Definiiton

Whoa! Slow down...what do you mean I don't know the meaning of "love?" I exclaimed in total silence this afternoon. It was part of a personal conversation I had with my right brain today. You see,
as I have gotten older, my hemispheres have started to divide into a pair of me. They used to work well together. It is simply not that way anymore.

Right brain, left brain are on divergent paths...actually the left brain has stalled and I'm not quite sure if my right hemisphere is near derailment. The mental file cabinet in the cramped office of my mind
is overflowing. What I knew - isn't. What I don't know doesn't seem to fit into the once neatly arranged crib notes of my life.  School is apparently not out.

"Love" is synonymous with too much. "Desire, appetite, fancy, favor, like, liking, partiality, preference, relish, taste, craving, crush, infatuation, longing, lust, yearning, ardor, eagerness, enthusiasm, fervor, zeal, appreciation, esteem, estimation, regard, respect, adoration, adulation, deification, idolatry, idolization, worship, allegiance, faithfulness, fealty, fidelity, loyalty, and steadfastness. Quite a list, isn't it?

Today, I woke up concerned about the direction my heart is going. My compass is cracked and
there is an uneasiness and an imbalance in my footwork. I have hit a crossroads. The one represented by an upturned tarot card. The message has appeared in three readings in separate places by unrelated
psychics.

My left brain reviews the data. My right brain asks, "But how do you FEEL?"  Answer is I don't know.

Universal love is fluid, unconditional and does not require reciprocity. It is a simple concept that humans have misinterpreted forever. Universal love is not disquieting. It does not interrupt your daily life or request penance if forgotten. It is a state of being. Universal love is an awareness and for me,
it comes at a pivotal moment. It is the sign at the fork in the road. Truthfully, it is the sign in the rear view mirror.

I am learning. My teachers walk beside me in the parallel existences of my soul. They are my community. I could not exist without them. I never did.

Homage to the Tao of Pooh

In my head, I own my thoughts-intellectual property in the first-person sense. Thinking is my newest hobby and it is a complicated endeavor.  I have options in the thinking process. Among them are to allow, conceive, consider, deem, esteem, feel, figure, guess, hold, imagine, judge, reckon, suppose and believe.

     What or who I think about and where the thinking takes place further enhances my willingness to devote time to this undertaking. Subject matter is, of course, the catalyst and the antagonist.

     Using the options available, the outcome of my internal dialogue is varied.  Conclusions are elusive and require additional considerations.

     Decisions, solely based on thinking may be the inner voice we so often credit for spontaneous results. I'm guilty of favoring spontaneity. Not planning, however, is not for the faint-hearted.  Doing something, going somewhere without a backup plan is sometimes a questionable approach. I've been lucky.

     My inner voice has a committee. The chairman of the board has the sole veto power and the secretary doesn't keep notes.  There's been no change in board members - ever. There is a new agenda at the most recent gathering of my committee and it has been tabled for further discussions. So, I just sit and wonder what to do and I've been sitting and wondering for a few years. On the agenda is an invitation to the rest of my life. Perfect timing. I am open to suggestions.

     Travel is a given.  Where is a choice. Playing- a distraction and commitment to remaining tied to the familiar is apparently not an option. My committee has a guest speaker who doesn't like waiting in the outer office and is running out of patience while the debate continues.

     Fear and disbelief are powerful emotions. Why me? Why now? These two questions compete for equal consideration. Think, think, think too much and I'll be the next understudy to Winnie the Pooh.

There are believers and skeptics in the metaphysical community. I live with both; part of my dual personality, I guess. Seems the bipolar disorder is revisiting. The manic says "jump off the cliff"; the depressive replies "there's a frayed rope in the parachute".

     This thinking and not planning is exhausting. Certainly I would have thought (pun intended) that I would reach that light bulb moment. But no- I have to learn and practice what I learn-then I must teach and eventually enlighten.  I am finding more than a casual interest in otherworldly possibilities and balance this piqued curiosity with more than a passing glance on the topic of ancient aliens.  The topic has credence and I love a debate.  There's more to life than living.

     I am learning and thinking and researching and doing more thinking.  I am asking pertinent questions of those I trust to be on similar voyages. Then I think again...

