Ahh ... the elusive inner flame.
Mine has been playing hide and seek with me these past months, flickering away into the darkness of a world in chaos. A chaos reflected through the fragile instrument of my mind, which (like the rest of me, and all of us) cannot be here without plunging through the current of this world's many changes and challenges. Of course, this is the ultimate adventure of consciousness, of Spirit: to learn to hold fast, and gently, to that inner flame, regardless of how bumpy the ride is.
This Earth is so many things to so many people. A playground, a testing ground, a school, an adventure, a heaven, a hell. And the most amazing thing is that they are all happening at the same time. One planet, 7 billion experiences of it. The magnificent beauty of this, of the breadth and depth of human experience, and the unifying thread of Light that contains and connects it all, is indeed mind-boggling.
But ultimately, I believe that home is in fact where the heart is. When we're done with the drama, when we've passed the tests; when we've healed our wounds and forgiven each other; when we've learned there is nothing here to fear, truly, except fear itself (amazing how much truth there is in these well-known bits of wisdom); what's left that really matters is the heart.
And from there, we can give back our hurts and doubts and bruises and insights, back into the rich soil of experience, where they will be received and transformed, through utter biological magic, to nourish that tiny, perfect flame.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
following the Light
Summer is here in the inland Northwest. It arrived with a vengeance, for me at least, after a long-lingering, chilly, rainy spring. On the solstice, a stomach flu had me in its grips. Two days later, I found out a dear friend died that same night, quite unexpectedly.
Grief has a way of bringing you straight home to yourself. Anything you've become complacent about; any ways you've started to be lazy, or procrastinate, or settle; any emotions you've tucked safely away to avoid dealing with them – all of these things rise at once to be faced, as the preciousness of our existence here comes sharply into focus.
I ran the gamut, as I scrambled to deal with a world suddenly out of my control. I took some comfort in my beliefs, my own inner sense of our journeys here, and feel certain that my friend graduated from this Earth with flying colors, at the height of the Light. But still, I feel his loss.
I went for a bike ride that evening, doing my best to outpedal the grief so close behind me. And as I rode, a message trickled in on a ray of Light, as they sometimes do: To fear Death is to fear Life – they are part of the same journey. One makes the other possible. And the story, the beauty, the amazing gift of Life that we are given here for a while, contains the entire spectrum of human experience. I marvel that we can hold joy, and grief, and hope and despair and love, all within us at the same time. And that we are uniquely capable of embracing, engaging, and growing through each one – like a sunflower always looking to the Light.
Grief has a way of bringing you straight home to yourself. Anything you've become complacent about; any ways you've started to be lazy, or procrastinate, or settle; any emotions you've tucked safely away to avoid dealing with them – all of these things rise at once to be faced, as the preciousness of our existence here comes sharply into focus.
I ran the gamut, as I scrambled to deal with a world suddenly out of my control. I took some comfort in my beliefs, my own inner sense of our journeys here, and feel certain that my friend graduated from this Earth with flying colors, at the height of the Light. But still, I feel his loss.
I went for a bike ride that evening, doing my best to outpedal the grief so close behind me. And as I rode, a message trickled in on a ray of Light, as they sometimes do: To fear Death is to fear Life – they are part of the same journey. One makes the other possible. And the story, the beauty, the amazing gift of Life that we are given here for a while, contains the entire spectrum of human experience. I marvel that we can hold joy, and grief, and hope and despair and love, all within us at the same time. And that we are uniquely capable of embracing, engaging, and growing through each one – like a sunflower always looking to the Light.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Stretching the hours
Today is the summer solstice, and the eternally long, wet spring has finally stepped aside to grant us the mercy of some sunshine.
Not that I've especially minded some of those cool days, with a gentle cloud cover and a soft rain, the air rich with moisture and fragrant still with fresh green life. This is the time of sweet blooming phlox and fuzzy fledglings, enough daylight hours to do most things you want to do, and bird music – one of my favorite things about spring and early summer. The soft, metered cooing of mourning doves reaches my ears even as i write this; the husky whistles of the nesting osprey; the busy chatter and trill of chickadees and cedar waxwings; even the noisy repertoire of the starlings who nested again above my balcony, decimated a few potted plants, and left some bird paint on my chair cushion the very day I put it outside. But on a day like this, it's easy to forgive.
For all the places I'd still like to visit, the restlessness that makes me want to fly away every other moment into some new adventure, there is still a blessing to be found in the beauty right at home. An ever more important art, I think, given the increasing noise of the world and its gadgets. The quiet call to peace in the chaos is easily missed – and utterly important for a soulful experience of life.
Not that I've especially minded some of those cool days, with a gentle cloud cover and a soft rain, the air rich with moisture and fragrant still with fresh green life. This is the time of sweet blooming phlox and fuzzy fledglings, enough daylight hours to do most things you want to do, and bird music – one of my favorite things about spring and early summer. The soft, metered cooing of mourning doves reaches my ears even as i write this; the husky whistles of the nesting osprey; the busy chatter and trill of chickadees and cedar waxwings; even the noisy repertoire of the starlings who nested again above my balcony, decimated a few potted plants, and left some bird paint on my chair cushion the very day I put it outside. But on a day like this, it's easy to forgive.
