A Passage Completed

My granddaughter is 25 today.  A quarter of a century woman fully completed. Perched at the end of an era, the beginning of the next stretches in front of her.

Unwritten, the blank years taunt, bidding her to write a wonderful story. Although, she may have doubts about the importance of this, there is no higher value than writing her own story. Regardless of whether or not she participates, her story will be written.

Fortunately she is wise beyond her years and knows, it will be more fulfilling if she adds her voice and becomes the author of her saga.                                          

There are limitations of course, but that’s part of it – creating in spite of boundaries, learning not to hurt herself, searching, feeling her way forward inch by inch.

Always, the dreams of what could be came first, they still do.  Each what-if carries a vibration emanating light and dark.  Being an excellent being, she searches for the choice that could cause the best outcome.  She is thoughtful, considerate and sharp.  Her feelings are strong, they lead her away from the dark, from the whatzit that is not for her. 

She recognizes what is for her in the way she is lifted by its whispering promises, but yet, at the same time, it also frightens her. 

However, can it be otherwise?  Being intelligent she muses over the many angles, cautiously, patiently, calmly turning them this way and that. Here and there her ambition pierces her, prodding her to keep focused. Yet she knows, she is in charge.  She is the only one who can write her destiny. 

It is in the tiny choices she makes.  A simple single step forward, a look here, a thought there, an idea comes and she chooses.

Slowly, happily, it unravels and she meets her unique truth.

Today she begins anew, flitting her wings into the light.  Whatever may be, she will surf life’s wave, giving the best she’s got.

Her strength knows no bounds and as reality passes through, she, calm in its center, watches her story unfold.

Baring My Whatzits

To the who that has not disappointed others, please pass this blog by.

May I begin with the bottom line, as per me of course,  most relationships exist for preservation, companionship or validation.  

[Disclaimer:  if you don’t agree, I will not accept the job of debating.  And if,  after you carefully read this with an open mind, all the way through and think I need correction, you have missed the point of this post.  Please write your own post expounding those ideas.]

Perhaps, my opening may be an obvious statement to some, but it took me a few moons to understand relationship’s neutrality and be free of its invisible constraints. This is not a complaint but rather a clarification of a confusion with which I long wrestled.  More accurately, it is a description of an intimidation running our societies:  comply or be left alone on the Savannah to rot.  Currently, otherwise, gratefully, I can enjoy the benefits gleaned by complying without paying the threat’s ransom, fear.  For example, I am no longer afraid of not capturing your attention by teetering around on nine-inch heels, advertising a false idea that I am a long legged beauty.  I have zero interest in capturing your attention with lures I do not naturally possess.  Your attention is not that important to me.

To begin this, what is my worth based upon if not compliance to society’s norms?  How do you estimate your own worth?  How do you base another person’s worth to you? 

In my corner over here, from birth, my worth was based on how others compared me to their ideals.  If I fit their ideals, I was worthy, if I did not, their response was one of disappointment. Evident?  For sure, but for many years, I struggled, jumping over hurdles, hoping to reach their ideals.  When I couldn’t, I believed there was something off with me.  

What a surprise and liberation to discover there is nothing off with me.  My biology at birth was a combination of whatzits from my parents and ancestors;  a compilation of generations passing inherited whatzits down to me.  Overall, I was born with good enough whatzits to live comfortably even though, well, even if,  in comparison, my whatzits are not the best.  

(Indeed,  what is the best anyway? The top position is continuously appropriated by a new improved best.  Therefore the last toppled best was not the best then? Was it only a temporary best until a new best arose?

(Wouldn’t that make it then a good enough for now and not an accurate representation of the word best?)

Through my life, as I interacted with my environment, I had to use my whatzits to actively respond.  Unfortunately, more frequently than not, other people graded my whatzits not good enough.  

I was a disappointment to many people.  I was not beautiful enough, smart enough or entertaining enough and sometimes, I was too much something which all added up to the same grade, not good enough.

