Modern Dance

I see threads of remembrance tied around floating hitch posts in my mind. Knotted on one end with tight bows, the other ends dangle down and tangle around memories and beliefs.

I see I have mindlessly plucked and tugged at these threads over the years, lifting them this way and that to become a marionette ever dancing in the present to beats of the past.  Pluck, tug, lift and swing.

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I trace the weave of each thread.  I see clearly now fibers of doubt, insecurity, fear, anger, resentment, blame, frustration and confusion.  As understanding seeps into my awareness the threads slowly begin to fray and grow slack.  Forgiveness and compassion gently wiggle and pull until finally the knot slips from the center of one bow, then another and another.  I watch silently, gratefully, as one by one every thread falls away.

I stand tall and limber in the present now and listen for the pure beats of love to move me.

The Good Life

You do not have to believe in God.  If He shows up in your life and offers you some nice chocolate or a few sage words of advice, then there is your proof.  Until then, belief is by default a choice.  You can buy your own sweets and scrabble your own wisdom together while you wait for death or a eureka moment to prove whether all that energy you spent choosing to believe or disbelieve was worth it. 

Personally, I believe in God for two reasons.  First, I have seen and met Him on several occasions, and aside from having the indescribable presence of Papa Almighty, He’s also really funny, and that level of realness just sealed the deal for me.

I will preface the second reason I believe in God by saying that I think of Him only as Good, since that is what I know Him purely to be.  He is the purely Good energy from which I have clear memory of evolving, the purely Good energy from which I see all of life emanating, and the purely Good energy I see embodied in and permeating through every being.  He, and therefore we, are Good.  I believe – and know – this to be true.

Many people, myself included, see that our world is in a place of great spiritual awakening; a time in which more and more of us are remembering our inherent Goodness.  We see great numbers of people everywhere coming together cohesively and creatively in pure Goodness, quietly countering what the sensationalist media would have us believe about the state of our global well-being.  We see a loving, unified mentality of Good ‘oneness’ blossoming and we are excited.

It is no surprise this perceived awakening comes at a time when we can all connect to each other through the internet.  People from countries all around the world will read this very message for that reason.  When numerous people share in a powerful swell of Good, there is a magnificent energy surge created on this planet through our collective resonance.  And that surge is helping to fuel more awakening.  Each person’s Goodness is helping our collective Goodness rise up, and vice versa. 

Now, just as you don’t have to believe in God, you don’t have to believe in my words.  I will take no offense, I assure you.  But just in case you think you might want to, maybe, perhaps, just a little, wonder if what I say is true, here’s an offer: Watch this video all the way through and think honestly about how you feel while witnessing what takes place.  I think what you will feel will be Good. And I suspect you will also feel you were part of a collective Good much larger than yourself. You can choose to believe that feeling is God or just the warm fuzzies, but you don’t have to wait for death or a eureka moment to know that awakening to this kind of oneness would make for one hell of a beautiful world.

Joyful Noise

I can feel the pressure of your thoughts all the way over here.  You say you cannot talk about it, and yet a roar pushes at the air between us, begging sound to give it flight.  I search frantically for clues to which thoughts could possibly want to be suppressed with such force.  I find nothing.  Again. 

The days pass, the pressure rises and the air grows thick with frustrated silent roars that have now begat silent rage.  There is no space inside or outside to escape the constant whoosh of all this impending damnation circling my waiting ears.  I know without doubt all the kindness and compassion in my being will never be enough to defuse such well-pressurized resentment.  And I accept it is not my job to do so.

So this is it, then.  I love me, you love you, and silence everywhere deserves joyful noise.   

Sky Eyes

My eyes tell my brain you are vast and distant.  They say you host fickle white company that sometimes grumbles and sometimes cries and sometimes dances in parades with unicorns and giraffes. They say you are the hanging rod for the sun, the moon, the stars.  They tell me you can command rainbows to be manly enough to span mountains and ladylike enough to span meadows.  Or the other way around, though it hardly matters since it is only a story my eyes tell my brain.

When my sight bypasses human perception, I know for a fact you are far vaster and much closer. I know you are not merely sky, or host, or rod, or commander.  You are the entire universe inside of me out there attending school.  You learn, I grow.  I learn, you grow.  Soon we will both grow so great we fuse together as one…again.

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(photo by me, Sidhpur, India, February 2012)

Mystic in the Coke Bottle

(Note: this is about the moment of ‘coming back’ from one of my early mystical experiences.)

I am squeezed back into a tight, tight life. I stumble to find my balance, open my eyes and know from the sharp shapes and muted hues that I am back in the physical realm. I hurry to throw myself against the glass pressing fast against my mind. I lean my cheek against the cold transparent wall, bang my fists thud, thud, thud, and cry out, “Pleeease noooo! I don’t belong here! Pleeeease!”

Every word I speak inside this Coke bottle echoes back in deadened, distorted syllables. The thick, wavy glass obscures my view; I can only see what is right in front of me. My physical senses feel validated and worthy in such close quarters. My spirit, however, refuses to yield to such limitation. Thank goodness, for it alone knows the way home.

 

Day After Thanks-giving in Iowa

The weather turned overnight. Now a cold wind pushes gray-white clouds fast across a blue-white sky. A newly broken branch in the tree out front sighs audibly, cradled in the arms of others that caught its fall. Strips of frail golden debris pirouette down the road, the last vestiges of dried and shorn corn stalks using the lift of currents to dance in their decay rather than surrender.

Here there is no Black Friday. There is only Friday, and even that will soon not be true. The clock will keep turning. The weather, too, will turn again. I too will dance while I can, then, in whatever current is around to lift me, and when there is only stillness I will sing. And I will give thanks for my blessings no matter the day or the day after called to do so.