     I just saw a quote go across my tv screen:  "Who looks outside, dreams.  Who looks inside, awakens." Thankfully, I am in no hurry and it's time to check on the guest speaker who sits in the outer office-thinking.

Complacency

     Status Quo is leaving things as they are- no disruption or deviance. I come from this generation.  I am among those baby boomers who are dipping into the last available social security funds.  My appointment, at the Social Security Office is next month and it will be at that appointment that I will learn what it means to have squandered most of my earning potential on ...well ...complacency.

     There is an omission in my gray matter. Not knowing which hemisphere is deficient, I'll just blame it on short-sightedness.  Don't get me wrong. I have stuff, which in its vagueness, represents my status.

     Okay, but that's a facet which when not in the bright light fades into obscurity and I am left with "but WHO am I?

At this juncture, ego reenters the picture. Only on its rebound, the focus is on my legacy. What will I leave behind?  Ashes and carbon footprint will not define me.  Words on a headstone will be wasted for no one has the right to limit me to a few well-chosen adjectives.  Enter- the universe and suddenly it is the defining moment of ME.  Primed for nothing and equally unprepared, my decades of cocooning are ripe for evolution. My wings are unfolding and prepared for flight.  Albeit the remaining life span will conclude before I fully understand how I got to this point, I am steady upon the breeze.

     Learning to embrace a new direction is not unfamiliar.  I am certainly adept at change; although change has always been tethered to what I understood was humanly possible. What I am gifted now is far beyond scientific probabilities.

     As I undergo this metamorphosis, the pages in scrapbooks, entries in journals and yellowing photographs will seem a ridiculous homage.  Yet, separately the tangible remembrances will document my journey thus far.

     Restless intuition sits uncomfortably in my gut. Wasted adrenaline consumes the energy reserves and leaves me in a constant state of atrophy.  All this is necessary.  Decomposition begins.

Connected

     Comfy in the reclining rocker with laptop at the ready, I am listening to the Commodores hit "Three Times a Lady" and thinking. The Deja vu moment causes me to pause and remember a me I used to know. I find great comfort in the music which defined the 1970's.  I suppose each decade revises and creates a musical homage to the numerous issues, struggles, and successes of the times.           Not that I remember who I was then, but some of the lyrics tap into the defining moments of my twenty-somethings.

     Now in my the sixties, I wonder what musical period of time defined me.  Since I am a fluid soul, perhaps I can pick and choose. That would be a research project for another day.  Limiting me to one era would discount my evolution. Let's just agree that music is inherent in my DNA.  Messages came that I am connected to Franz Josef Haydn, so who knows?

      Even out in the natural world, sounds reconnect me with me. It is comforting for me to witness conversations that go on in the animal world; sometimes I jump right in, feeling that I also have something to add to the topic being discussed. Conversations and nature's white noise confirm that I am part-not separate and not alone.

     I am in a period of transition, that which elevates one from the third dimension to those dimensions that transcend linear thinking.  Not completely understanding the conduit to this realm, I am heavily dependent on awareness-awareness of messages which come to me as I am a safe harbor; so I listen-to everything.

     I listen with my eyes. The visits from my animal spirit guides keep me focused on priorities on this path of learning. Trusting that the universe has my back, I am fully engaged in the unspoken union between us.  They are here, I am here with them.

     I listen with my hands and arms.  An embrace of another and the energies exchanged heals. I quiet myself and just listen. Directives come, one note at a time.

Parts

Am I the sum total of my parts or am I part of the sum total?  Play on words?  Perhaps.  This is my thought today: my being is rather small in comparison to recent astronomical discoveries.  My mass would be calculated as a negative integer, I think, on the grand scale of things.

It is exciting to learn about the expanding universe. It gives me immeasurable hope that I am also infinite.  Where did I begin and where am I destined?

An unsolvable problem; for the value of "x" cannot be defined on either side of the equation. Maybe it's not meant to. Maybe there's an element so critical to the journey of one's life, its discovery would jeopardize its purpose.  Maybe the "God" complex is so controversial, that its continuance should be banished.

I am not in favor of extending the natural life span. I am, however in favor of enhancing the experience. Quality of life versus quantity of life.  The scale has tipped the other way for me and I am so comfortable with it, that remaining time is no longer my biggest fear.