I was first a disappointment to my father who wanted a son.  Now explain to me, how could I ever please a man who was demeaned by the birth of a daughter?  In reflection, I see his need as pathetically insecure but to a tiny girl child, the message was devastating.  In addition, I was a disappointment to my mother because my inquiring mind would not obey without questioning.  How could I satisfy a woman who believed good behavior was measured through obedience while curiosity and questioning were negative components.  Disturbed by my challenging creativity, she tried to snuff it out.  Honoring my out of the box questions was beyond what she could do.  In both cases, as in all the disappointments I have caused, it was more about my parent’s and society’s needs and had very little to do with me.

My failure-to-please list goes on and on.  From my parents, sibling, children, and friends, who come and go in my life, the disappointments I have caused,  calculate in the thousands.  I won’t, however, bore myself or you in remembering them. These days, I do not concern myself when someone communicates I am of no value or even if what I produce is of no value.  Cloning myself to someone’s specifications has become abhorrent to me.  A few years ago, I stepped off the wheel of competition and have been consciously staying off ever since.   It’s not easy since everyone I know continues spinning on that merry-go-round, reaching for the ringing sound that announces, they are worthy!  

Whenever I see that original competitive harm, I know it is a mere residue with which I can choose not to engage.

I watch while they dress to impress, learn new ways of talking a good game and read up on the expert’s suggestions on how to win and influence people.   Not for me.  I shun – how to improve yourself articles; this self-help genre is just another way to fit in.  Improvement to become closer to a whatever- ideal demeans me.  

In contrast, learning about my natural whatzits and allowing them air is not an improvement but rather a liberating process.  

I am focused on discovering my unique whatzit.  Sadly, having spent too long on the merry-go-round, my whatzit is less apparent except for my unrelenting curiosity and constant questioning of my thinking habitual patterns.  This has remained glaringly visible.

I am not concerned about the rest being less discernible, peeling off the shit is a labor of love.  I would rather exercise patience baring my ethereal whatzit than spending time shaping myself into what others want from me.  

Please do not mistake my words for advice on how to be – only you can know this.  Please be advised, I am not the God of you and cannot know what’s best for you.   A wee secret?  You are the God of you.

Unrequited

Where am I? I ask since I came here for a reason (long pause) …

but to go on …

She was hard wired to feel pleasure when someone smiled at her. This pleasure pulled up the corners of her mouth reverberating sweetness back.

A circle of love destined to glow but unfortunately, she emerged where no one smiled. 

Her mother, perpetually cranky, was annoyed by her existence.  Not that her mother did not want a child but rather she was not the child expected..  Far too many things about the child displeased her mother into frowning more than smiling. In sympathy, her mother was traumatized by life’s darkness, perpetually scanning the horizon for tragedy’s appearance, absent from the flow of life.

And because it was smiles that would have pleased the child’s hard wiring and since there were no smiles, surprisingly, undaunted, she gave her mother one of hers. 

Her mother did not respond. She was not conscious of her child smiling at her. Absent, immersed in her mind, she was clinically deaf and blind.

The child, beholding her mother’s furrowed brow, empty eyes glowing sadness and anger, promised to be more pleasing.

A confusion, a puzzlement at being alive where she was not welcomed grew.

A tiny question at first that blossomed and became the why of her existence. 

Where am I, she would ask?  What is the why of me?  Created by chance you say? No purpose whatsoever?

But wait – comes a pause,  pregnant with an answer. 

Smiles come from love and you my dear have your own. It is your gift to spread,  offering warmth to anyone in need. 

Even more, it was way beyond this, she was the warmth she herself sought.  She was the smile denied, who through no fault of hers, could not fulfill her mother’s expectations for grandeur.  Able to recognize noble stock easily, her mother knew her daughter was rather ordinary by account.  She did not have enough to reach where her mother wanted her to go.

Unbeknownst to her mother, she was destined elsewhere and where it was, only the child knew how to get there.

