Poke Um'

I was just thinking this thought coming back from lunch and thought I'd better jot it down ...

If Spirit calls me back now -- at the ripe young age of 55 and nearly 11 months -- please don't cry for me. And if anyone you know who knew me cries for me, you have my permission and encouragement to poke them sharply where it hurts. Make her or him cringe.

Why?

Because these days I have been so happy and so amazingly content with my life that I can't imagine how it could have ever been different. Today I understand that everything that has ever "happened" to me -- every good and so-called bad thing -- has been something I chose. Nothing was a mistake and each and every thing was a lesson. Not always gracefully learned, I admit, but a lesson just the same. Each illness, each "tragedy", and each calamity was something I yearned for so that I could evolve through and beyond it. So that I could witness my ego creating all sorts of stories about the event(s) so as to tie myself in knots. And then learn to unravel those knots through meditation and other spiritual practices.

Now, knowing what I know of life and the reason(s) I came here (that I am not simply myself but my Self and that I am here to learn and cleanse/release my soul), I am so grateful and deliriously happy.

Now when I die, I know I'll be returning home. To think there is anything bad in that is simply foolish and naive.

And so it is.

And the moon!

This morning -- actually moments ago -- I walked outside my home, running a tad late as usual, expecting a blast of hot air when I opened the door. (It was rather warm inside my apartment.) Instead, I was greeted with cool air and a brilliant blue sky.

And the moon!

At 9:20 a.m., I am greeted by cool air, a blue blue sky, wispy clouds -- and the moon!

And at that moment -- just moments ago -- I am filled with a mixture of gratitude and awe and love ... and more gratitude. It is as if the universe paints these moments for me, offers them up like some delicious morsels on a crystal platter, overflowing with an energy sauce (Source?) made by the gods.

Of course I am gushing here, to say the least. But I can't help myself. The silver-gray moon in the sky, back dropped by brilliant blue, seems to be smiling like one of my ancestors. A look of knowing-- shear understanding -- lies across the moon's face. At that holy moment I know that all is wonderfully well.

The day before me -- the great unknown -- suddenly falls into place, like a puzzle part just realized as The One Piece -- even though you've been staring at it, seemingly, for hours.

Quantum physics, religion, mathematics, geometry ... they all at once make sense.

Why do the make sense (you ask)?

Because they are all the same, ruled by the same beautiful forces that greet me as I leave my home -- just moments ago.

The air,
The sky,
The clouds,
The moon,
Realization.

The universe understands me,
and that's all I'll ever need.

States of Remembrance

I believe we enter this space-time realm, commonly called life, with an agenda. This agenda -- or purpose -- is provided to us or chosen by us to help our soul to learn how to clear itself of incompletions or to balance out wrongs we have committed toward other souls in past lives. When we're physically born, we arrive with a set of unconscious beliefs, prejudices, and other baggage.

During our time on the planet Earth (if we're lucky), we create (manifest) experiences that will enable us to remember who we are and to afford ourselves the opportunity to rid ourselves of some of the baggage. Sometimes they are in the form of feelings of déjà vu; sometimes they result from physical or psychological trauma; and sometimes they spring forth as we encounter something pleasing in nature. A beautiful sunset, a cloud moving past the sun "just so", or the feelings that emerge for many as dusk settles into night.

Then, suddenly, we are aware. Our eyes open briefly and a small, still notion speaks. It probably isn't in traditional words, but rather a slight, twinkling of recall. Brief, but strong enough to shake us to our roots. Then this remembering might vanish for years.

For some, grace or tragedy or prayerful meditation will bring these states of remembrance on. Then, through diligent practice, they can be experienced more consistently. Through perseverance, this can turn into a more grounded knowing. The realization (or making real) of the idea that this state -- once a fleeting feeling -- is home.

Once we arrive home -- once we pass through that portal -- there is no turning back. Never again do we see Mother Earth quite the same way. Now, all of nature is brilliant and beautiful. All the things we once saw as fearful are recognized as illusion.

