The Little White Light

I believe everything happens for a reason. Mom said it, so it must be true.

I’ve decided to delve into the topic of past lives, I’m even going to get a past life reading. Why not? It’s not the first time, won’t be the last. My spiritual journey is a long one, and I’m willing to open myself to insights both meek and profound. It all matters.

Tonight I’m whittling away trying to think of three good questions to ask my past life reader. If there is such a thing(s). Three questions – is that enough? Too many?  I’m definitely over thinking this …

But all this thinking has me remembering so many of the odd, strangely beautiful experiences I’ve had – and I’d like to know why they happened. Mom would say they happened because they were supposed to. But I want to know WHY.

Like, the instance when I was 9 and I woke up early on a Saturday morning. Before anyone else, and the house was still quiet and still.  For some reason I decided to climb out from under the covers and perch my chin on the windowsill, just over the bed. I remember thinking I had never been awake so early before, I didn’t know what the world looked like at that hour.

I looked out onto the backyard, still covered in shadow but becoming increasingly light. The trees I knew to be green were still gray and hazy. Just under my window was a strawberry patch, looking down I could see the tangle of leaves and the intermittent white flower shining through. I liked looking at the berry patch, I remember the calm, happy feeling it gave me. It was healthy, green and alive. An indecipherable pattern of life I so wanted to figure out.

And then I saw it, the little light. A sphere so tiny it would’ve fit between my barely open thumb and forefinger. A glowing marble, a gumball alive.

Bright white and as electric as any bulb,  it emerged from under the strawberry leaves and rose up quickly, vertically, to meet my face in the window – and then it just hovered there for what seemed forever. I marveled at it as it spun and floated and yet seemed perfectly still.

I looked behind me to be sure my bedroom light wasn’t still on and causing a reflection. I looked beyond it to find a source of the light: a street light? A car head light? A lightning bug? But no. It was just as it seemed, and as impossible as it was, it still was that: A little ball of light that came out of the strawberry patch, hovering, looking at me as I looked at it.

I thought I would’ve been afraid, but I wasn’t (and I was a big ol’ chicken), nothing about this strange occurrence frightened me. The very instant I became okay with the idea of looking at it, it was gone. Zip. It flew away as fast as it came – but not back into the strawberry patch. I don’t know where it went, but I looked out that window until the sun was full in the sky and the house began to fill with the sounds of my family stirring.

And even then I tried to go back to sleep hoping to wake from the dream. But I couldn’t sleep again. I was wide awake and I had seen something I would never, ever mention to anyone. For some reason I knew enough to know that it wasn’t something to talk about.

Guess I finally found the words.

On Being Saved … from Christians.

I live in what many consider the ‘Deep South’, it’s a religious hot zone. You can throw a stone from my house and hit 17 churches (literally), but yet, we have to drive 5 miles to the grocery store. It’s been a real change for me, coming from Philadelphia. We had churches there too, but we had easier access to food.

Just this past year we all voted down here in the big GA to allow for Sunday Sales. That is, allowing alchohol to be sold on Sunday. Them ‘blue laws’ been in effect for as long as people can reckon. But now, thankfully, they’ve changed.

A lot of the argument was about keeping ‘The Lord’s day sacred’ and people didn’t want their small town to “turn into New York City”. Understandable. But I reckon, not many of these here good people been much further out than say, Savannah, or Atlanta. I really don’t think they know what the world is really like. They watch Fox news and shake their heads, load their guns and lock their doors. Then they wash it all away on Sunday.

Oh, Lord! Sunday. DO NOT go to the grocery store after 11am on a Sunday in Georgia. They have traffic police just to let those god-fearing good people out of the parking lots, and they head STRAIGHT for Publix and Kroger.  But I digress …

I like people in general, and there are lots of people to like in Georgia, even those that are seriously religious. I have no issue with anyone’s relationship with God. That is, until they tell me how I should worship. Religion is sprinkled in as easily as talk of the weather ’round these parts, and it’s a dangerous trek. I often avoid it, but sometimes it cannot be avoided.