Twenty seven thousand days since arrival.

The world continues in its state of confusion.  A state that as I recall, stretches back to my birth.  I cannot remember a time when there was no confusion.  After all, the state I am referring to is the problems we humans create and oh mother of grace, humans create problems.  They are not inept but rather a learning species.  Problems arise because a situation does benefit a human.  The human, a problem solver, tries solving it. 

Since humans are a learning creature, they do not know it all.  They actually can never know it all but hey that is another topic.  Consequently, humans  solve problems using their up-to-date data base.

Some solutions, cause three other problems.  Humans again try and solve these three … of which one or two cause more problems.

Hereto the world continues in its state of confusion.

I, here in my tiny corner, wonder why less talented problem-solvers reach leadership.  It is brawn who continues to rule our world.  It is the aggressive, quick thinker who rise and become our leaders.  This is unfortunate.  Their talent, aggression and quick thinking become a liability when it comes to problem solving.  As a result of these two talents, they are also not likely to listen to humanity’s slower but all-inclusive thinkers who offer their wisdom.

Certainly, the majority came together and put a fail-safe in place, therefore currently in a democracy,  the leaders have advisors who we hope are the slower but all-inclusive thinkers.  Unfortunately, a scorpion is limited to ever behave like a scorpion and the leaders are clever at using the situation to their advantage. They are quick thinkers.  In addition, even after the pressure is put upon the leader to rethink his folly, the leader who is aggressive and quick thinking will think they know it all and continue making short sighted decisions.

Is there a solution?  I think there is.  The majority needs to get smarter and here we come to the crux of it all.  When you stop and think on this, is it not the perfect system?

A system, where an irritant is an integral part. It is the catalyst stimulating the growth of its collective consciousness.

Good Morning World

As usual I am pondering this world.  I used the word world but when I ponder, my travels take me to the edge of the universe and back.  I say the edge but there is no edge.  The edge is unreachable.  Infinity has no edge.  I travel as far as I am able.  It is my limitation that reaches an edge.  The universe is infinite and therefore has no edge.

What a discovery… a human, who has emerged into a paradox, experiencing a profound complexity,  propelled by the force of continuance, discovers impermanence.  A betrayal, awakening into what’s real…

Oh my dear humans, how can I ever express my depth of gratitude for your company in this mystery, I have emerged into.  You have worked together and have created a flowing system of service that benefits my life greatly. 

I am grateful for the growers who offer their produce for my nourishment.  How much easier is my life for your effort.  Simply go to a store and pick up what has been amassed.  Of course, I need to put back somehow, a nourishment in turn, a dedication to continuance.

I am grateful for the pickers (I bow in thanks for your energy).  Bent over, pushing into pain for the sake of harvest, heroes every one.

The shippers come next, their brawn ensuring safe delivery.  Their muscles worked into fatigue give me my dinner.  Thank you.

The truckers, sailors and pilots who bring the food closer.  The unpackers and stockers of shelves that offer me the plenty.  What would I do without you?

And the traders! …  who complete the interaction  that energizes my life.

Any time I have been in danger, it is another human who has come forth to help me.  In that, even if God sent them, it is another human who comforts and protects me.  I want to remember how fortunate I am to live with other humans.  I love the humans who work and service other humans.  In this case, then, almost everyone would be included except for a mere 1% who take far too much, believing themselves above their peers. They think because they can fool us and take more than is good for the majority of us, their cleverness as opposed to our trust is superior.    

All of us are bound in a circulatory system, a self-perpetuating process called humanity.  The ones who are abusing by taking too much rather than trading fairly have become a cancer in the process.

Can an Artist be Separated from Their Art?

An artist is a being whose wide open senses are acutely affected by reality.  A  beautiful but nonetheless, dangerous reality wreaks havoc on their nature.  The weight of this can make a being considerably cranky and perverted especially once learning the only way out sucks!

