Candles on the Path

I regularly hear from some on the spiritual path “don’t intervene” it is not our role. But i ask, how can we not? It is not a moral question but rather do we really have any choice? For from what i see we interact with the all, yes intervene, every moments of our lives.

On the material level, most live in dwellings of some sort – of what are they built, are they heated or cooled, were the materials transported to where you now live? Do you drive or even ride public transit? Not only the fuel, but the vehicles themselves, and the roads they travel have altered the environment. Even if you walk or ride a bike, the paths you travel have been carved into the earth, and how many microscopic entities lay beneath our tires or feet. We wear clothes, and bathe. We eat food, (or some food “product”) which was grown somewhere, and the life forms that we consume add to our own. We dispose of our waste – even when we reduce our garbage for the landfill, we still all piss and shit. Even if we were to float naked and not consume, if we were to be alive we would still breathe – and every breath is inhaled into our bodies, and breathed back out – somewhat transformed from being inside – and the outbreath once again becomes part of the air that travels throughout the world. And in each breath we take, are parts that have been breathed in and out by so many other people and life forms, and through this we interact with the all, and part of you has become part of me which is returned to the world to become part of something else. we interact in order to live – and beyond the physical are emotions and thought forms which join into the collective consciousness. but even if you are not willing to acknowledge that, every physical action, our very breath, ties us to the greater whole.

So the question then becomes not IF we intervene or interact, but How.

What is a premonition? What does it really entail? Is it a vision of an event that is bound to occur or just of one of many possibilities to come? There are those of profound “life altering events”, be they for ourselves, others, or many around. There are also those that come calling up of seemingly small silly events. And when we get those visions, the small or insignificant becomes large and meaningful for it has entered into the forefronts of our consciousness. Often we label vision of unwanted or undesirable events as premonitions, and those that we desire, and that come true, as manifestation – is this really the difference.

Here i turn my attention to the premonitions of the “small” that we label “bad”. what does it mean to receive such a vision and then for it to manifest. Are we truly creating it? At times, but often not, or at least purely so. Those times when a stranger comes in, or something happens involving others beyond ourselves, and in my belief, we alone, did not call it to us – after all, no “I” is the only actor in the world.

Rather i believe, that a premonition is often a heads up – you could call it a warning, but that feeds into fear, and it is that which can make it real. For often what i have seen, is a single (vague) event, but not into the infinite beyond. In focusing on it, do i make it real and call its energies forth – perhaps, i do not always know. Or does my dread, or focus, call up actions and energies in myself that bring forth that specific possibility.

What if i looked at it as a heads up and nothing more. If i did not cling to it or try to push it away, but instead imagined how my highest self would respond. Just how would i react and bring in love and light into that situation? And in imagining and envisioning it, calling that energy forth, and thus possibly, a different outcome all together. The challenge might be real, perhaps inevitable, but in calling on the light, we can alter what is to come – and the premonition is god’s gift to us – saying remember me, do not fear, you have time now to prepare – to act and not merely react. And if our preparations are strong enough, the challenge might not arise, but does that mean we stop listening to that voice? The answer is ‘no’ – for there is no small thing, and we never truly know when we may be called upon.

A confession – the first of many i am sure. I will take notice and admit publically when i fall short of my ideals and hold the light within instead of shining it out. I do it often enough; often in small ways, but i realize there is truly no small thing – for all add up and make part of the oneness of it all.

Today is the first day of the year and already i have failed a test (again). I acted selfishly when i could have helped someone out. it was not convenient. it would put me out a bit. they had another way around, and so along with others i said no. i stay at a hostel in a dorm room. An older woman came in and wanted a bottom bunk, and none were available in this room. I have one of the bottom bunks, and despite the rickety beds and lack of a true ladder, i could have made it down in the middle of the night. But there was a co-ed dorm with empty beds, and so she moved downstairs instead. But i feel bad and guilty and know i did wrong, and the worst thing is that i knew it at the time.

If i truly walked in the light, i would have quickly offered mine up, been happy to help out, but instead i acted selfishly, and i’ll have more bad karma come back at me. I had an internal warning, time to prepare, for when i checked in three nights ago i had a feeling, and several since, that someone would move me out of my bed. instead of being grateful for the space i had, and then graciously giving it up to someone who needed it more, i clung on to what i had. i feel like a hypocrite as i act in ways i condemn in others – and again if i truly walked in the light i would not ask why me and not they.

