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Sometimes when I pray, I wonder who or what is listening to my words whether said silently or aloud. Where do they go? These words. My words. Do the words arrive to the intended recipient or are they sometimes returned to sender in an empty envelope?
Garth Brooks sings that some of ‘life’s greatest gifts’ are Unanswered Prayers. Meaning, I suppose, that another entity, in Garth’s case, God, knows better than humans. I don’t know.
I do know that I pray regularly. Having turned my back on organized religion moons ago, I continue to pledge allegiance to a spirituality which runs deep in my core or soul some might say. I turn to this faith or trust in something bigger than myself frequently & consistently. The fact that there’s a chance my prayers go no where, are undelivered to the correct address or denied out of hand, does not seem to stop my returning to this well of faith that someone something is listening, receiving, hearing, considering my words my meaning.
Prayer is a cornerstone of my life. An anchor. A comfort. A strength. A connection. A touchstone. A conduit to the all-things-are-possible, if I believe.
So whether my words are, indeed, unanswered unheard denied out-of-hand or temporarily lost in translation sometimes makes no difference. At least in the overall scheme of life. Mine.
The benefits I receive daily the solace & needed anchor that keeps me from being continually adrift in a too large an ocean of too-much, is worth any angst or temporary lapses in faith.
Peace be in my heart on this most sunny morning, I pray.
You know that old saying, the one that goes something like, be careful for what you wish, you might just receive it or some such thing. I have never been a big fan of that particular saying. As life seems to enjoy a good laugh or two, at my expense (or so it seems), this week I have heard myself iterating this phrase and then I suppose reiterating the same saying. Because I did make a wish and I am, indeed, receiving said wish.
In fact, I did more than send a wish into the Universe. I crafted an invitation. An invitation to a celebration, a party if you will in honor of myself. Yes. You read that correctly. I, as in me, myself and I. A celebration of MY LIFE to coincide with one of my favorita days of the year Summer Solstice (the other favorita days of the year, Winter Solstice). I crafted this invitation and then sent it out into the Universe to invitees both local and to those who live in what we fondly refer to as the Lower 48, even though there are 49 other states in the Union. Some folks may be wondering what are we even considering here? What’s the big deal? Where’s the problem? What is this post even about? Well, read further dear blogging friends and I will further bare my fragile vulnerable underbelly of neurosis.
In sending this invitation, I was telling myself Number One, that I am valuable enough and could possibly be important enough to someone(s)’ that they would/will take time out of their lives to journey North to celebrate my life. For those invitees from Outside there would/will be the travel expense, which is no small ‘taters. The moment I hit the send button on my email invitation the anxiety that had already built to about a 4 on a 1-10 scale, hit about an 8. That old and tired but loud whiny voice of who do you think you are little Missy and you are a selfish self-centered little girl aren’t you today blah blah blah took over. Thankfully, before this part of me could overtake me and tackle me into the mud, I began receiving responses to my invitation within a half hour of its flight.
Thus, this week has been a life lesson of opening my heart again and again to the love that is there for me to receive. Although overwhelming, I remind myself that I am a growed up woman, as my adoptive mother used to say about herself. And a little or even a lot of overwhelm over receiving a lot of love from family and friends is some thing a growed up woman can handle on any given day.
My heart is full.
My heart is full and expanding.
I was asked yesterday by a brand new acquaintance what my relationship status was. Meaning, I gathered, was I involved, taken, belonging to another, tied up, tied down, bogged down, in a rut, newly wedded, deliriously happy, passionately satieted, or barren, bereft, afloat, alone, blissfully single, between partners, or simply untethered from the demands of another human being in an ongoing relationship. Out of the multitude of responses at my disposal, here were the words which sprang from my lips ~ my heart is wide open.
For anyone who has been a follower of this blog for any length of time, you might get it like in, right away, that this was an atypical response for me given my life’s journey this past couple of years. But there it was. The words said, passed from and over my lips.
And what is more, as I have had time to ponder, which obviously I have taken the time to do, I realize that the words are a true reflection of said heart. The said heart ~ my heart ~ the one that is, indeed, open ~ much to my surprise and actual delight.
Hearts, spirits, beliefs, values ~ all have a funny little way of making changes, often times profound, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in big leaps and bounds ~ stealthily, silently, quietly, slowly, or just plain simply ~ and then our mind’s get a great big old WTF awakening. And then we adjust, metabolize the alterations and carry on.
that’s what Natalie Goldberg, my favorite of all time writer gurus says, just write. Just do it, man. or in my case, woman. Put pen to paper. Finger tips to keyboard. Pencil to cardboard. Fingers to the air. Just do it. Right now. Right here. No excuses. No stopping. No monkey mind. That’s what Goldberg calls that part of our brain that distracts us and pulls us right and left up and down and then all zig zaggy. When all the time, our original intention was to sit down and write out a page or two or ten or the poem of our life.