Artists are unique creatures who evolve differently than anyone else.  Their passion and deep feelings can either  be their salvation or their torture.  Infinite variables create each artist without their permission.  Their purpose?  To manifest a unique expression.

Thankfully, mostly, our era no longer burns artists at the stake.  This is a wonderful thing. It means there are places in this reality where an artist is not persecuted.

Unfortunately, no matter what,  unless the artist is protected by a benefactor,  society interferes with an artist’s purpose.  This is done early in childhood and for the moment, somewhat inevitable. 

When an authority influence disapproves of an artist’s authenticity, a conflict ensues.  An artist’s authentic force if blocked, will struggle for freedom.

Nevertheless, this struggle (finding their purity after society’s authority has them feel wrong) is the trigger placing them on the road to fulfilling the purpose of an artist.  They must purge society out of themselves and re-establish a subjective mastery. 

Society influences and tampers with an artist’s inherent guidance (the blueprint for the uncovering of a unique expression).  And when an artist’s guidance has been altered, a new something emerges – a greater intensity to free what has been altered and blocked.

In some cases, the artists’ extreme in passion and deep feeling, betrayed and confused, violently grabs back its space or exhibits distasteful values the rest of society questions.

Can the art be separated from the artist?

An artist must allow a unique expression to emerge.  Society informs the artist of their wrongness because their expression does not align according to the manifesto of Right.  The artist becomes confused and cannot reconcile how and why they are wrong.  Society tampers with an artist’s radar causing an inner conflict of doubt.  Great artists undergo crippling societal resistance.  Present a new idea to a group and observe what happens. 

That the question arises at all reveals a moral bias for bad behaviour but this morality should not alter the artist’s success as an artist.  An artist’s struggle is a private hell.  The infinite variables of genes  and environment, for me, exclude them from any consequential guilt.  They are not guilty of their crimes but they are responsible.   An affect is always innocent. That their force went dark is in relation to how intensely society rejected their expression.

If their art is pure then does it have a life of its own separate from its creator?  An emphatic no, I say – since without the creator there would have been no art. We wouldn’t be discussing this if their art was not undeniably magic. We cannot kill the chicken unless there was an egg.

It is a crap shoot for all of us but for artists, it is a paradox to solve.  While artists try and solve their exclusive paradox, their behaviour may be, on occasion, erratic, temperamental yet here and there, genius.

Does the question suggest the emerging unique expression is false because of an artist’s confused behaviour?  Is society not also complicit in their demise?

Or should the world lower its admiration depending on the harm caused by the artist?

Artists, true artists, do not care about the adoration.  Their purpose is focused on freeing their unique expression, however that manifests.  Perverted behaviour will grow directly in relation to how blocked the artist becomes.

Perhaps it comes down to language. Does the art change if I define these tortured beings as conflicted? Does it change it I define them evil?

The Unwanted

The Unwanted arrived the other day. 

Unwelcome! Undesired! Unkind!

But bewailing against its arrival will not banish it away.  Maybe time will send its sorry ass elsewhere but I am hoping to speed up its leaving-me journey.  After all, it is an Unwanted!

I have learnt complaining intensifies an-Unwanted’s hold in my life.  Since I learnt this fact, no longer do I fall to my knees, raising it up to an altar begging for release. Experience has proven the Unwanted does not hear me. It ignores my pleas for mercy. It shrugs at my commands to be gone! Whining is a futile endeavour.

Unfortunately remembering this fact does not guarantee I won’t wail. It depends on the Unwanted’s initial punch. At times the Unwanted’s yuckiness spontaneously takes my breath away and remembering that complaining is useless does not come to mind. I do however practice remembering not to whine and so eventually, I remember, oh yes, whining is futile and stop. In my early years, I would go as far as deny an Unwanted’s presence but thankfully, this idiocy has been banished!

Where to class the Unwanted is the most important step and I practice getting to this as soon as I am able.  Under which heading should this Unwanted be filed?