It’s just a small thing i try to justify, but there really are no small things for every act contributes to the oneness that is all. And if i cannot be trusted with the small, then how can i be trusted with the great? it is not the guilt that will hinder my ascension, but the act that produced it. the oneness, purpose and joy that i felt today has now turned to making faces in the mirror, for i am not nearly as good as i make myself out to be.

But if i acknowledge when my light fails to shine, admit it, learn and let it go, i am shedding light on a darker place and thus helping the light to grow. and there are no small acts.

Sept 6, 2010

Today i start another journey around the sun, another year of my life, what will it bring forth? what do i call forth? i will no longer fear my hearts call, i no longer fear my hearts call, my soul’s yearning, my purpose on this planet we call earth. i embrace my purpose, my destiny in life. i no longer hide away and shirk back inside myself. i allow the light to shine on through. i thank god and creation and honour the spirit and soul in all. i engage with life and each moment, no longer trying to deny it when it becomes uncomfortable. i may not be perfect, i know i am not, and accept that is the human condition. and through the imperfection and grace of god i may shine, i do shine, i will shine, for a light is not to be hidden away but is to glow for all, and i seek to glow and fulfill gods will.
i listen, i do not argue, i train my ears to focus on the word of god, the angels song, the call of my soul and the beating of my heart. I train my eyes to see the spark of light in all, that divine energy of creation, the god within, and to help call it forth. I also train my eyes and ears and gut to discern, to discern what is really there – to reach for the light and not the darkness, to shine a light upon the dark, nor to smother the light with the dark (but also not to blind myself to anything) and i learn to tell the difference, especially when all is obscured in shades of grey. I learn to speak angel’s words and think thoughts of god – to feed the cosmic consciousness that calls us forth, and not to dampen it with negativity, doubt, worry and fear. But i also learn to speak the truth and seek the truth, even when i or others might not want to hear – to not hide my head in the sand nor strangle myself with silenced vocal cords, for i learn to discern. I learn to tell the difference from that which comes from within or from above and belongs to me, and that which belongs to others.
I learn to feel, to feel it all – the happiness and joys and sorrows and pains as well. i do not shove harmful or painful thoughts down or deny that they are there, but i do not let them take hold and overpower what is true. I learn to feel hope, joy and love, and i learn to love all the belongs to god, and that includes myself. I learn to give and to receive as well, aware of what comes in and what goes out.
I seek to spread the light and to accept it as well, for energy cannot be blocked. i learn to keep it flowing, and to flow myself, to let the divine flow through and within. I learn to be open, but also to discern, to have a center within myself – to feel the center that is there, and to listen, see, feel, trust in it. I learn to trust, to trust my intuition and knowings, to trust in life, to trust in god. i learn to love and i remember to smile. I take care of myself. i do not search madly but i seek and i ask and i put myself forth. i learn to put myself forth. i ask – i ask god to guide me – and i listen, watch and feel for an answer. I live lightly upon the land and i honour creation.

