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.
I feel there is lightning in words, a power way beyond just casually talking.
I feel words with intent can crumble stone.
I’m not saying it’s easy.
You have to be in the mood, the frame of mind, to do this, to speak the words as part of an inner chant, so they pull upon another realm, and weave it here.
I feel words are sacred, like rays of light from the soul, when spoken with knowing their deeper power.
It is amazing how our subconscious can change what we actually see.
I remember reading about a person, who when hypnotized could not see another person. Their mind was able to completely eliminate that other person from anything they were looking at. Their mind would fill in the background so the person looked invisible.
What does this say about us?
Sometimes it is so hard to believe
There will be I time I am not going to be here on planet earth
There will be a time I’ll expire my life will come to an end
Then I will begin a new beginning in Heaven
I believe in God
That we do go on
Sometimes I get so distracted by today
Not really realizing I am here for a limited amount of time
Even if I live to 150
There is a time I will not be here
That takes a lot of mindfulness for me
To hold on to that
I really want to hold on to that
On my walk, I met a neighbor who told me this story. He had an ulcer, and so his stomach had been hurting him. Some of his friends convinced him to go on a men’s retreat with his church.
He reluctantly went, even more reluctantly because they were serving pizza, which would not agree with his stomach. Near the end of the retreat, he was surprised because the leader said, “Let’s pray for Donald.” So everyone laid their hands on Donald and prayed for him.
Afterwards, there was no longer a burning in his stomach. He was completely cured during those few minutes that day.
The woods were filled with many sounds that day: birds singing, leaves rustling, squirrels moving around.
I was painting a picture beside a stream in the late morning. The stream flowed around many large boulders. This view of rocks and water is what attracted me to this place.
Suddenly, everything was quiet. I mean absolutely quiet. Even the water became quiet.
Everything became unexpectedly still. A great hush came over this place. You could hear a pin drop. And so it continued for about 2 minutes. It reminded me of how it is right before a storm.
Why does fire seem so alive?
That flame on a candle seems so peaceful, so meditative -- like it, itself, is putting out a presence.
A candlelit dinner. How charming.
One of the houses I pass on my walk has a gaslight lamp, that always has a flame burning.
I really like that.
I remember sparklers that we would light on the fourth of July. They’d leave a trail of light in the night air.
Perhaps these things remind us of our own sparkling light.