For example, I had a customer ask me if I was “one of those crazy pro-lifers who liked to murder babies.” I had to calmly tell him I could not do my best work for him, knowing his political and spiritual slant. But he pressed on wanting to know, “But does your willingness to kill babies make you guilty enough to come up with good copy for my brochure?”

I said no.

He was willing to whore me out for my talents, even though he hated “baby-killing whores.” It was an easy No, Thank You, Goodbye.

That’s just one, small example of a self-proclaimed “born-again” man, with a family and a BMW, and a house on the hill, and a moral resolve that finds him at the bars around the Lake on the weekends. He’s been out there, doing what he says he doesn’t do, and he washes it all away on Sunday. So on Monday, he can stand at my counter and judge me.

I had a great opportunity when I was young, I got to test the waters of so many different faiths. I went to many different churches: Catholic, Methodist, Pentecostal, Baptist, Lutheran, Anglican. I even went to a few Buddhist temples and non-denominational churches just see what it was all about. I never got the chance go to Temple, maybe one day.  I took philosophy as soon as it was available in college. Then, religious studies. Sociology. I learned about Shinto and Hinduism and Taoism, the great Sheiks. No matter how much I studied, I could never really understand the differences.

People love God. They need Him/Her/Them/It. It seems to be as necessary as finding a reason for living, and many of us find God IS that reason. That’s a good thing, usually, until the Christians start telling me I need to be saved, and what it means to be saved and how life would be so much easier if I were saved, and how my soul would be guaranteed a place in heaven. If I were saved. And when I say, “I have no reason to be saved. I was born sinless” they gasp and turn red and don’t know what to say next.

The course teaches that the choice to judge is the cause of our loss of peace, and therefore when we meet ourselves and everyone else without judgment we will experience a release and a sense of peace so deep that it will be beyond anything we could possibly imagine (T-3.VI.2:1; 3:1).

And the bible says “Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” He also told them a parable: “Can a blind man lead a blind man? Will they not both fall into a pit? A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone when he is fully trained will be like his teacher. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? (Luke 6:37-42)

It’s all the same, isn’t it? Just in different words, at different times, by different people under different circumstances. Shouldn’t we all see all the books to be wonderful guides instead of words to condemn and separate?

I don’t need a church to be close to God. I have no need for ‘saving’ nor the need to think that I am correct about things I don’t understand. There are things in the universe I’m not meant to know or understand, and I’m OK with that. I don’t need all the answers. I just need to be a good person and practice what I believe, and allow others to practice their faith.

I don’t want to agree or find communion with like-minded people. Where’s the growth in that?  I don’t want a community of people all shaking their heads in unison. I like new thoughts and ideas. I want my beliefs and ideas to shift and change over time, I don’t want to figure it all out, and I don’t want someone to say they’ve done it for me.

I want to be allowed to have my thoughts and you to have yours. I want to relish in my holiness, like you do yours. I am not right, you are not wrong. We are more alike than different.

Don’t try to save me. I am not floundering. I am prospering and walking a different path. You go on your way, I’ll go on mine, and let’s wish each other safe journey.

What am I Worth: Family ties that Bind.

It’s not a question I ask myself all that often anymore. Only because I know the answer.

I know my value as a human, as a creative being, a lively spirit in this human world. I know myself to be law-abiding, a rule-follower in the strictest of terms. I know I have a personal, spiritual and social conscience – I know the difference between “right” and “wrong” and how those definitions can be blurred. The good thing is not always “right”.  The right thing is not always good.

I know my heart and I listen to it, though, it sometimes fights with the little voice inside my head – but mostly they play well together. I have strong convictions, but I don’t like to judge – so I often listen while others debate meaningless facts. I have a good life, I am loved, taken care of, successful in my career, I am a student of the universe and learn something new everyday. I am silly. Dorky. Resourceful. Patient. I am thinking about 28 different things while I answer your question. And despite all that, I am focused on you. I am the definition of a multi-tasker.

That’s the short list. And while I could go on for an indefinite amount of pages about what I am and my value, I realize that my “short list” is incredibly long for others.