Is it a cannot-be-changed or is it a pliable? This is the phase (as AA has adopted) of looking for the wisdom in knowing the difference between what can be changed and what cannot be changed. Thankfully, for me, presently, deciding which is which comes pretty easy. The wisdom is unnecessary for it is the Unwanted who tells me who they are.

Unwanted are teachers. Each Unwanted is by nature – a what-cannot-be-changed. It is a lesson repeating over and over in my life since I continue to forget this subtle truth.

The Unwanted cannot be changed. Once an Unwanted has been felt, it is a fait accomplis, a Cannot-Be-Changed!

The Unwanted sighs as it repeats once again, “I cannot be changed. The best way forward is accepting this fact. I cannot be undone.” In the past, of course, I would argue! I would pose challenges, I want to change you, I don’t want you here. You are a terrible Unwanted and I want to make you disappear! Then I would spend days figuring out how to change the Unwanted. In the end, once again it would dawn on me – the Unwanted was correct! It cannot be changed.

Slowly, finally, understanding that by the time I notice an Unwanted, it is too late – it cannot be changed and acceptance is the only choice forward. If I then take a breath, let my distaste for its presence die down, seamlessly acceptance will raise me up and launch me into freedom. It will show me the logic of reality and point to where the real power lies waiting. It will prove its fact easily with a, “Yes, every Unwanted cannot be changed. Reality cannot be changed. It is you who are pliable and reinvents a new way forward.”

Acceptance is not about giving up, it is empowering!

All Unwanteds are that which Cannot-Be-Changed. It is me who will change and adapt. Does adaptation seem bad? Does it feel like something has been lost? Does it not also have a something new?

In Pieces

Here I am, writing, listening to Hauser.  His cello sounds embrace me and lull me into an incredible sweetness.  Hauser’s feelings, his love of cello-sound enters me and I am smitten.   

His loving vibration soothes all my tangles, calming my nervousness as I write.  Relaxing, I allow my flow to have its way. 

What is there to say?  I suppose too much that would fire up the cycle of fear and not enough to solve it. 

The evidence mounts, more than ever, we need to transform the cycle of fear in which we are trapped.  We need another force going forward.  Certainly fear has expanded our population numbers into billions but it has gone beyond benefit and is now harmful.

We need to find love.  It is the only solution possible.  It is obvious, aggression repeats the cycle deepening the misery!

We spend too much time in speculation believing we can solve our human reality.  Arrogant, ignorant of not knowing we do not know it all, we continue to forget there is always more than is readily seen.  We oftentimes miss the obvious.

And so we would, since it is forever impossible to understand all the variables and besides, why is there a problem to discover we do not know it all? Yet it seems everyone is ashamed to learn this fact.

We live.  We experience learning our story from beginning to end.  Our lives unwrap second by second, surprising us with its unexpected.

We falter, stumble and fall.  A heap of confusion,  in pieces,  lie around us and we have to face the truth,  we are responsible for its sanity.  Insanity drove it mad or on second thought,  being driven mad is part of the process of discovering our sanity. What is sanity? :but absorbed information the brain deciphers into meaning.

Seeing one’s own insanity begs the question, How can I get sane? And so the logic of intelligence, the moment we learn how insane we can be, hands us our sanity. For knowing one’s own insanity, is the very art of becoming sane.

Will you choose to stand and call all your pieces back together?

Do not miscalculate the evidence, you do not and never have,  been alone.

And yet, you have ever been an individual , a proud piece of the whole, adding energy,  knitting experiences into one.

Call your pieces back together.  They will rush to your side.  All you have to do is honour the one, who stands alone wanting and willing to stand. So courageous!

My Purpose

After many  years of searching for purpose, I realize – there is no purpose for me.  I have been complicating my mind with the noble idea of a specific purpose. 

Today it is clear, paradoxically, I do have a purpose but it is not to have one.  For the sake of clarity, I am avowing my purpose in a concept which goes against normal thinking by proclaiming my purpose is not to have one.

