In my wacky world of the perfectly imperfect mirror, it has come into my realm of understanding that a bigger piece of our gratitude be reserved for those angels, ANGELS, who make contract with us before this whirl around the coil, to show us the uglier aspects of ourselves. The people that hold a brave mirror to our stinginess of spirit, our irrational behavior, our unkindness, our dishonesty, our disregard of the integrity and power of our words.
Rumi has a beautiful poem about this phenomenon called the Guest House.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
~ Rumi ~
Perfect, right? I even wrote something similar under my pseudonym Hermes Alchemist.
where.
god visits in different forms--a stranger, a virus, a lover, a thief.
where were you the day you mistook passion for greed, lust for love, horror as beauty?
where were you the day you turned god away?
where.
~pieces of hermes alchemist
We must constantly challenge ourselves NOT to take things at first glance. Things are NEVER as they appear.
As one might of surmised from my writings of late, I have been going through a spiritual epiphany of sorts which, if at any other time in history, I would have been committed to an asylum as a raving lunatic, been driven into the forest, or been revered as a saint.
But because we have been raised in an era of suspended disbelief and virtual reality, we can imagine impossibilities simpler times would not have allowed.
This Age of Information coupled with my familial history of ecstatic and fanatical religious zealotry (Cotton Mather--Scarlet Letter and Salem Witch Trials--a grandfather; Saint Louis IVX- brought the Weimaraner back from Egypt--a Grandfather; Sea Captain William Shurtliff, the first person struck and killed by lightning in Plymouth Plantation--while holding pregnant wife's hand-- she and child did NOT die--Grandmother with Grandfather baby... on and on... we are freaking modern day Harry Potters, all lightning charged DNA; my familial history of Knights Templar, Rosicrucian, Illuminati, Knights of Malta, Oddfellows, Freemasons, Improved Order of RedMen (?)---and a familial history of seeing beautiful castles and mountain tops at death--lets just say I come from a fine bunch of coconuts...) That and my having had three massive concussions to the frontal lobe, which has shown to have an effect on those with predisposition to psychic phenomenon. CRAZY.
This has accellerated as we hurtle through theAge of Aquarius, as I have had visions and dreamwalks, quantum leaps in learning and understanding the architechture of information and the integrative nature of all mythos, and clairvoyant, shamanic journeys (my cousin is having them too...). It's been a challenge to remain functional while also juggling the very real unreasonable situation of trying to remain alive in a system broken in its capacity to provide healthcare or fair lending practices.
So these were the challenges of late. These would be a full plate for anybody. Add in a decade of unexpected computer, phone and cell breakdown, it drove this Miss Daisy to distraction.
So what would add to this current miasma of "uggh!"? Hey, Little Idiot... fall in love for the first time in your life.
Now THAT is a healthy environment to foster a sane, healthy relationship... right?
Let me just preface the next bit with, I am fiercely independent. That's why it's been so easy for me to be slippery in the realm of love. I've had no expectation of anyone for a definition of who I was, and I've enjoyed the flexibility of the lone wolf. Sure, this comfort grew out of decades of fear of letting anybody in for fearv of hurt, but I grew very okay with my solo walk. Until this certain person walked into my life at the worst time, with issues as big as mine, in an equally awful time for him.
I was clear from the onset that I am used to excelling at most everything I do, but in the realm of the heart, I was completely unversed. I am committed to learning, insist on independence for both parties, and was willing to learn to speak a language that would work for us both. But in my current pre-fetal state, asking me to speak the language of relationship would be like asking me to understand Britney Spear's success. Some things just baffle me. Bu I was committed to learning.
Sounded good until my current phone/landline/computer crash which had me getting bounce back error messages for every text or email I placed to anyone, my voicemail not accepting my password or allowing reset by ATT and my complete loss of all contacts three times in two weeks.
Apparently the emails were getting through, as well as texts, and any time I updated Facebook, it came up as a text message and email. So suddenlty I am Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction and I have completely smothered this poor guy in messages and endless texts. I honestly didn't know that any of them had gotten through.
At the time I was heartbroken at the thought that he would think me that obbsessive or desperate. Now, I just find in hilarious that he'd think that I could exist in any kind of relationship that wouldn't allow for PLENTY of room for the wind between us. Love is like oxygen--let's get high a while, sans asphyxia fetish...
In a perfect mirrored world where our issues are played out by loving angels, to show us our reflection, oft times a really ugly reflection, well it takes a very loving being to carry these shitty messages to us.
I am so committed to learning how to be that person independent person for an equally independent somebody. For me to be that person, I need feedback BEFORE it gets to the point where it is problematic for someone. I don't know if this will work for me either, but let's find out together and if it doesn't fit, let's hug and say thanks for the time til now, and go on toward our individual happinesses.
I hope to God I am given the chance to prove my sanity or at least a sort of charming, disarming and never alarming world view that includes and insists upon independence.
I may have poisoned this well, but I hope not. I really like the guy, I really want to learn the rules of relationship, and hey, this world CERTAINLY doesn't need anymore poisonous wells, right BP?
So, anonymous one, mea culpa mea culpa **lash!!** ooohhh... nice, uh I mean, I extend the rose of stupidity from me, the second little idiot from CT (Moby, you will always be first...). I hope can be friends, lovers or... Fuck John Mayer, friends AND/OR lovers... no ifs, and or buts. Nice but, btw...
Let's make music.
The Music We Are
Did you hear that winter’s over?
The basil and the carnations
cannot control their laughter.
The nightengale, back from his wandering,
has been made singing master over
all the birds. The trees reach out
their congratulations. The soul
goes dancing through the king’s doorway.
Anemones blush because they have seen
the rose naked. Spring, the only fair
judge, walks in the courtroom, and
several December thieves steal away.
Last year’s miracles will soon be
forgotten. New creatures whirl in
from nonexistence, galaxies scattered
around their feet. Have you met them?
Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning
in the cradle? A single narcissus
flower has been appointed Inspector
of Kingdoms. A feast is set. Listen.
The wind is pouring wine! Love
used to hide inside images. No more!
The orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.
Nothing can stay bound or imprisoned.
You say, “End this poem here and
wait for what’s next.” I will. Poems
are rough notations for the music we are.
Future Music? You decide.
"I wish..."~~Into the Woods.