What is it that calls me forth and what is it that i merely use to fill an empty space? what is it that drags me down or makes that space grow empty, not in terms of making room, but of a dulling ache, in simple terms what are my true likes and dislikes, terms i have been taught to believe that we should not use. but what makes my heart truly sing? Yes, maybe it should all come from within, the flame eternally lit, but what is fuel for the fire, and what helps the fire last. what is just a piece of paper that will provide a momentary burst of light, but that dies down quickly, adding little. and what just smoulders, or suppresses the flame, and what suffocates it or douses it? Some answers come more easily, but in truth i know not what wood or other material to use. or where to base my fire, the hearth in which it may burn.
All too often i have believed that i should like something, or do so more than i do. like is not the word, for the absence of this feeling is not dislike but bland. and also i have felt wrong for having interests or calls that i do – listening more to the shoulds of outsiders, than to myself, and myself, well which self is that, for much has been incorporated into my beliefs, but not really to my heart and soul. but i do not hear the truth within as i listen to the chatter in my mind, the stories about who i am, the stories that i have created in my life.
In many ways i am like a young child who is exploring the world, figuring out just what is what, what is “good” and “bad” and indifferent. i have been like that at times these past weeks with my body as i felt it restructure for a while, but then i felt a return to a familiar – is the familiar truly the same as it was. but i would explore, and still do a bit, awkward in its form – how does something truly feel and how can i move around.
And i am like that here too, but also find myself returning to the familiar, going for what i believe i will like, often finding it empty. giving into temptation or is it learning as well? i guess it depends whether of not i keep on making the same or similar mistakes. Like tonight i spent money on dinner which proved to be not worth it, filled the stomach but i do not know if it really nourished the soul. And what nourishes the soul – and that is often the simple things, but i keep on going for the grand.
But was coming here something that feeds the soul or not? or was staying too long the not? for transformation has occurred, but can it last.
And why too often do i chase the emtpinesss, knowing that what fuels me will not endure, or really help me shine, but i do it anyways. and the harder i try to break away from the familiar rut, the deeper it becomes – for i am often not moving towards but attempting to move away.
As a child i learned not to pursue what i wanted, and then not to even state it. to go for second or third choice instead, not too too far away, but never quite it, and as i got older i became ingrained and i did not realize it, or told this story too many times but never rewriting the script. as a child when the family would travel we would go out to dinner, and i would often be asked what i wanted – italian i might say for it was one of my favourites, but then it would be – are you sure, not japanese or seafood instead and the options would be listed – i said what i wanted without examing them all, for it was what called, but then as the debate would ensue, i would begin to second guess my decision, oh you dont want italian, what is it you want, italian is fine but there is ….. and i would try to guess what it was that i was to pick since it was obvious my first decision was wrong, or was somehow not acceptable -to insist on it was to be selfish, and i longed for them to then tell me what it was. at the end we might go for italian, but i was so stressed by then that i wanted nothing at all, any hunger had been vanished and the treat became a nightmare. And i was asked when we were going someplace new “will it be good’ and i had to answer “i dont know” and the options would be listed again – but if i never had experience any of it, how was i to know, but somehow i felt i must, and if it wasn;t then i was to blame. if i thought it would be bad, i wouldn;t have suggested it, but the truth was i did not know. that game i have played with myself for so long, now filling all roles, and i have told this story so many times, but not altered its plot. How often have i not listened to that voice that “knew” – have i ever really listened at all – and how many times have i just settled for something else instead, or gone for the second, third, twentieth or thirtieth choices just to rule them out, to examine the options as i believed i must, and somewhere along the line the goal or choice had been lost, and how often have i not decided, because i feel that i “must know what will come” and i don’t. And often by the time i get the choice, i am so beaten down, stressed and exhausted, that it feels empty anyways, or it is insisted upon and all else turns sour and i regret having wanted it at all. and that voice being silenced or just not heard or getting stressed stops speaking, to the point i no longer know what calls. and all too often i do not have the support i need, the hand to hold, as i uncertainly walk down the road – for all too often it has been a battleground. or a choice at one time is held to be a choice for all, and if i made a mistake or a new discovery, i am held to the initial demand, like shrimp for chistmas which i would feed the dog, and they would come again and again after i asked for them no more.
but this is history, how do i alter the plot. how do i remove the anxiety and the panic attacks that come every time i try to take a step. how do i have faith and learn to see clear.
writing that i can feel the tension within, the molecules changing once again, the desire to go back and play endless games of solitaire.
and too often i have written about such things, and the writing that calls and nourished me at first ends up dragging me down. like a walk when i becomes an endless wander, or a retreat when it becomes hiding away, or travel and freedom when it becomes homelessness with no place to land.
And to turn the lens, to turn the lens. I cannot think it through, for i feed the story,. to feel it through, listen, trust, grow, fall, get up again, alter the lens. and to know that it is not one thing, and to know that i need not have a definitive answer, to have faith and quietude to hear the call, and then to follow it with faith. to trust in myself, to trust.

