Everything that happens is inevitable. We cannot remember that or fully accept it. Nevertheless, it is true.
We live from our subconscious motives and not from full consciousness. Hence the sins and downfalls inherent in this life.
We are also genetically programmed to perform in very specific ways. And the body, don’t get me started.
Why is it important to know this? I write about frailties we experience in our human lives. I should know what I report on. I studied with Vernon Howard and he taught us the painful truth that no one loves us but God. He left us to figure out that we are all God.
I live a life of solitude. It is not a life I choose but it is inevitable. Some good things are inevitable, too. Like grace and mercy and forgiveness. Just don’t think you will walk around embodying these states, though. They only come when the inevitable sinning has happened. Repentance brings us to our knees and suddenly we may know mercy for the first time.
Everything has a consequence and a price to pay for it. There are no free rides or free lunches. We live in constrained circumstances. Yet it is precisely in them that we learn to truly live.
Where is freedom if not within? Never search for it outside of yourself.
What if love is not up to you? What if mercy and grace are not up to you? They are not.
Embrace your ambiguities and lapse into your confusion. God knows far more than you do about your weaknesses. He is not outside of you waiting to come in. He got that part over with aeons ago. He is inside your fear and trembling. There are no secrets. Once you discover that, you will know that fact to be inevitable. Love wins every time.
Every day I have things to reckon with that just won’t go away. So do you. There is a short list and a long list and they both matter and don’t matter.
Since they exist, it means that we have a certain amount of anxiety and dread running programs in the subconscious. I don’t care how enlightened people say they are, they have the same programs that we all do.
Being mortal is not a walk in the park and our lessons are learned so slowly. I am just now getting acquainted with the fact that when I am present, I am present with the entire cosmos. And when I remember that, the long and short of things fades away a bit.
I tend to perfectionism and obsession with how things should be. Before you judge, I have to say that this keeps me growing. Keeps me polishing the mirror, if you will.
I am supersensitive to energy and will stay home rather than be in places where the energy is not my type.
I am a morning person and am always in bed before eleven. Not that I sleep! But beyond that point, I can’t read or watch TV. I have to go to bed, even if I lie there with eyes wide open.
This weekend the weather has been gorgeous and flowering trees are looking good. Winter is just taking a brief vacation, though. So we get to take walks and bike and work in the yard, etc.
I am not online much. The silence outside of Facebook is rich. You don’t have to spend time Liking nature. It doesn’t require validation. Nuff said.
You are ready to read this in order to let it go. You have finished with it totally. Now you can move on into your own silent surrender.
This surrender quickly turns into hell and you move back out of it into the light of an ordinary day. You eat, you drink, you work, you entertain yourself. Anything but surrender.
Because surrender is death; that’s why. And you are never totally ready for it. When you reach the edges of thought, you scramble back into the brambles and hide from God.
He might want something from you that is deeper than conformity.
You used to believe, to have faith. Now you founder on the rocks of ego-oblivion. You look for someone to love you.
You have forgotten that everyone else is looking for others to love them. You have forgotten the principle of the mirror.
You are so flawed, so broken. Finish with your words and become so mortal that you weep in frustration. You still have rage within.
Beyond the rage lies the mystery, the risen Christ, the Buddha, the Chosen One.
I have been absorbing Niall William’s beautiful “The Four Letters of Love.” I hope some of you order and read it, as you can get used paperbacks online.
This morning I am decluttering my office. I have made quite a mess and the dust is everywhere. I use my dining table as my desk and it is filled with years of a printer, fax, modems, 2 computers and speakers. Not to mention the infinite slips of paper I jotted down something on, but do I really need to cling to them all?
Whew. Spring is making its faint promise known here. We have had a week of rainy but warmer weather. I now think of the need to downsize again. On every level.
I asked for donations Valentine’s Day and didn’t get any. I will keep writing, but maybe I will downsize that part of my life, too.
What do I really need and want? Do I want a group of readers that will only read my work if it is free. Undoubtedly. But is that wise? Could I put my time to better use? For those that do donate, I’m deeply grateful to you.
The heart writes but the head knows I am alone here in this dusty old dining room trying to find a reason for staying in a house I have outgrown.
Something better may be waiting for me out there. But now I am cleaning and fretting about this whole writing affair. I know I am not the only writer that feels this way.
Another sleepless night, at least until about six. Then I got up at 9:30, having dreamt nonsensical things. Now I have a cup of chai beside me as I bang out these words. I am banging softly, thanks to my Mac keyboard, which I love. I paid extra for the longer one. What I don’t love is that on their new Pages software, they keep substituting my words for theirs. I have to stop and change them back.
I suppose that is a bit like real life. Things you intend to say come out differently than you had planned. The word birds fly out of your mouth and you cannot “un-fly” them. My penchant for honesty has deeply wounded those I love the most. (Pages wanted me to write the word “would” for “wound.”)
The depth I have for sorrow is uncharted and many have drowned in its stormy seas. Joy is the shallow end of the pool for me. I see children there, many of them in adult bodies. I envy them their ability to be carefree, for I am a careful person.
Now and again I meet someone that sees the hilarity in my sorrow, my unrestrained ability to fall apart in helpless laughter. Those people, too, are broken, and I am able to let them see my sturdy sorrow. I can show it to them without fear of reprisal.
