Threshold of Tradition

     I like the word "threshold".  It's the perfect visual introduction to this story.  Being a published poet, blogger, painter and pianist, I am always stepping through my comfort zone and trying something new. This time "the something" new is ages old.

     Beyond the five senses, there is a sixth-intuition.  The debate surrounding it is familiar to most and is a victim of religious interpretation. I have come to understand that the intuitive realm is the conduit to universal wisdom and I'm standing in the shadow of the door frame.

     Why I am here now is obvious.  I am in denial of "the me" I know and "the me" you suspect you know.

     Holiday traditions are waning only to remain in the conscious memory of who I was.  I am beginning to hate the contradictions between my inside self and outside self.  The pretense must give way to a life of purpose.

     For me, the holiday traditions were never a perfect fit.  I understood the fairy tale quality of them at a very young age.  Guessing that the ebb and flow of family gatherings relied heavily on the elders of my family, it was a natural progression right out of the obligatory celebrations when I was a single woman, void of responsibilities.

     Crossing my path, again when I married and raised my family, those traditions resurfaced. Another generation indoctrinated. But I didn't know then what I know now.

     That gut feeling is tied to survival. I am surviving in the communal sense of belonging and deciding whether I want to continue to belong to what is familiar.  I don't think so. My journey has been redefined. I have questions. What if the individual is just the messenger? What if pre-destiny interrupts one's purpose? What if that little voice is tied to the infinite universal voice? Do I listen?

Free will and the reincarnate soul. Trusting that the convergence of messages will direct me, I will continue to do and be who I thought I was to a lesser degree and meditate and network with those who are like minded.

     My future is not here- which is not surprising; my past wasn't here either.