Happiness is a choice he says and in many ways this is true. and i feel his joy and see the sparkle in his eyes (well most of the time) and sense his upbeat attitude which uplifts the spirits of those around. unless…. unless…. unless…. it is being forced, and then i can sense the difference. for happiness is a choice, but in order to truly feel happy one must be able to feel, to truly feel, and to listen to the heart, and to make a choice. and to feel means feeling it all, the highs and lows and owning and honouring them, and not to squish emotions down but to transcend, and to transcend anything you must admit that it is there. And to hear your heart sing, you must be able to listen and to hear its call, to recognize it, and to hear when it says enough or no, not no to life, but to not honouring its song.
I choose happiness, but more important i choose to feel, to feel alive, and that means honouring the highs and the lows, not to be tossed wildly upon the winds, but to feel, but with a calm inside, a calm, a place of peace, which is so different from a deadness that muffles and mutes it all. To listen, and to honour that voice that is truly of the one, and to know the difference between that true voice, the song inside, and that nattering voice of temptation or what we call the devil.
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what memories do we choose? which come crawling up to us in the day or the night? which become part of our story, or become the story itself? And what stories to we choose to tell? and which pop up and become told, and we run with them, feed them, continue them and believe them? and how to let them peter out, words fading upon a page, without pressing them down so strong, to write in pencil, erase them, or pen, and scribble them out?
with memories it is all to often those that are sad or painful that reappear and become part of the story, part of my song – but why them and why not those that are joyful and bright, that encourage my lungs to open up, my heart, my soul and my light? Is it because the those experiences passed through easily, were lived fully and passed on through, digested and processed while the others were supressed and i tried or others tried to deny, or that all is temporary, and somehow i absurdedly believed that it was less painful to hold the sad for it was the low and to hold on to the joy i would only be let down? or that i did not believe in the happy times, that they were somehow the “false” while the other was so much more real? that the act of being brought down was harder than the being down in and of itself? i don’t know and does it really matter.
Today for some reason i remembered turning 13. and the story that i have told myself for so long is that of dad’s explosion, telling me i was not his daughter, that awful night (and as i type it i feel my shoulder tense, my stomach sink, my joints stiffen) and not going to the expos game and what followed. but then i thought of the tickets themselves, of the van frm chom or ckgm that was handing out prizes, tickets to grease, the games, those v neck tshirts, my birthday party which must have been a week or o before, the fun we had, i spiked the punch, dancing to grease, feeling happy, king tut by steve martin (my shoulder relax, my spine comes alive), feeling good. and why was that not part of my story – my memory bank. Because of the despair that followed – the belief that bad follows good, despair follows happiness – that it was an end of an era? but if i look, happiness comes again, and why can i not see that joy also follows despair, that that ends as well – and yes sadness ends cycles, but gives way to new, and why can not that be my story, i will make it my story
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i say i choose happiness but my actions betray me – what is it that holds me back – a fear of loss? – but of what? of my story perhaps – but what do i really have to lose? is it what i have invested in so – the time and energy put into it, the way that it holds onto my body? onto my soul? but could not i then be truly free. the loss of the known, of the familiar, but why do i need it so? do i need it, really? or is that but another story i tell? cannot i write new stories, stories to replace those that hold me so, and rewrite those that have been told so many times before.
for i also thought about another time, in ithaca or rather trumansburg a few summers ago, as i walked up the falls and remembered a story i had forgotten, or happy times with the family, walking up the stream down below, uncle ray on a sunny day, a meal in the restaurant where they recited the menu with many courses and times in the garden and fresh picked peas – and that moment was no less real, and perhaps even more real, than the sadder ones – and those that i had only imagined took place in that locale.
and as i type this my shoulders soften and my spine comes alive, away from the tension and jitteryness of computer spider solitaire, yet the other which leads me to zone out, in anxious obessive activity, that leads nowhere, has an addictive quality, and i know its nature but return to it, time after time after time, and even as i write this i am tempted, just one more game, but i know that flipping or clicking of the cards fuels me not, the little show when i win but a fleeting shallow joy. and i acknowledge what these feelings are, and how it feels in my body and what the body tells me – i listen more and more
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And i slowly learn how to feel, what it means to feel and what it means to allow. to be with it without the struggle, without the fight, without feeling, no believing, that i am all wrong. to know that a thought is not an emotion though the two are so intertwined, emotion runs deeper and is connected to thoughts and cannot be seperated at all.
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so i guess happiness is a choice after all – for i can choose what to think about – at least to a certain extent. I can choose how to feed my self but not always the events, i can feel sad, hurt, or angry, not fight these – try to snuff them out or pretend that they are not there, but i can choose the focus and the angle of my lens, and choose when to watch and when to engage – to be truly present in all – in the all – but need not dwell in it, and can choose what becomes a part of the neverending story of this life. what do i listen do and what do i tell. not the artificial rose coloured glasses of denial, but the flowers of life, flowers that blossom, bloom, and die down, but whose life continues on.
i look better when i smile, and feel better too.
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I choose happiness – or do i – to what extent is it a choice – or an easy one? how do you put down those thoughts and emotions that come crawling in without pushing them away or suppressing them – without shoving them – and how do you listen to them, discern the valuable parts of what is being said without feeding the downward cycle of self-agnation and fear. to listen to what is not ok and what needs to be changed, to listen the the whisper that says your heart is not being heard – and for that you cannot force down the other, for it pushes up as a reminder, as a reminder that you are not listening to something else. but the trick is that if you spend to long listening to the reminder, and get caught up in its blather, you do not have the space to hear what is true and what is your call.
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And how to admit that your heart aches without feeding the ache, to say you hurt without dwelling in the hurt? to say enough without giving up? for i feel alone, and in pain and hurt so much of the time. when it is time to make a move that voice and the tears call upon me, and in the morning when i lay in bed. and maybe that is it, they come up the most when i lay in bed or hide away not ready to face the day, and they lessen as i move on forward.
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What calls to me, what is it that makes my heart sing? i don’t consciously know though i am sure that the answer is buried somewhere deep within. how to access it, how to call it forth? can i hear it or am i deaf despite my oversensitivity to sound. or maybe that oversensitivity is part of the issue, i hear it all, the endless chattering away, the whispers that roar in my mind – but then should i not hear the other whispering voice – or does it, like me at times, just give up, go silent, when it feels that it is not acknowledged or heard, when it feels like it is talking into air or a wall. and how many walls have i built up – walls i thought that would protect, but which in the end, have only served to isolate, and cut off so much; they are not impenetrable, but are more randomly cracked and beaten through, not with gates that i choose to open up, or am i wrong – that i have allowed certain gates to open, while the keys to the others have been misplaced, or remained buried in drawers, now unlabelled and i am unsure as to what fits where; and i approach hesitantly to rusty locks, not pushing or turning to hard – do i fear that the key will snap and the door will remain forever shut, or do i fear that i will be able to throw it open; and like the keys the doors are unlabelled, but if i approach i listen i can have an idea of what lay beyond, or imagine, but for some i must have faith. Faith to open and walk through the door to the unknown. but there i some doors i yearn towards, and turn away every time, some that i believe will not open for me – is it the idea of one door into heaven? but i cannot keep staring at the wall, trapped in a tower of my own creation, trapped when i know that i hold the keys to be let out. am i like a little girl in the fairy tales, waiting for a prince to come and save me, or desiring one to hold my hand as i climb on down the walls – and it is that outstretched hand is crave – but has it been there before and i have failed to see – is it there right now?
i choose to feel, i learn to feel, i learn to listen and walk to the light. i make mistakes and i learn and slowly the light and joy filter in. And i learn to touch the hand

