Stories about life, love, death, and what comes after.
“…then I fell flat on my face and heard every bit of that too. … And isn’t that the perfect metaphor for life? Peace, beauty, something fearsome, magic, seemingly at every turn, and then a wholly unanticipated wallop that lays us flat out.”
"Many people I know and love are weeping and some are rejoicing. We *are* the yin-yang symbol being expressed in this human realm. And in each of us, elements of the other, and all of us making up the whole."
My prayer right now for every one of us is that we can fully remember peace. Not faux peace, or a pretense, but rather the eternal peace that always lives within, no matter what storms life brings. I’m in grief right now and, per usual, I don’t see anything good in it. Experience whispers that … Continue reading a prayer for all of us. amen.
How we can see things that allegedly aren’t there, according to the Human Rule Set (lies, for the most part, trickery to allow us to forget who we are), is something I don’t understand. But that I have seen things and experienced things deemed impossible is enough.
In my pre-meditation reading (30 minutes for my SAD lamp to work its magic), I’ve been slowly rereading Roland Merullo’s “Lunch with Buddha.” I’ve been reading it for this passage, which comes at the end. (ALL of the Buddha books are fantastic. If you can’t stomach books on spirituality, these are novels, beautifully written, chock … Continue reading no regrets
“And then it was as if the roof was lifted off the chapel and there was a soft sort of whooshing, a feeling of expansion, and I instantly knew I wasn’t alone. I felt the expansion around me but also IN me. I heard a voice …”
The Audubon guide said “I’ve never seen anything like it. Never. Not this close. Not this early. Not in these numbers. It’s unbelievable.” Only it’s not. Love landed three birds before us and they were a magnet for the rest. Our belief lands the gifts our people send us, and our acceptance is a magnet for more. Trust. Your. Self. Just do it.
My dead friend came to me after meditation the other morning. I’d posed a question to her and she showed up to answer.
“The process of muddling through this life, of awakening again, isn't finding some outside truth or healing experience, it is excavating the truth of who we are, of shedding the layers of untruths and stories and experiences misinterpreted.”
“Instead of shooting through the front windshield to crush my skull against that house-sized hunk of metal, I crawled out of that car with only a burn on my neck from the seatbelt. I remember leaving Frank's Little Hut in Montrose as I'd done a dozen unbelted nights before. I remember pulling that seatbelt around me; doing it and wondering why at the same time. Guided. Always.”
An Unexpected Mystic 