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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.
Oh my gosh, I have been absent for far too long from my beloved blog. My absence has not been due to laziness, lack of interest on my part, being in a pissed off mood at the blogging community or a churlish attitude in general. Here is the true unvarnished, un-spun, authentic deal ~ I have been ill, very ill, for a very long time. For over two years now. I have shared about my Unwanted and Un-invited Bastard Buddy Vertigo (BBV) who swooped in for an extended visit and decided not to depart, right? Well, nine months ago a new uninvited health hazard Bastard arrived on my doorstep and the BBV invited him into my home and my body.
All of this is to say, that I have been fighting, literally, for my ability to remain in my physical self on this Earth plane. However, when I finally hit the lowest of my low a couple of months ago, I chose to re-claim my healing and to stop looking outward to supposed “experts” such as Western medicine and naturopaths, etc., who were not helping, to say the very least. I also made the decision to place the focus of my energies on my spiritual practices and return to my creative writing and visual art, both of which spark my will to live and make the most meaning in my life. Throughout this entire journey, I have continued to work and provide psychotherapy services to adolescent youth and their families.
I have missed my little blog. I have missed being a part of the blogging community and the connections I have made here. I maintain a Facebook account using my legal name, however, due to the nature of my professional life, am not comfortable co-mingling the two worlds. What I am hoping is that now that I have taken this step of writing a post today that I will be more active once again with my little blog. Most likely not daily but more frequently than once every quarter.
I am thrilled to report that my creative writing is on fire and there is much movement in that area. There is goodness in this world and even though my faith and spirits come and go and I am a fickle creature, I do believe that my struggles are not in vain. Sending out love, compassionate caring and peaceful energy in these early morning hours this Saturday morning.
When the missing out weighs the dragging of the feet, then I return. Please consider yourself missed my dear little faithful blog. The trite phrase that you are never far from my thoughts and always in my heart, is true. The ensuing guilt of my absence when prolonged, true as well.
I have suffered physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually with an ongoing vertigo condition that has had me by what some state crudely the “short and curlies’ for almost two years. I have been on a new regiment of medication and yesterday passed a milestone test at my specialist’s office of being able to lie down without a vertigo attack being triggered. This my dear blog was, and is, huge in the life of me.
Last night was a rough one rest wise as I had a tough time trusting the process as the last time I attempted to truly lie down to sleep, I ended up in the emergency room due to the extreme nature of the vertigo attack. So I experimented a lot with different angles and never did quite allow myself to totally lie flat. That’s okay. I can ease into this new “old” way of sleeping. Just the fact that lying horizontally is now an option is a miracle that still has me in a bit of a humbled stunned state.
How long this will last or what comes next with the vertigo condition, I do not know. That little saying of “one day at a time” seems very appropriate here. For now, I am thanking the Universe, my Birth Day Gods and Goddesses (as that was my birth day wish as I blew out my candle), Annie Rosa Lee Dog’s spirit and my Guardian Angels that be for this respite and/or total healing.
All of that and a gorgeous blue skied day with an abundance of sunny rays.
Life is good, my friend. Sweet. Just like a cool glass of Southern tea.
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.
My spirit and mood have been vacillating, wildly and erratically at times, between gratitude for life and wishing to be finally done with this journey. Folded in among this particular ping pong game of emotions there burbles nostalgia for what never was but wished for anyway, moments and times. Like say, the throb of deep connected love with the same person for a long period of time and the resulting imagined passionate lovemaking. And let me not forget to write of the fear, dread and anxiety brought on by considering medical procedures, tests and surgeries meant to return to me my health and maybe, may I hope, my sanity.
Where does one go when the well is dry. Bone dry. Yet the body still thirsty and the spirit weak. Prayer feels too hard. No, not hard, just not for me. Not now. I suppose I feel undeserving somehow of asking for help. Hard to do this earth journey; seemingly impossible to bridge the worlds or universe.
For now, I dwell in the land somewhere in between.
Somewhere and sometime along the way on this journey of mine on this particular circuitous path that I tread called my life, I let go of the hope of finding my first mother, my omma. In the beginning as a child, I barely dared even think of her even when I was sleeping ~ dreaming about this most precious woman in the whole wide world. And then in adulthood, I defied all that I had been taught and brainwashed to believe by my adoptive mother, and took the lid off the hole in my heart where this yearning for my birth mother lived. This hope was faint but thrumming with the rhythm of my heartbeat and sprang fully alive with urgings from my thoughts, dreams and fantasies of this mystery woman’s face, touch and fragrance.
So today the realization that the hope is reduced, once again, to barely a flutter now and again, is startling.
Hope and hunger, however, are two separate states of being. For I still long for this woman, my creator. Longing that aches to my very soul. Even with my dim hope that I will ever find her on this planet, in the form of my first omma, the yearning is still present. She is somewhere. Perhaps over the proverbial rainbow. Maybe existing on another plane in a different form. But, somewhere there exists is at least a remnant of this one whom I have gone without for ever so long.
Happy Mother’s Day Omma from your daughter aka Korean adoptee, junemoon.
All hands on deck.
Both hands on the wheel at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions.
we I have am the situation.
Multiple choice. Correct answer ~ all of the above.
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.
The unmistakable trumpet of Canadian geese pierced through the early morning airwaves and were received by my welcoming ears. In the spring, these first honkings validate with assurance and confidence that winter is surely on the wane because there are new feathered sherrifs in town. We know when the geese head south, so do our hopes of continued late summer and autumn joys. Their departing audio conversations sound sad to those of us left behind. Left behind to face a cold and icy future.
But today, the Canadians are back and my heart jumped with joy for surely on their strong wings my prayers for winter’s end are answered.
It is true.
Prayers and wishes can, indeed, come true.