Just when you thought you processed something through, something comes up to remind you that some of it still lingers inside. And your irritation with others remind you of stuff/shadows you hold inside.
I lay quietly in stillness and feel compassion for my boss who does not value the staff/volunteers/slaves (work exchange for place to stay) for i acknowledge the times that i have not valued all who pass through my life assisting me (and know that there are others who still do but i may not see) and i forgive and feel. but then i go out, interact with him, and the irritation arises once again and the serenity becomes less serene as my moment of clarity returns to the messy human realm that includes myself.

Everytime you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing. ~Mother Teresa

I gave myself that gift the other day. To meditate with a conscious smile is wonderful experience. the smile adds another dimension to the process. I participated in a group meditation last week with a focus on the heart and on the smile and i felt the light growing within – and inner joy. The smile remained with me for several days and the world smiled back as well. I found that certain thoughts do not enter in or stay around for long when you have a smile. I must remember to consciouly smile more often.
　

A smile costs nothing but gives much. It enriches those who receive without making poorer those who give. It takes but a moment, but the memory of it sometimes lasts forever. None is so rich or mighty that he cannot get along without it and none is so poor that he cannot be made rich by it. Yet a smile cannot be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen, for it is something that is of no value to anyone until it is given away. Some people are too tired to give you a smile. Give them one of yours, as none needs a smile so much as he who has no more to give. ~Author Unknown
　
　

Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.

- Buddha

　
There are two ways of spreading light; to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it. ~Edith Wharton

Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires. ~Francois de La Rochefoucauld

I have not been keeping up this blog, making it a forum to shine light forward to all. I had taken an absense and my voice still struggles to come out, so i decided to share so words that others wrote.