Consistently people inform of the solitary trek to find one’s purpose and I agree. It is a sole journey. How could it be otherwise?  In truth, no one has the privilege to assign a pre-designed purpose to another person.

Therefore who is it that remains to execute this most important assignment?

Me.  Little tiny old me.  I am presented with the legacy of that most distinguished of decisions and I accept.

What a relief to understand the folly of searching.  I ponder at how long this took to figure out.  It is quite simple, obvious even.  But never mind, it is a learning come and I am grateful.

Since finding one’s purpose is solely subjective, no one can dispute the meaning of any purpose.  This is a guaranteed subjective choice of which no one can put asunder.  No authority may interfere!

Blissfully, not having a purpose frees me incredibly.  The portals open and I accept my truth.

All my philosophies align and nod definitive approval “You are correct.”

How I proceed from herein remains a mystery;  discovering my purpose of not having a  purpose, exposes a subtle truth.  I am no longer searching for meaning or purpose therefore what do I do? 

I need to step aside and allow myself to unfold naturally,  respecting the inherent wisdom with which I was born. Rather than relying on prior thought or advance projection,  patiently,  my purpose reveals itself, moment to moment. I am watching the movie I act in.

My purpose of having no purpose, however, is not easy.  It demands trust and quiet of thought, a difficult practice. The struggle however, rewards a priceless truth.

Love in the pause …

Today I understood what love is.  After many years of discovering what love is not,  this morning it revealed some of itself. 

I saw clearly love is a choice. 

In the moment, in the second, when we are presented with choice, we need to recognize that this very moment, we have a choice.  When we remember ourselves  as intelligent creator, we can step aside and consider our next choice.  Every act of choice ripples through the ages.  Every decision we make is important.  Even the tiny ones. They all have affects.

To defer from choosing immediately and as a matter of choice,  pause to consider what-is in its entirety (well! as best can be) and ask, “What would love do?” is the birth of love.

Love is about choice, in the moment, continuously asking us for adaptation.  The moment, any particular time, where a call to select a way forward stands sentry guarding tomorrow. To pause, to see what cannot be changed and then, not allowing pain’s blood into tomorrow.

Each decision will impact our, your and my,  reality.  This will in turn echo a change.  Your intent will ripple through the waves of life and cause an effect.  This affect will  transmute into an effect and so on and so on. 

To create a heaven on earth, one much choose love every moment.  A personal commitment to pause and temper unconscious reaction.  A dedication to remember how unconsciously we humans think things through.  For example, back In the sixties, instructions were televised to the public, advising sheltering under furniture if an atomic bomb were to go off.  The people did not think the suggestions ridiculous, they assumed authority knew better and took note. This now preposterous idea reveals how inept humanity’s awareness and reasoning can be.  Further back, we have the inane directives concerning witches. And if your arrogance protests at this, and you think we know better now, you are missing a great truth.

In seeing what resembles unawareness clearly,  one cannot deny something needs doing.   Humanity’s stupidity is endless.  We can never know all there is to know.  We are ever poised on the point of ignorance.  And no, this is not a human flaw but rather a great gift, the ability to learn. 

When things go awry we analyze and then use this analysis to learn a new way forward.  This means we are evolving constantly, there is no end.  Evolvement is the crux of this universe.

As we enter into the practice of pausing, the depth of why we need to, ups our game. We see how, above all else, this new attention needs top billing.

We need, as a humanity, to rise up in consciousness.  The paradox, laughs at us, as we learn to honour the benefit. We create our selves.

At any one second, we ever know what we know however, the more important aspect is to consider what we have not readily seen. In the second we are ever missing something of what-is. Therefore, we need to implement a practice where we ask the question, what haven’t I understood?

Uncannily, when this question is posed and a period of silence follows an answer appears and one cannot deny the wisdom of the answer. 

All it requires is a pause.