If I had started this blog with “I am worth $120,453.55″  some people make sense of that better and like me for it or judge me harshly because of it.

Frankly, that’s about how much I’m in debt …

Maybe if the figure was closer to 1, 120,453.55 it would be easier.

Even now, in the great year of 2012, I find more and more judgement coming at me about my net worth than who I am as a person. Even after all the evolution, the lessons, the frank discussions, I realize: I am just a number. A figure. A sum.

To them, anyway.

Ahhh, The Infamous “Them”. There are more of those “them’s” than I’d like to admit. And every so often, their inadvertent gloating pushes my buttons. I’ll admit it, I am susceptible to the meaningless judgement of others. Especially when it comes from my family. Thankfully, God in all his wisdom, gave me a large family – I am blessed.

I’ve always held the belief that we are a close family, that despite our massive differences in ages and locations, we are a tight group. Part of me still believes this: the scared part of me who doesn’t want to see the reality of what has happened to our family unit. In actuality, we’re a family quite broken. And that fact, like so many others over the years, have been swept under the carpet. We all put on a happy face and send cards at Christmas – never really breaching the barriers, never really knowing one another or having clear, honest communication.

I don’t think this is a rare occurence. More than often, this is an awakening many people have – and it’s perhaps the reason for the demise of so many familial relationships. Once we “get a clue”, we get angry, bitter, indifferent. We let go of the ties that bind.

I don’t know that I want to do that, but sometimes I don’t feel like I have a choice. Afterall, I can’t change anyone’s mind about me. Their opinion is their own and it has been honed over years and years. And I realize, the only way for me to change it, is if I come into a large sum of money. THAT would give me new-found respect and admiration. I’d have a new beginning, I’d “belong.”

Money. Sad, isn’t it?

I don’t think I’ve deserved this judgement. I’ve lived a healthy life: I’m not an addict, I don’t gamble, I don’t have multiple children and I’m not on welfare. I’ve been gainfully employed since I was 13. I’m a college graduate, I own my own home, my car, I have a retirement fund, I’m engaged to be married to a wonderful man who loves me unconditionally, I excel at languages, writing, cooking, and Jeopardy.

I wish there was only one person in my family who thought I was a total and complete failure. But sadly, there are many. Even within a large family group like mine, it’s still close enough to sting. Because, I remember them too. I remember how they started, how they suffered, how they stumbled. And I still loved them. I never once thought they were less my family because they didn’t own a business or make a million dollars. It never even entered into my mind.

It still doesn’t. I guess I’m just finding it difficult to continue to accept the harsh judgements, words and actions (or inactions) because they have judged me unworthy.

I imagine the worst. I imagine they see me as the perpetually single whore, unmarried, barren and without children to add to the family dynasty. I imagine they see me as fruitless, without direction or purpose, floating around job to job, city to city. A wanderer, without a firm grasp on this planet, or on reality. I imagine they see me as irresponsible, ineffectual, that member of the family they hope won’t show up, because they think I won’t, or worse yet, can’t.

I’ve felt like that. I’ve allowed it. But none of it is true. My imaginings are my own worst enemy. And if they were here today, surrounding me as I type, I know they would fret and fray at my words. (At least I hope so.)

Will I admit that I am better than my current circumstances? Yes. I can do better.

Does that fact alone make me less than you? No.

Do I work on it every single day? Yes.

Do I struggle? No.

Am I worth what my family tells me I am?  No.

I know there is True Value in my family relationships – some of them are more challenging than others – and some of those challenges I may never “win”. If I never make my Millions, I’m still worthy, I’m still valuable.

But if do – watch out.

Share with me

You are here to be happy. Accept it.

It occurs to me that lots of people have questions about God. About Faith. About what to believe.

These are eternal unending questions, that can only be answered by you. Not by others. Not even a preacher,or a pastor, or a Father,  or a book, or a bunch of scrolls, or a woman wearing a habit, or someone waving their hands over a crystal ball.

Nobody can tell you what it is you believe. And whatever you believe right this moment is 100% correct.

