So, I’m just pretending that anyone reads these posts, or listens to me once in awhile when I am up at 4 in the morning having an anxiety attack or just plain old lady insomnia.  I pretend that I have an audience, because I have to write, I am just made that way and though it is a vanity I can’t shake, I keep hoping I can turn it to some use, someday, somehow, somewhere, there’s a place for me. [apologies to Mr. Sondheim].

When I decided to select my own nickname, never having had one that made sense to me, or some denigrating remark that stuck, I realize I invoked a source, a quality I have always wanted, but is harder than I thought to live up to.  Much easier to live up to lard ass or stupid, but then, those names are harder to live down.  I am comfortable with having to living down the idea of solidity, of reality, of truth, of purification, though it isn’t going to happen in a flash.

I have had my share of flashes, of Darshan, but this last one was strong like an  earthquake.  I can’t be happy with what I thought I was happy with.  I was happy, enough that is, maintaining a bit of equilibrium and the illusion of control by relating to Life as though it might whack me if It caught me having fun.  It might decide to take me down a few pegs if I drew attention to myself.  Why not?  That was what experience taught me.  I have become skilled at being a good whipping girl all on my own so that God could see me out of the corner of Her eye when She had paused from doing Her nails and see that I was sufficiently not a threat, and therefore needed no chastising.  No  amount of reason or religion cut through this.

But though I can see that I am still getting excited and careening off on a wild trajectory, it no longer feels as though it will solve anything.  I see what these kinds of tantrums get my grandchildren, which is absolutely zip on the positive side, and way too much processing and parental soul searching on the other.  An impulse is an impulse, and the nature of it does nothing to predict how much of a mess it can make when unleashed.

Restlessness is.

It will probably always be without being a measure of my belief that under all that we see and most of what we don’t is love.  It doesn’t matter about being heard, or loneliness or fear.  It matters to be able to see those things as part of the ongoing changing pattern of karma.

Searching for a very large percentage of my time here and getting pissed off or disappointed or rejected or judged is not important in any way.  What is, to me, is that I find it in my capacity as a human to see other humans, to hear them, to know that they are me, not different, not separate.   [It makes me smile to think how little many people will relish the idea that I’m as much a part of them as they are of me. ]

Now that this standing in front of me, I can look forward to more opportunities to try it out with people who have been wired to my nervous system, people whom I find annoying, threatening, oppressive – because I am annoying, threatening, oppressive.  The tricky part is that I don’t think I am, but I keep getting a glimpse and a whisper “yes, you are, but never mind…”

Underneath even the noisiest ego is the wordless current, running through all forms, bringing all truths to light, presenting every opportunity to burn Karma; offering always offering Grace, transcendence and Love.

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