This Saturday evening, I am attending a Literary Salon. Sounds fancy, huh? At least it does to me. I joined a local writer’s group earlier this year, it could have been last year, it was in the dark months of winter that much I remember. I am not much of a joiner in the way of joining groups. I used to be. A joiner of political groups. I railed against all sorts of human injustices and fought hard for human and individual rights for a long long time. And then I grew weary.
Back to my current subject of the fancy sounding upcoming Literary Salon. I am excited. Nervous. But more excited. The event is being held at someone’s home whom I have never met. And here’s the really cool and brave part, I volunteered to read some of my writing. The organizers were looking for 10 volunteers to read 5 minutes of their work. Since most of my essays are more than two pages long, I quickly decided to read a few selections from my body of erotica poetry. That is, until I spoke with the main organizer who informed me that there will be children present. Good to know. So onto Plan B. or Actually C.
I have chosen four other poems to read and have been practicing the timing of the reading and introduction to the pieces to fit within the five minute allotment. Five minutes goes by really fast!
This will be good for me. Meeting other writers. Being inspired by their work in progress. Sharing a part of myself that has been dormant for far too long.
So I have returned to my roots and busted out my beloved guru’s books, Writing Down the Bones and Wild Mind. They have inspired me for many years and continue to remind me of my first love ~ words, writing and the telling of stories. Utter bliss. Just write. So right.
already here. the day that was yesterday that was meant to be the other day so that I could write a post on my blog today two days ago. but it, the day, or more aptly put, the days already have passed. so quickly. they are gone. history.
And so it is
that I am here in this moment writing that I am still here in the blogosphere. That my blog is always in my heart and never far from my conscious thoughts. Even when those thoughts and ideas and emotions and happenings and daily minutia and big deals and little ordeals don’t make it onto the screen ~ I am still here.
And so it is
that autumn has returned to the Land of Already Freezing Ground North Land. The past few days have gifted us with glorious sun. Golden sun rays that followed weeks of record rain fall, and record windstorms and flooding.
And so it is
that the sun is loved and beloved and cherished
Big news ~ that little diddy.
And so it is
that I am pleased to write some words on this first day of October. to write some words on any day actually. just glad.
My journey continues with me along for the ride. At times, I am a stroller ~ meandering along, taking little detours here and there, following my heart, listening for the mermaid’s whisper. Other days, I push my foot down on the pedal and blast down the highway, shouting obscenities at my slower moving travelers, giving them the middle finger while I weave in and out of traffic always seeking the fast lane.
Today, I am doing my laundry. Attending to the mundane. Sorting and sifting through bunches of stuff while searching for certain needed paperwork, an employment badge, two beloved pair of earrings that have somehow up and gotten themselves misplaced (damned cheeky of them if you ask me), researching Vitamixers, and upcoming schedules for a certain motivational speaker guru, and doing a bit of online shopping for Buddhist prayer bead necklaces and leather bracelets.
Life has been a journey this summer. Changes have been afoot. I am still me. But I am a changed and changing me. Meaning, life is unfolding as usual.
I have missed my blog. So I have returned.
To the edge of the ocean, that is. Yes. I am fleeing to the ocean’s edge seeking solace, seashells, wind and waves. Rainy forecast be damned, I am still heading out so I can arrive there, where the ocean meets the rocky shore.
Fingers crossed that my V (as in my Bastard Buddy Vertigo) will allow me a grace period for the 4+ hour drive. I typically relish driving the many miles as it is a beautiful drive, rain or shine, and this road and I are very well acquainted. We know each other’s twists and turns, pot holes and all. So please Universe above and within, please keep the green light lit and a Pink Bubble of safety around yours truly and Buster Blue (aka my trusty car companion) as we escape this city life.
Because it is true. The edge is where the good stuff often hangs out. An ever tempting adventure of discovery. So to the edge it is.
We are well on our way to 15 hours of daylight per day. Make that, a glorious 15 hours of daylight every single day. And the minutes keep growing, approximately 5 minutes per 24-hour cycle.
There is not one single
Not from me.
I got nothin’ here folks. Nothin’ but praise awe and a welcome wagon, that is.
Bring it on Miss Spring Time in the Previously Dark Region of the Planet.
Bring it on now, baby cakes.
In order to be here, one must go there but the going there, requires no physical departure; at least for today.
My thoughts and inner visioning have been hijacked. A few days before now, my eyes drank in the images of temples ~ hanging cliff temples. And ever since that first viewing when my soul leapt with recognition, my core began a slow drumming. The beat of this internal drum, thrumming through me; my body responds with a re-awakening and yearning to return to mountain peak, where I surely have lived in some yesteryear. Forgotten, until now.
This drumming back to consciousness, caused my limiting thoughts and jailhouse rules and boundaries to spring into action; to speak out loud their automatic chastisement. You cannot go, you would surely perish. Only the fit of body and the most holy of spirits belong on that journey above the clouds. Remember your fear of heights. You would most certainly slip and fall, causing great disaster and inconvenience to others. You cannot go, you would surely perish.
So in preparation for this journey, which I must surely embark upon, the first steps are to soothe my protector’s fears and to loosen my jailer’s clawlike hold. For my journey, you see, has most certainly already begun and I have not yet perished.