You are never wrong if you have faith. Even if you have faith in nothing.

Judgement is the killer. It’s what separates us. Often, religion is the separator. Religion is a method to judge and separate. It’s as simple as that. It is it’s very purpose. If only we really understood that we cannot do it alone, if only we realized that it’s our togetherness that makes us strong.

But Wait! MY Religion has the word of God, it’s Righteous! It’s correct! I Know it is True! I Believe it!  I’m RIGHT, and YOU’RE wrong. 

That’s what ALL religious people say.

Doesn’t matter if you’re Christian or Hindu or Muslim or Jewish. We are ALL God’s chosen people, no matter how you identify yourself. No matter how you chose to align yourself, you are chosen. You have been BORN, you are ALIVE, you are CHERISHED and adored and taken care of.

You are ADORED.

That is the lesson to learn in this life: You are ADORED.

Can you feel it? Do you believe it? If you did, you would go about your day with carelessness. With frivolity. You would love every single moment that passed, and you’d be glad for it.

You’d look upon every human and see yourself. You would find love there, and you would share your adoration. You would enjoy the togetherness and expand upon it. You would adore one another.

And yet, we do not.

We find fault, fear, helplessness, despair. We find darkness. We dissect the disconnection.

I know nothing more than what God has shared with me.

Yes, I talk to God.

Alot … He’s pretty cool

… And he doesn’t mind talking to me even though I haven’t proclaimed myself a Christian, or Hindu, or Buddhist, or Catholic or  a Jehovah’s  Witness.

He just likes talking to me, I guess because because I’m open to him, maybe I have interesting things to talk about.

I have a direct line, I have no doubt about that. But so do we all. He’s there. She’s there. They’re there. Always up for a good chat.

Believe in the trees? They hear you. Believe in the ocean?  It listens. Depend on the the Bible? It’ll always guide you. Look up at the stars? They will never fail. Believe in Jesus? He is the Way. Jehovah? Likewise. Buddha? Krishna? Abraham?

Believe in something good, and you will follow a good path. Believe in something that moves your heart and stirs your soul, and you will always find answers. But you have to find it within you first.

And once you have it, you can share it.

And sharing is what it’s all about.

I’m getting old(er)

 

 

It happens to all of us. The passing of time eventually creeps up, sticks out his tongue and blesses some bitch with perfect skin.

Damn.

I have done a darn good job of staying ‘young’ for as long as I possibly could. But just today I did the unthinkable: I smiled at myself in the bathroom mirror.

The Horror!

Despite my healthy living, my regime of $100 beauty creams, the organic, cold-pressed coconut oil, my naturally oily skin, I have developed wrinkles. And they are not alluring. I do not look more ‘mature’ or ‘stately’. I just look plain OLD.

Fuck.

Of course, my first reaction was to go purchase more overpriced creams and emollients.

Maybe it’s just a bad, tired day (likely). Maybe I need more water (likely). Maybe I need a good, long vacation (very likely), or perhaps I should just succumb to the new lines around my eyes, and find a new definition of beauty (unlikely).  Grrrr. I want to look 22 forever.

I’m reaching around to 37, and overnight I officially look it. HOW did this happen??

Maybe I should just stop smiling.

2011 Photo Year in Review

Better late than never, right? Sometimes I don’t realize just how much happens within a years time. Here are just some of the best highlights. Enjoy.

Yamel celebrated his 1 year anniversary in GA

The farm grew lush and green

We enjoyed and explored our little town. The view from Toasted & Tapped, gone, but not forgotton.

Sisters weekend in Atlanta! Finally all together.

I mastered the art of Spanikopita

We dyed some beautiful eggs at Easter. Something neither of us had done in a long, long time.

We adopted little Ninja, he fits right in.

Spent a beautiful day in Atlanta

and got to visit with my friend Doug and my lovely Goddaughters, Hayley and Ashley

Yamel proposed. I said yes

Our Halloween masterpieces!

Got to visit with Mom, however briefly. It was wonderful.

Spent some time with my oldest buddy, Eric in Florida. Good times.

