I haven’t blogged here since right before the lights went out on the site. This is partly because I took a vacation, but mostly because every time I try to post, my computer blinks off. I have literally not been allowed to post. So be it.
So I will try, today, because the extraordinary things that have occurred to me in this absence created between posts, oh, the places I have been, the things I have seen, and Oh! the things I now understand!
In two days time I will happen upon a happy anniversary: Six straight months of being awake.
In the year preceding January 25, 2012, I was awake to greater or lesser degrees, but I had become spiritually flabby, out of shape. I had given up because, just like exercise, it becomes painful at a certain point, and when the pain is a constant and the gain is nowhere in sight, pushing the envelope, either physically or spiritually.
Doing so becomes something that appears to be an exercise in futility.
Who am I to say that at certain times, pushing, striving, working, maybe these things ARE exercises in futility.
I am all for fallow fields.
I am no longer on my or anyone else’s case for their fallow fields.
Who am I to decide what comes to harvest when? I am not the one who made the seeds. I’m not even the one to have prepared the ground. I am just the sower.
Of course, what I have come to appreciate is that I am indeed all of these things, including the seed, the burlap sack the seeds came in, the rain, the clouds, the seasons.
Cooperatively and in great joy, I am all of the above.
But what I have conscious awareness of? Well, therein lies the rub.
How much do you want to be conscious of? Do you want to know who gave the Mayan people their calendar? Do you want to know what sort of entity created Puma Pinku?
Do you secretly pray every night that THIS is the night when you get to travel, have lessons, and BRING IT BACK WHOLE… this is the night you remember you are not alone.
I’m like that.
And I have been on overdrive since January. I actually began to blossom into this last year at this time. But then, as I look back now, with these ancient eyes, I know that my path has been littered with help.
There are sidewalks and hallways and bedrooms and workplaces filled with help I never even used.
I was haunted, crippled, with a sense of abandonment for fifty years. Of feeling so out of place I physically hurt from it. So out of step, so awkward, so much The Other that I nearly gave up many, many, many times.
And now, I am home. I am happy in my skin. I know I am NOT home. But I know this sh*t is time limited.
I may wind up being here another hundred years. Maybe I’ll ascend tonight as I’m making dinner.
I don’t know and the great thing is, now I really don’t care. I am here now, and I know I am supposed to be here, that I belong here, even if no one around me thinks so.
As I have made peace with my God over these last magical months, I have lost my interest, my investment, in the grief being The Other engenders.
It is in knowing how and why I am so different that I have been able to make peace, and feel more investment in “passing”.
I no longer need to shake anybody up, wake anybody up, and if no one else wakes up (an impossibility), that’s OK too.
I was so worried for a time, especially for my best friend, still so profoundly asleep, so invested in her sadness and fear and limitations… But, strangely, I have lost the grief.
I know that everything and everyone is on God’s time now. I know that everyone and everything works together for the highest good, always, no matter what.
I know that God is the glue holding our atoms together, and that God is love. We are all a piece of Divine Love, whole and complete and pure, complex and haunted and full of texture and depth.
We are a living, breathing, bleeding, crying, laughing, kissing, hugging, smoking, eating, sleeping collection of sparks of God.
How can I honestly hold fear in this world I now know? How can I have patience for subjugation and mental prisons, empty rules and hollow threats? How can I fear disclosure, or its absence? How can I worry about my future, regret my past, or ignore the reality of my present?
I am happy. I live in a world parallel to many. One which allows me artistic expression, technical expertise, lush relationships and pleasant socialization. I feel intensely, am aware of more than what I can physically sense, and breathe an air of complexity and simplicity.
I am calling out to anyone else who has arrived in such a place. I like the view from here. From here my book is being written, and it is from here I strive to live every moment of every day. Remembering with my eyes wide open, aware with my heart as wide open as the sky, using my essence, all of my Bodies, to communicate with more than I knew I could access.
This is how I feel about maneuvering through this weird straddling of realities:
I consider true what most people don’t consider at all.
It shakes others up sometimes, without my meaning to do so. But I have come to realize I don’t shake people up too much if I just keep my trap shut. There aren’t many people who swim in my waters. So be it. They don’t have to. I do. They don’t give me trouble. They just shut me off energetically, but that’s their loss, not mine.
I keep my mouth shut, because if I were to explain what I know to be true, I imagine people’s heads would explode. Thus, the energetic shielding they do. It creates a sense of alone-ness. For each of us.
And finally, it’s ending, for me, and any way it’s being done, now, is more and more OK.