth.  There I stood propped in my corner dazzled by the vision of handsome, while trying my best to refrain from wilting down to the floor in a puddle of despair.

“Good morning!” he said with a cheerful attitude that matched his sparkle smile.

“Well, it would be a good morning if I didn’t have to get off this elevator and go out into the heat,” I grumbled.

“Well we asked for it, you know.”

“Huh?  What do you mean?”

“We kept saying, ‘When is it gonna get hot?  When is it gonna get hot?’”  And then he was gone.

Aha!  The man is right!  Just as it is now, the weather then had been unseasonably cold for far too long into the spring.  Everyone was complaining. “ It’s too cold.  When is it gonna get hot?  When is it gonna get hot?”  There was a group mantra in the air and it got hot.

Is it true?  Do we get what we ask for?  If so, perhaps it might behoove us to give some serious thought to what we allow to wander around in our heads.  If I change my mind will I change my experience?  I decided that I was going to rewrite the mantra.  If it is true, if a group consciousness can create a heat wave, can it be reversed by a change of mind?

That day, I told the story of my elevator meeting to each person I met.  I asked everyone that I encountered to “Think San Diego weather,” and to imagine a balmy, sunny, clear- blue-sky, low-humidity sort of a day that brings joy to the heart and puts a spring into the step.  It was amazing how spirits lifted at the very thought.

Even more amazing was the fact that the next morning I awoke to a day of San Diego weather.

Coincidence? I’ll never know.  But it certainly does give one pause to wonder, doesn’t it?  Think about what we might be able to do if we change our minds about the climate of our government, of our country, of the planet?  What might happen if we all shifted from a negative attitude to a positive one?  If we see light instead of darkness?  Is it possible to change the world one mind at a time?

Is there just one little thing that you might like to change your mind about today?  If so, how about starting with something small, like the weather?  Today the weather.  Tomorrow the world.

It couldn’t hurt, right?  After all, what have we got to lose?  We’ll never know unless we try.

Okay, so are you in?  If so, leave me a comment and let me know.  The more the merrier! Together we can change the world.  We’ve gotta start somewhere, right?  Okay, enough with the platitudes.  How about we move on to Weather Changing one Mind at a Time?

Seriously.  Let me know.

PS:  Quite possibly there may be either a gaping hole in the middle of this post, or a photo of a fiery blaze stuck sideways in a place where a photo ought not be.  Just overlook it and chalk it up to computer ineptitude.  🙂  I know it’s broken, but I don’t know how to fix it.  But then again, maybe it isn’t broken at all.  Maybe I just think it is.  And maybe by some miracle it will fix itself and be just fine.  I won’t know till I push the publish button.  So good luck and here goes . . .

 

 

A Gift of Lilies or a Crown of Thorns?

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Today my daughter shares her birthday with Easter Monday.  Yesterday Easter was shared with April Fool’s Day. I went to church and am happy to report that the roof did not cave in. No fooling! The church that I attended offered worshippers a non-traditional service with a rousing round of Christian rock music that set the feet to tapping and the heart to pounding, but I missed the singing of traditional hymns.   Hal-le-lu-jah, hal-le-lu-jah. No matter. I walked around throughout the day singing it to myself but I’d rather have heard it sung by a choir.

While I appreciate traditional Christianity, I often enjoy looking at it in a more metaphysical way. I have been a student of a number of different teachings on my spiritual journey, each of which has proven to be exceptionally valuable in its own time and in its own way. The result to date is that I have adopted what I consider to be a system of belief that is practical, believable, forgiving, and comforting. It comes from years of practice as a student of the spiritual teachings of Siddha Yoga, A Course in Miracles (ACIM), Unity Center of Christianity, meditation, and the experience of being a Reiki practitioner among other things along the way.

Like so many others on a similar journey, I often find that I lose purpose and inspiration from time to time, and find myself wandering in the wilderness trying to return to my path toward home. Such has been the case for the past several weeks. When that happens, I scramble to find my way back but have learned that in order to do so I must ask for help. Help comes in many forms, and most recently, it was through a reminder from a friend who had returned to her study of ACIM after many years. The simple act of picking up the book was all I needed. Once I actually opened it to a random page, my way back was right there waiting for me.

Easter weekend gave me more than ample opportunity to examine some of the ridiculous little grievances that I hold from time to time for no good or apparent reason. Try as I might to get to the bottom of whatever the heck it is that is bugging me about a person or situation or even about myself seems like mission impossible.

I was a little disappointed with myself last week, for example, because for the first time since I started blogging in mid-February, I failed in my goal to publish a blog twice a week. I went through the usual litany of excuses—I was away for the weekend, I devoted a lot of the week to writing the condo newsletter, I had to get ready for Easter company—lame excuses, perhaps but true nonetheless. But the underlying truth behind the fake excuses is that I was struggling (again) about what to write, what to say, and how to say it. If it’s such hard work, maybe I’m on the wrong track. Always second guessing myself. It shouldn’t be that hard, should it? Where’s the easy button?

So there I was on Good Friday, feeling hung out on a cross of my own construction, wearing a crown of thorns, crucified by self-judgment, self-criticism, and self-doubt. Is there anyone out there who does not experience that from time to time? While I was hanging there condemning myself for my miscellaneous assorted sins, I found myself mentally picking on perfectly nice people who just happened to be in the crosshairs of my grievances at the time.

Well hello? I need some practical, believable, forgiving, comforting help here, please. I don’t like who I am and what I’m thinking right now and I want to fix it.

So I whipped out my trusty journal and busied myself by writing my little heart out. What emerged was a dialogue about love and fear (always the bottom line in my world) and my choice about deciding which one to choose. It is a bit lengthy, but oh, so juicy, and oh so helpful. Maybe someday I’ll publish it as a blog.

Love is love and love is all there is, the only thing that is real. Anything else is fear, an umbrella term for ego, the saboteur par excellence that strives with all its might to stay alive in the face of love. It shows up in ugly forms such as I experienced in the past week or so, as anything, anything that threatens peace of mind. Anger, jealousy, slothfulness, hatred, criticism of self and others—it’s all right there, terrified that it will be recognized for what it is and annihilated by the forgiveness and healing that only love can provide.

I like to think that Jesus is a teacher of the love that joins us all as one, and that symbolically his death signals the death of the ego, the end of the treachery of the suffering that we all endure because of it.

I give thanks for Jesus the man, the teacher, the way shower, and for Jesus the Christ, the embodiment of love, the representative of All That Is. I give thanks for the triumph of the resurrection that leads us all away from fear and back to love.

Today, I choose a lily kind of day. Tomorrow, I will choose again, as I must choose each and every day for the rest of my life. Sometimes I need help, and help is ever present. All I need do is ask and await the miracle of healing and the return to sanity.

And so it is!

Happy birthday my dear daughter.  Happy Easter Monday everyone.

Next up:  Trust, willingness, and the healing of grievances.  Not necessarily in that order. See you then.  Meanwhile I send you lilies and blessings of love!