We hit Music Midtown, so fun!

Poor Ninja was sick, he had to wear that silly collar for weeks.

But Christmas was magical and everyone was happy and healthy!

The Dream

I’ve been dreaming about clear, azure waters. About being on an island, surrounded by crystal blue, begging to swim, but I can never quite get there.

It’s a frustrating dream.

I really need a vacation. And I really miss the ocean.

There are more reasons to take one than there is money. I’m willing to forgo that matter if it means I can get this dream out of my head – and finally rest.

But nobody else has the same desire, and I’m left with the horrible choice: do I not vacate at all? Or do I vacate alone?

I don’t like either choice.

I want to share my joy, I want to revel in shared joy. I may not get that chance – I may have to refine my dream.

Let’s see how that works.

To Be Determined …

The last few weeks have been more hectic than usual. After over a year of searching, Yamel found a job and is working full time. It’s quite the change. We’re spending much less time sleeping, much more time rushing, stressing, being tired and cranky. All for the sake of the added income.

It has yet to be determined if it’s all worth it or not. One would think that any extra income is worthwhile, but I’m reserving judgement for his first paycheck.

Of course, this new schedule comes at the busiest time of the year in my work. So while I’m stretched as thin as I can possibly get, I have the added bonus of his comings and goings and all of the implications. It’s taking a lot of sacrifice, a lot of extra special patience, lots of time.

His job requires work on both our parts. My 9 or 10 hour days are now 14 hours long. We’re up before the birds and my happy bedtime hour has been pushed back indefinitely. I have a hard time laying down to sleep without a good period of “unwinding”.

Especially now, with the gigantic job that we’re wrapping up in the shop. It’s about 1500 100-page books that should take a week to process and print and bind, but we have, like, 3 days. I’ve been having these massive panic attacks that I forgot something, that I missed something, that somehow I screwed up the entire job … and they come at 2am – when I’m desperately trying to get some rest. It sucks. If there was ever a time for prescription meds, I need an Rx today.

I’m really happy that I’ve been given the reins, so to speak, on this job. Though, I never asked for it. This is the largest account the company has, and I think, to my credit, I’ve made it easier over the past four years that I’ve headed the project. I appreciate the confidence,  I’m the only one who knows how and who is willing to even begin to organize a job this big. But I really dislike not having any oversight on something this important. There’s nobody to check my work, nobody to double check my math, or see something I missed. If I missed it, it’s fucked up. And it’s MY fault. And that means $20,000 to the company. Something I just can’t have on my head. I can’t even stomach the thought. Makes me want to puke.

I don’t think one person should be required to be so on the ball on everything all the time. Granted, I’m anal, I’m a perfectionist, I’m GOOD. But I’m not perfect. I make mistakes, I make errors, I have bad days. I fuck up. I just hope I didn’t on THIS job at THIS time. I don’t know what I’d do.

I guess that’s why I’m writing it out, in hopes it doesn’t follow me to bed. I need sleep and relaxation bad. But it’s just about midnight, and I’ve just sat down. And I have to be up in 5 1/2 hours to do it all again tomorrow.

…I read an article a little while ago, that I’m way to lazy to link to, but it was nurse in the UK talking about her interviews with the terminally ill. Perhaps you’ve read it?

Basically, it was a list of regrets from her dying patients, how they wished they had spent less time working, less time worrying, more time doing things they love, relaxing, enjoying, traveling. Being with those they love.

I am willing to sacrifice my comfort and peace of mind to pay the bills. Up to a point. But I’m going to have to weigh the stress level of how I feel NOW to being a few days late with the cable bill. Lord knows I can drop it. But can I drop the stress?

Working to live? Living to work? I’m feeling a little caught up in the rat race, and I don’t care for it. I appreciated Yamel when he wasn’t working, the time he spent making this house a home, the meals he cooked, the care he took. I never for a moment took for granted coming home to his smiling face after a terrible day – I miss that face.

I miss the relaxation I felt when I walked in the door. When I cam HOME to him. Away from it all. Now, all that stress is in him too, and I feel bad that it’s there.