The evolutionary process which sustains species, through adaptation of the environment, will challenge science and it will win. Its track record is undeniable. Whether my specie survives is an open ended quest. But, all the "breakthroughs" in the realm of dedicated science will not change the soul.

How do you define yourself?  As others see you or as the soul who fulfills its predestined design? I choose the latter because I am not so conceited as to think that I had any choice in the matter. Being open to possibilities far beyond my present physicality has given me the freedom to re-prioritize each day's gift. Realizing that this journey is not dependent on how I choose to live it and is not self-limiting within the confines of a spiritual heir achy, I am joyous in the moment.

The shaman relayed the following message:  "You are the truth".  That was an uncomfortable realization. I took it to mean that my travels thus far have culminated in my being validated; that my existence is for the benefit of others. How freeing it was to release all guilt that I have not done enough; that I AM enough, I am complete in my passage.

There are more lessons on the horizon. The existential travel I experienced, while in her presence, reconfirmed my belief that I am just a part, a fragmentarily painted canvas. I have been in the dark, protected by universal love and have guided souls (who have done their work) into the light.

So, again the question: Am I the sum total of my parts or am I part of the sum total? The question is not important, the answer is not either-or. The journey is not limiting, the destination is not finite for the soul is the solution for "x".

What's Happening...Again?

What's Happening...Again?

I am a left-brain thinker. Information overload is nothing new as I pause and reconsider and then consider again the data which is being downloaded from the universe. Trouble is what if the topic
is not new? Where did I store the last discussion? Perhaps it moved over to the right side of my brain and I'm analyzing the creative aspect.

The topic which has me in a perpetual revolving door is why now.  Every exchange between a practitioner of metaphysics and me is validation. Same messages arrive whether through tarot and readings, palmistry or remote artistic renditions of my soul.

Why can't I just allow and bend to the universal will? Perhaps fear which translates to ignorance on steroids. I am ignorant of many things and I'm not embarrassed for my journey as laid out, deliberately avoided many of the junctures on my path. And here I am and if someone would just
inhale and blow in my direction, I'd reach my destiny.

It doesn't work that way. I am not a feather whose flight is determined by external forces. My body is in the way of my soul. My physical form contains DNA. I like who I have become.

But, I could like the person I have yet to become, right? Just because I've been practicing being me
for all these years, doesn't mean I have already experienced the final reveal.

The universal voices whisper, they are gentle and affirming. I am a Light Worker and a safe harbor for restless souls. I am tuning in to the earth's vibrations.  My compass is pointing due north and there's no denying what is on the horizon.

 Maybe it's time...again.

Rewind

Rewind

I am lagging behind myself. The facts have been preserved on paper. Some have been sent through the internet with no final destination, no letter of introduction or warning label. I just hit "publish".

Takes balls to send dissected pieces of myself into everywhere the English language permeates.
I guess I grew a pair as an experiment to determine my power. Little did I realize how freeing
it would be to share with no one in particular. Actually, I am finding the act therapeutic.

Tired and angry at not being respected, my revenge comes in the form of a carbon footprint which will never disappear. My words are in the cloud. They are my proof of existence and are the metaphorical fodder of future archeologists.

Looking at the dates of my collective thoughts, I have been jockeying for the lead position on this
track for several years. Now is the moment to solidify the fractured writings into a cohesive
published work.  In order to accomplish my goal, the writer in me needs to collaborate with the internal author.  I am ready to begin.

Not wanting your opinion is not disrespecting you. I simply can't risk any deviation from the original words. Carefully phrased word combinations represent my truth. The written word is an existential component of my spoken vocabulary. There's no ghostwriter here. When I read aloud my writings,
any intended audience recognizes me. That's the point.

Do I reveal the collection chronologically? Do I sever and regroup the thoughts? There is such a strong pattern carried through the years. I rewind and fortify my intentions. What I have written, it seems, is an instructional manual to my remaining journey here. There are reminders that commitments are not to be taken lightly. The timeline is fluid and forgiving.

This page (post) was not planned. None of my writing is planned. The thoughts are not mine but rather gifted through me as tools or signposts for you.  You have free will.  Be open and kind. Question
everything. I'll be seeing you.