The universe, of which we are a part, now conspires with us rather than against us. The scales of fear and falsity drop away and each day seems a fresh start.

This is the way once you have returned home.

This is the way it is.

This is love.

Plant Pillars and Tree Fountains

(15 July 2008)

I'm walking home at dusk

here in Washington, DC

And each tree I see, and each

plant -- are nodes of

         intelligence

               and beauty.

Fountains of knowledge and insight;

     attractive pillars,

          spraying upward and outward,

               green till brown till dust.

     Words, images, and

          deep, infinite knowing --

               available and free

     to those who look

          and listen

               and desire.

Dream Time

Last night I dreamt that I was a writer with a large circle of like-minded writer friends, a secure sense of myself, and a creative life-buzz that vibrated through me like nobodies business.  In the dream, I had taken a nudge from my muse and compiled a bunch of my diary entries and blog ramblings and sent them to a publisher.  In this dreamscape, I was celebrating the publication of my very first book.  So impressed were my circle of like-minded writer friends, that they were doing the same thing with great success.  I was enCOURAGING them and they were enCOURAGING them.

I awoke half an hour earlier than usual feeling as if my life was a dream and my dream was my life.  

I hope I dream tonight that someone comes in and cleans my apartment for me.  Now that would be a well-rounded life.

In the Flow

Do you ever feel like you're so in the flow that you want to scream out for joy. A little like that feeling you get just as a roller coaster hits the top of the top and you just know the thrill that is about to come. Good and bad all rolled into really good?

That's how I feel today. And really, you'd think I'd feel the exact opposite.

After all:

• Several weeks ago me and mine decided to become special friends
• Last week I switched from my Toshiba Windows-based laptop to an Apple MacBook Pro with OS X Leopard, and
• Today I actually released the latest edition of my newsletter, DREAMScene -- only about four weeks late (it was originally supposed to be the June edition)
  

And in spite of all those things -- or maybe I should say thanks to all those things -- I feel marvelous.

It's as if I'm finally learning to accept change and chaos with quiet dignity. Accepting that it's all very good, even the stuff I used to think of as bad. As if a door to a realm of peace and surrender suddenly opened up to me. As if ...

Oh, the heck with it. I just feel really grateful to be alive and One with this amazing world I live in. Mother Earth, I salute you!

And so it is.

8 July 2008

I am loath to admit how human I think I act sometimes.  Which, of course, is a ridiculous statement, in and of itself, because I am human and that should explain it all.  No thinking need be involved there.  I am human therefore respond to life like humans do.

But sometimes this incenses me.  Because I never wanted to be human and never really felt kin to other humans.  In this newer age this might brand me as an indigo child, something to be nurtured and watched over with adoration and understanding.  But back when I was a boy, especially in the home I grew up in, I was just an incorrigible little brat.

So be it -- being a brat then may explain my peculiar response to life now.  I don't know -- maybe yes, maybe no.

Anyway, the point of all this -- the point I was trying to convey, anyway --  is that in spite of all my perpetual attempts to be closer to God and to act the way I think enlightened beings would/could/should act, it all falls by the wayside when the reality of who I am collides with the reality of who I think am wanting to be (at a given moment).

Take, for instance, what happened twenty minutes ago.  I am walking down the street when I encounter an imbecile who has his bicycle situated sideways on the sidewalk.  During this less than brilliant maneuver, he is chatting with two babes.  I know they are babes because he is young, and dumb, and obviously heterosexual.  And as such, these innocent bystanders are also in my life's way.

So in one unholy instant -- one swell foop as it were -- I have taken a brother in this life and transformed him into an imbecilic, straight, self-centered clod.  All because he is, himself, being human in a fashion I find annoying and totally intolerable.

Thank the gods there was no spiritual mirror present then and there, because if there had been I would have seen myself as I truly was (then and there). 

An arrogant, impatient, hetero- and age-a-phobic weenie.

A Child of God, yes, but a weenie nonetheless.

