Both December and January in NorCal are committed to rain and fog. It’s like these months take vows. Rain and fog are camped-in tight, and I don’t see them even thinking about moving on. They accompany, surround and engulf me on the road day after day. It’s not gloomy really; instead there are elements of cozy and mystery.
Alternately, when I drive at night, it’s terrifying. I lose sight. The world closes in to random, tiny, scattered pinpoints; I am alone, and the ‘way’ seems invisible. My heart races, panic scratches at my edges, and I search with eyes wide open for familiarity on this road I’ve come to know so well. But familiarity does not show itself.
This morning the fog hung close and thick, like an eternity of dull, wet silk, and it covered every nook and cranny of the earth. I could barely see past the hood of my car and my little car is only as long as I am tall. The world emerged literally in increments, white line by white line, and branch by branch, as orchards shrouded in vagueness, passed my windows. And I thought how like my life it all is.
I’ve changed so much in the past fifteen years. I use to want to help fix everyone’s misery. I ached with people. I sat and cried with them. I raged alongside their rage. I wished I had a magic wand; I knew with magic I could really make a difference. But I realized that my answers are not necessarily someone else’s solution; my magic would be the sole expression of my perceptions. When I got that simple principle, it was like I was on the inside – instead of the outside, looking in. So much became clear.
I still ache with you, cry and weep alongside you when the world is upside down. And I will draw my sword for you. Lately I have felt the utter brokenness of a sister and I am angry at the doers; I have felt the deep anguish of a precious daughter and I am furious at the monster; I walk alongside a son lending support to the unthinkable unanswered unknowns and I see my fear; and I watch and listen while a beautiful younger daughter is on an inner journey of self discovery and colossal efforts to go where the rest of us will not, while the elements of it may be possibly manifesting physically…and I am awash with… my-cup-runn’th-over-with…respect for each of their spirits and strength, for their ability move forward.
For myself, I seem to have entered into a new way to process, a phenomena of 'floating' when so much difficult information comes forward to meet me. It’s both weird and peaceful. It’s like I separate. And I can feel myself feel the feeling of floating. The grace of this floaty mind place, is that I am removed from... well, 'imagining' slapping one of the doers, not 'terrified' about life expectancies; not ‘angry’ at the monster, or needing to ‘hover, fix and soothe’ while discoveries are being sought and bodies healed.
Instead, I float.
And I thought about that going down the road seeing things emerge, ghost-like out of the fog; things I knew were there, but couldn’t see, and I was relieved and reassured as they appeared, that I was where I should be…or else realized I was nowhere where I thought I was, yet. This floaty mind space is like that. Inch by inch something will emerge and sort itself out… a conversation that sheds light, [between any of us]; and my family circles, as we do, around each other, offering love and support, tears, comfort…shared emotions and a renewed gathering of our wits to go on. A crack in the fog, a wisp of clarity, a glimpse at sanity.
Dr Hawkins talks about living on the edge of experience. Witnessing it, literally on the edge. Seeing it -while being it -while living it. Its tricky. Takes practice, focus. Then losing yourself in it. Then flying with it. Well I’m currently floating…sort of above and around the experience. Not detached, because I am definitely connected…sometimes the connection feels like a hurricane of current wildly coursing thru every vein, limb and skin cell…and I think I will explode, with sword drawn, into the faces of the evil doers. Maybe that’s why the rest of the time I’m floating, floating on a tidal wave… floating into outer space, as talented Mr. Martin so aptly sings it.
My higher self does not embrace explosions. It simply won’t engage, so I continue to mediate, start my day with intention, breathe in goodness...
I float with purpose to my work place and with barely a conscious effort, find something to love in every person I encounter and this gentle purpose seemingly gives way to a few pieces resolving themselves on the landscape of my heart… and with it, a little of the confusion/pain/fear/anger leaves me. So I think it’s good. I am mentally clear, efficient at work, happy and loving... and nothing seems strained or 'forced.' So I'm good with it.
Someone I love said, ‘And again, a big difference between us - your capacity to work on forgiveness when I ask myself WHY? I want to think about the 'why make the effort' of forgiving. Why not just forget the person who causes the pain ... and I mean total rejection kind of forgetting.’
I think I’m tired of the word forgiveness. “We must forgive this and that person…we’re told to ask for forgiveness…and to forgive ourselves.” What I do is try to understand. In understanding one another I find answers, then peace. I am inspired and nourished by spirituality, by the great thinkers and mentors and saviors. I listen to those who know more than I. I read and pray and believe in the goodness inside each of us. I believe divinity flows through every living thing. I believe in nature. It’s pure. It holds abundant beauty, freedom and answers. It flows. It’s also wild and unruly…when it kicks up its heels, it’s a force without boundaries –I love that!
And don’t we all believe that the universe…the great-big-giant-scheme-of-things…timeless wisdom… that ‘evolved knowingness’ that so far-surpasses my own,…. knows something that I don’t? Aren’t today’s lessons and pains and anguish and trouble…the miracles that are waiting to heal us?
And so I float until I can get it.
Love is always the center. I have spoken those words to my children since they were old enough to hear. I said it long before I knew what I was talking about. I said it because I felt it. Believed it. Knew it. Why is it so hard to live it now? Why is my sword drawn?
Momma came to visit last night after composing this entry. Usually she comes as a soft light off to my left, comforting, quiet, steady. Last night she flickered with intensity. Sparring, if you will. I felt her sword was drawn, too; because she knows the monster. And I liked that a lot. That I imagined her sword was drawn. Momma was a quiet, self-less warrior, we've all said that at one point or another.
Combining the two loves of my life…spiritually and nature, I must say my friends, right now I am a Wild Flower in need of a ‘hurricane of grace.’
…with hope, trust, peace and joy, I await the sunshine on my face, fragrant breezes in my hair, my hand inside your hands, and a gentle release from that which has me floating.
Namaste
Wildflower