Leonard Cohen is my muse. He sees you when you’re sleepin’, even from his tower of song. We need to feel looked after in our sorrows and he is one shepherd that cannot help but do this, even in death. I have felt his gentle presence in a few dreams. So have others. There is no magic in ordering new shoes from amazon. Only in the ineffable do we have a chance to claim our share of mysterious healing.
“We are, each of us, a private soul hiding behind a public mask, complaining that our public mask gets no understanding.”~ Robert Brault
The quote above reveals the falseness of the faces that we wear. No judgement. It is simply how things are in this world.
I have always looked presentable enough to hide the grief. Actually I try hard not to let the rips and tears in the soul’s garment show. Don’t we all?
We are truly caught in a conundrum. The need to conceal and reveal. I feel a certain angst every morning and it takes a while for it to wear off, for the daylight glare to offer some relief, some respite from the dilemma.
What is this angst about? I have no idea really. It cloaks itself in fearful thoughts. That I am late to get my teeth cleaned, that the deck is in disrepair and that I need to downsize. There is a panic connected to this.
Despite the terror, I have a calling to know the truth and record it for a handful of readers. You know who you are, for you feel pretty antsy yourself.
No amount of Facebook affirmations can unhook you from your personal cross. This much I know and have the courage to say. Crosses serve a purpose, you know. If we didn’t believe that, how could we continue to live?
Esoteric Christianity is about having faith in a higher order than the anxious burdened soul. “Cast your cares on Him and He shall sustain you.” I remember that and sit in silence daily. I wish I could work things out, but things are far beyond my mental control.
There is a beauty in being broken, a sustaining hope that one day you will be made whole, but never by your own hand.
Here is a quote found on cohencentric.com
“I think any artist — writer, singer, or painter — has only one or two paintings that he does over and over.” ~Leonard Cohen
That rings a bell with me on a very deep level. I write of staying home and being on the path of awakening. I live an imperfect life in a particular way.
My two paintings have to do with loss, about going on when business is not as usual, or as you would prefer it to be. I come to the page raw and with regularity. I speak of my flaws and failures to ever do anything right.
I sit in silence daily in order to make room for these brief essays.
Wednesday is Valentine’s Day. Consider making a Valentine Donation to my blog. It cheers me up to receive them.
Donations Gratefully Accepted!
Sometimes this life pushes me heavily towards a false state of perfection. I always believe it will help to try harder and it puts life against me instead of for me.
There is a story arc to everyone’s life that is stronger than they can possibly know on a conscious level. I ate early and now clothes are tumbling in the dryer. I was born to write; I was born to strive and lose. It is all mixed together like M & M’s, nuts and raisins.
I miss my old life on a daily basis. I miss my youth with its hardness and fragility. It’s tragic shadows of death that have not fallen yet. The daughter dying, the son pressing down his misunderstandings of why it hurts him so bad. The father hard at work with his own weaknesses stuffed into his briefcase. I do not know that he will die as well. I stay strong in my perfectionism.
I read and read and read. I try and try and try. I make lists. I stay in shape. I stay vigorous. And I cry.
Now it is different. I am seeing how useless it is to torment myself with the idea of perfection. I lose things. I have been searching for a gift card to The Longhorn Steak House. I must have accidentally tossed it away. Rats.
I have finished a book that took my breath away. “Four Letters of Love” by Niall Williams. Please get a copy and read it. I bought mine used. It is written so lyrically that I was obsessed with finishing it, skipping paragraphs in my ardor for his writing.
It speaks of angels in such a way that your own life is brushed by their wings. Surely as I grieve for my lost angels, they are rubbing shoulders with these words and smiling as I type. They want my happiness. They want me to let go and be loose and free.
This is my writing exercise. This is my group of words about my life past and future. Vicki is crowded with angels and none of them want her to be perfect. They speak now in their own language: “Beauty arises from the smoke of surrender. Wisdom cleans house, throwing out the useless gifts you never wanted in the first place. Be still and let yourself have no gift but gratitude.”
“Never mind what the world expects of you. It is too low a standard to be concerned about.”
~~ Robert Brault
I love the things that Robert Brault writes and he is posting his wonderfully wise one-liners daily on his website. Do visit it.
I am always wondering about what the world expects of me and so is everyone else. Talk about a tragicomic situation….
We are all messed up in our own unique ways. So were the saints and sages of yesterday and today. Everyone is imitating themselves in hopes it will surely work on some far-off horizon no one can ever grasp.
What the world expects of me is that I sit down and shut up. I try; I really do. But something perverse in me persists.
I actually sit down and shut up a lot. I call that being silent, being at the still point. But the world is not privy to that moment of silence. It can’t be.
So we sally forth into the world playing our various roles mechanically. We are not able to play them consciously. That is another pipe dream the ego has.
When I visit Facebook, I don’t believe a word of triumph anyone says, for triumph is born of defeat. The opposites are so interconnected as to be one. God has such a sense of irony….
We can’t work this situation out, not as long as we breathe the air of this planet. All we can do is see how crazy we are. Try not minding what the world expects of you.
I would try it myself but I am too busy hoping you will grin at the irony of the problem of being human. It can’t be done. Something divine keeps getting in the way.