And I might have dissolved into a blurr of self-loathing.

Fortunately, I do carry my own portable spiritual mirror with me all of the time -- and was able to catch my present mentality (IE, spoiled brat) almost immediately (well, within sixty seconds).  

(Sometimes it seems my ability to pull out the mirror is on a kind of time-delay; it's almost as if God wants me to experience this crap just long enough to feel sheepish about it.)

And with the mirror out I was able to see myself while hearing the small Voice I've come to know and love.  The voice, which in so many words, said, 

"Leave him be, Michael. I need him to be there, in that 

way, straddling the sidewalk, exactly as he's doing."

The Voice might have added, "And I don't mean maybe." -- but fortunately, didn't.

Then, in that moment, I realized -- my spiritual mirror outstretched before me -- that every instant is exactly as it should be.

Tiny and judgemental me, fragile human that I am, can let go of the holding on.  Holding on to irritation; holding on to annoyance; holding on to the  "This is my world, people, try to make it operate the way I think it ought." 

So, graciously, I said a prayer for the young man, for his wayward bicycle, and for the babes.  I even said a few quick prayers for the street people in the doorway of the library across the street.

I was on a spiritual roll.  All the world and all my brothers got my blessing.

And as an after thought, I threw some forgiveness my own way.

Somewhere, I'm sure the merry eyes of Spirit were twinkling.

And so it was.

Tues of Day

Last night (Monday), a series of dreams, most of which are gone.  But there was a theme that ran through them which involved the entrance to my home.  It seemed like a home that was located both in a city (like New York) and a beach town (like Provincetown).  I am on the top floor and in the back and ... 

[This dream is not new.  I'm recalling that I've lived in "this place" in other dreams.]

... There is apparently a staircase, made of aged southern pine that has seen better days.  Planks have fallen away and even the small three by three landing is just about gone.  I can see the ground below.  As the dream progresses, all the wood falls away and by its end, there is nothing there.  I know that as I climb the stairs, it has become more and more dangerous.  Now, at dream's end, I am feeling haunted and afraid.

I wake up and thank God/dess for my amazing life and ponder the mystery of the dream.  So haunting and cryptic.  What does it mean? (I've never been very good at self-dream analysis -- so feel free to send your own thoughts!).

Thouhts for This Monday

I feel pretty sheepish about my gung-ho declaration re my need to write daily and using this blog as a means to do that. Here it is a week later and only my second entry. Perhaps I should change the name of this blog to

Thoughts for This Monday.

Ahh, well, no beating up of myself permitted. I've had a million reasons for not writing -- most of them pretty darn good. A very special person in my life and I decided, after what seemed like trying everything possible to make it work, to change the status of our relationship. We're friends now -- and you'd think that would give me a zillion things to write about. But instead, it's had the opposite affect.

OK, but that's just one reason. Another is the guilt I've been holding over my own head because the next issue of my newsletter, DREAMScene, is late. Mostly because it's such a great issue with so many cool articles ... but still. My Long Island upbringing demands a keep a little guilt on the back burner at all times.

But hey, I'm definitely getting better. A lot better.

I will write again, the newsletter will come out (probably this week), and all is well. All is always well.

So walking to work today, I passed this enormous tree --or what used to be a tree. All that was left was the stubble of the original life form, a mere trunk sawed off at ground level. At least on a visual level that was all that was left. But this tree had been so powerful that its energy still remained exactly as it was before its physical form had been shorn away. I could see the outline of the tree that used to be -- it's energy was that strong.

Was this my fantastic imagination or was the energy really there? Am I merely a creative writer who thinks he sees this stuff, makes it up, writes about it?

Well, those acquainted with me (and who often humor me or just put up with me) know I believe say that the energy of the tree is definitely real and that when you're attentive to and open to such things, they make themselves known to you. In fact, I am forever amazed at the things that I am aware of once I remove the illusion of "reality" from things.

What a blessing it is to know this tree; to have known this tree; to know this tree as it will be one hundred years from today.

And so it is with me.