Listening to my Higher Self, El, I finally heard perhaps the most important truth of all.
I pushed on in my conversation with my Higher Self, who I’m calling El, and asked, What is the gift of my aloneness?
And this time my answer came as a stream of questions.
Did the loss of your intimate relationship not force you to reclaim your projections and encounter many hidden aspects of yourself, in the process healing, by loving, all of your Being, and teaching you how to give unconditional love to others?
And did this not make you a better healer as well as a more peaceful human being?
Handicaps or disabilities can be things like poverty, a less than pleasing appearance, or a lack of freedom, support or community.
In my case, My Higher Self, El, revealed, my handicap, or disability, is the lack of several types of partnership that I have always fervently desired and am not currently enjoying in my life – the intimate kind; the sustained, soulful work/business variety; and the type that comes from a group of people working together, up close and persistently, on a cause that is dear to their hearts.
The other day (actually several years ago when I wrote the story I’m now telling you) a good friend sent me a video about an autistic boy. You know the plot: A person overcomes a handicap to accomplish something amazing, their achievement is celebrated and emotionally shared by lots of people, and the viewer sheds a lot of happy tears.
One day I went outside and saw mushrooms everywhere. Not only was the yard absolutely full of mushrooms, but they were all so different from each other. It’s like elves and fairies were celebrating there in the night before.
Some were large and off-white. Some were small and orange. Some were dark, dark brown, thin and tall. Some were white with an orange ring at their edge. Some were tiny and delicate, the size of a dime. Colony upon colony of each kind.
There was a huge 8 inch mushroom. There were colonies of bright yellow sprouts, just stems forming, of young mushrooms.
I really enjoy looking at tree bark - the whorls and swirls of bark as it moves up the trunk of the tree. It overlaps like house shingles. And it eddies around limbs and around the stumps of fallen limbs. You see the tree holes, and the flow of the bark around them.
The patterns are mesmerizing, like watching water that is stopped.
It really seems like something is written on the tree, by the tree, over and over again.
And when a vine climbs the tree, it is even more beautiful, especially in the autumn when the vine turns red.
I love working with beets – whole, leafy, bushy beets.
Everything about them leaves this deep, ruby tint. As you rinse the giant green leaves, the red stalks look like rhubarb and tint the water red. As they drip on the steel sink, the droplets look luminescent over the cool, silver blue.
If you hold a leaf up to the light, so the sun shines thru, the leaf is a gorgeous, vibrant yellow green, contrasted with the crimson stem system running thru the leaf.
The leaves taste great raw.
It pains me to have to recycle glass jars, but we simply do not have room to store every jar we get.
Of course, many items in the store are packaged in plastic or cardboard. The day may come when there will no longer be glass jars.
When I was a little girl, each glass jar was put to use.
I love sunflowers. I mean, here is a flower that grows bigger than me. It is gigantic. And the seeds are so visible, so wildly bountiful, and so orderly arranged.
I see them growing in the community garden, and I admire their towering, poetic, lilting stance.
There are two local farms that plant thousands of sunflowers – acres and acres - and let you walk among them. It is breath-taking. So many circles of purple-black with a rim of yellow against a backdrop of greens and a light blue sky – like nature is looking with 10,000 eyes upon the world.