For all the places I'd still like to visit, the restlessness that makes me want to fly away every other moment into some new adventure, there is still a blessing to be found in the beauty right at home. An ever more important art, I think, given the increasing noise of the world and its gadgets. The quiet call to peace in the chaos is easily missed – and utterly important for a soulful experience of life.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
tracks
Sometimes we think we're going the right direction – the tracks are laid and gleaming, polished and smooth, and our momentum builds on the straightaway of our sure-we're-sure thoughts. It's so easy, so tempting, to believe we're in control, and sometimes we're willing to pay the price of that false ticket when our lives aren't adding up the way we'd like.
The thing is, there are all kinds of roads we can take. Some lead to far outposts, interesting places to visit but far away from home. Some lead into tangled thickets of lessons we've already learned, a trip to the past that can be a very long detour. Some are joyrides, where we get to leave the map behind and just enjoy the adventure. And some are the routes we think we're expected to take, the ones laid out for us because they look good on paper.
While in some ways I believe there really are no "right" choices, I do believe there is a right track to follow. It's the one that rises up to meet us when we stop consuming and reacting to all the scattered stimuli around us and start listening to the deep hum of our own souls. It's the one that's really waiting for us to see it, the one that won't interrupt, that refuses to be flashy, that will patiently stand its ground until we've exhausted ourselves misreading signs and traveling in circles. When we've flailed long enough to become truly tired of the trip, that road will begin to shine just a little more brightly. And if we're brave enough to really stop trying to control the destination, and with a deep breath, let that hidden, perfect road show itself to us - that may be when we're finally ready for the ride of our lives.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
in between
Perhaps the trickiest thing about this earth walk is finding our way through the shadow places. Here, Truth can become obscured by our inner realities, the stories and thoughts that roost in our unconscious programming without our realizing it. These stories can sometimes keep us on an overgrown path for years, when the carefully tended and brighter road has been running parallel to us all along.
But there is a spiritual warriorship to be taken up if we are willing--the call to become aware of these hidden places, to gently wake them up, or to pull them by grasping hands out of their unseeing nooks. With vigilance, with dedication, with kind attention, we can heal even the deepest places within us. And each corner of mind that we brighten, each layer of cobwebbed thought we sweep away, brings us closer to our destination: freedom, and Peace.
But there is a spiritual warriorship to be taken up if we are willing--the call to become aware of these hidden places, to gently wake them up, or to pull them by grasping hands out of their unseeing nooks. With vigilance, with dedication, with kind attention, we can heal even the deepest places within us. And each corner of mind that we brighten, each layer of cobwebbed thought we sweep away, brings us closer to our destination: freedom, and Peace.
Monday, November 23, 2009
the paths we walk
I believe it is true that we create our own reality. I also believe that what we create is not always what we really want, because it is coming from the unconscious burdens we carry. I have always thought of this process like a movie projector: the Light shines through us, and the layers, images, beliefs and stories we have stockpiled in our minds, bodies and energy fields become the images cast out as the Light shines through them onto the screen of our lives. I think we are here to learn to be the choosers of our own slide show.
That said, what creations would you like to replace? What would you imagine your path ahead to look like? I'm thinking of one like this, full of color and magic and grace and delightful surprises at every turn, full of nature and kind compassion. One that continually unfolds in beauty under the powering light of awe. One that invites me forward, trusting, into an ever-opening embrace. One that is Perfect for me. One that I love.
May yours be the same.
That said, what creations would you like to replace? What would you imagine your path ahead to look like? I'm thinking of one like this, full of color and magic and grace and delightful surprises at every turn, full of nature and kind compassion. One that continually unfolds in beauty under the powering light of awe. One that invites me forward, trusting, into an ever-opening embrace. One that is Perfect for me. One that I love.
May yours be the same.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
autumn spirits
A wind ghosts outside today, restless and chill, reveling in its freedom to taunt wherever it will. It's the last day of October, Halloween – November's eve, with an unpredictable greybright sky, remnant scatters of brown-gold leaves adorning the trees, and the lengthening embrace of a darkness ready to take its turn.
This time of year is always difficult psychologically, especially after the time change. It seems so abrupt, being plunged into an inky black world upon leaving work for the day. And I never quite get used to it, never quite get past the feeling that I should rush home and be hunkered down in bed already. It seems much too late to be running errands, and the feel of the darkness pressing vise-like from both ends of the day leaves me with something of a sense of being squished, or hurried, or small.
But it's all just a balancing act, light and dark, summer and winter, expansion and contraction. And ironically, while winter's dark days make our world seem smaller, its longer nights allow more opportunity than ever to see, in the vast starry skies, just how tremendous the World really is.
This time of year is always difficult psychologically, especially after the time change. It seems so abrupt, being plunged into an inky black world upon leaving work for the day. And I never quite get used to it, never quite get past the feeling that I should rush home and be hunkered down in bed already. It seems much too late to be running errands, and the feel of the darkness pressing vise-like from both ends of the day leaves me with something of a sense of being squished, or hurried, or small.
But it's all just a balancing act, light and dark, summer and winter, expansion and contraction. And ironically, while winter's dark days make our world seem smaller, its longer nights allow more opportunity than ever to see, in the vast starry skies, just how tremendous the World really is.
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