I can’t have it both ways, can I? Time will tell – I just hope it hurries up and lets me know. I don’t have any to waste.

It’s a Miracle.

We can’t do it alone. If we were meant to, we’d all be living on our own, private island.

We live amongst others, we are a social creature, we form packs, bonds, families, circles, groups. We have friends, even when we don’t know it. We are surrounded by people we barely acknowledge, but really, really need.

This is the beauty of this life.

It’s the miniscule, everyday, the monotony. That’s where the miracles are, that’s where the holy instant is. It’s in that tired haze, that sweet exhaustion, when perceptions really shift.  I think it takes most of us to go to extremes to get back to basics. Silly as it is, we seem stupefied by the simplicity. At least I am. But that’s all it takes: be aware. be gracious. be alive in the moment.

I have a lot of experience with this, but even I forget from time to time. As a reminder, I keep a hand-painted sign over the door in my bedroom: Expect Miracles.

I don’t read it every day, most days I forget it’s there. But some days, those really hard days, I remember and I look up, and I say a little prayer of thanks and I truly believe miracles are waiting for me when I step through the door.

It’s like walking though a weightless, beaded, hippie curtain. The kind that tinkles and chimes when you brush through it. When I break the threshold, I imagine a great and wonderous light pouring over my shoulders, encompasing my entire body, empowering me, blessing me as I step though. It’s a moment of pure conscious creation.

That’s all it takes.

I need to look up more.

I have to remember my faith. It’s paramount in this life, paramount in the process of belief and creation. Faith is the very thing that leads us back to us, back to our creator, back to our ultimate root.

This is why I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone. I’m blessed to have a relationship that renews my faith in people, in love, in life and in the power that I have in creation.

I expect miracles. They are but an eventuality of all I do, think, say and believe.

What a mess!

Every time I have guests in my home I feel it necessary to scrub and disinfect every surface. To vacuum until the lines in the carpet are perfectly perpendicular, until every mote of dust on the baseboards and every stray corner cobweb are abolished. I am the definition of anal.

But I’m not always. I let my bathroom sink area crowd up with makeup and brushes and bottles and ointments and perfumes until I have to clear a path just to brush my teeth. I’m busy during the week, and when I’m running to get out, I don’t see the clutter and confusion.

But when company comes a’calling – I see everything with new eyes. The ceiling fan is disgusting! That wall next to the stove is splattered! The fridge has fingerprints! Where did those scuffs on the floor come from?? Aaarrrrggghhh! And so, what begins as a simple “neating up” turns into a free for all.  A whirl of bleach, sponges, Fabuloso, dusters, Fabreeze, Windex, Comet … open the windows! I seriously don’t care if it’s 42 degrees outside!

And then, just when I start running out of steam, I take a look and realize … I’ve made one HELL OF A MESS. Of course I have to move ALL THE FURNITURE. Of course I have to vacuum twice, because NOW I have to steam clean the carpets … and the bedding must get washed, oh, and every blanket and towel in the house. Damn, I hate it when I miss one.

I must be the messiest cleaner in the entire world. And I certainly make WAY more work for myself than necessary. Nobody will care if the stove top shines or the windows gleam or the sheets are Downy fresh. But I do. It’s a small pleasure I get, the moment when everything is back in its place (however fleeting) and all is serene and clean and perfect.

It never stays that way. But, for those 20 minutes I’m in freaking love.

For we must eat, and to eat we must cook and to cook, we must drag 1001 ingredients from the fridge and spice cabinet. No matter how carefully I chop and saute, there is always a piece of onion on the floor. The stove top get splattered with olive oil, that pain in the ass roasting pan and rack must be cleaned again … arg.

It’s a never-ending process of making things clean. Or, at least, cleaner than they were.

I’m just glad I don’t have surprise guests who want to use my bathroom on a Wednesday. That would be embarrassing. So while I can, I’m going to try to keep up with the beast that is the mess of daily life. Or at least battle it on weekends.

Something tells me it’s a futile effort.