God's pockets

 

 Dear blog,

I had such a headache my last blog post. And my solar plexus area was paining me so much, I'm baffled I had the energy to post anything.

 A week prior to that headache, I had another sizable headache that had me vomiting outside my tent. I think I was going through some cleansing crisis, or am still going through. Either way, I felt awful. I felt zapped of energy. I felt so tired, and so ill, I didn’t want to move from my bed at all.  

Bess and I are now taking some liver pills that have dandelion and milk thistle, which seem to be making both of us feel loads better. And I felt like they gave me back some of myself.  I feel like this song, right now.

 

 

Last month was wonderful, and wonky, and weird, there were some really flaming hot energetic hot potatoes that felt like they landed at my feet, that I had to hold, without tossing back at anyone.

In Bess's words today, it's like people keep trying to stand in front of the sun, and eclipse it, while charging you a fee to stand out of the way for something that should be free for everyone.

Either way, a headache brought me back sleeping inside. I thought it was strange how a headache was the thing that got me sleeping outside in the first place.

My sister, however, said she was going to sleep inside, last night, because it was so cold. She keeps going back outside into her tent, though. She can’t stand sleeping inside, anymore.  When it’s ice and frost outside, it does put a damper on things. Whoot………..Okay, never mind, she just popped her head in my bedroom. With bright, happy eyes, she said she did sleep outside, her nose got cold, but it was lovely. There was frost climbing up her tent walls. She put her dog in her bedroom so it wouldn’t get cold. But she put herself outside. 

Oh heck. I’m laughing now. She loves the energy of the ground. I too, love it. 

Though, I think I might have to move to a warmer climate, because I tried sleeping out on one of those freezing ice nights, and my nose, and throat got sore. So….hmmm. 

I don’t know what kind of fabric my sister is made of, but I think the earth stitched her soul and body together from mountain streams, and great rocks, and all the seven wonders of the world. The great wall of China, the pyramids, and the grand canyon lands, with all the Indians and warriors of old, with the spirit of horses, and fields of grain, and wild berries, and tree spirits, and all the songs of the birds. 

 Someone must have downloaded her with earthy wisdom, because she is like the embodied spirit of the earth.

This was a different sunset, but still beautiful.

The other day we were on a walk, as the sun set. The sky was smokey from farmers lighting their harvested fields on fire. 

And it seemed the theme, as our neighbors were burning weeds. Bess noted that it was wonderfully autumn, unashamedly autumn.  And I had to agree. The smell of rotting apples, and leaves, and smoke was in the air. The earth felt alive even in its dormancy.  It was very hazy, and the sun was peaking out through the smoke, making it red. We passed by our swimming canal of summer, and thanked its empty basin for all the fun we had. It had a few inches of water with piles of brown leaves sticking to it.  

The farmers had just drained all the ditches. So we were officially saying goodbye our long season of swimming. We had kept on dunking ourselves in it to the very last day they emptied it. It had gotten so cold, it felt like we were swimming in fire. And we could only last a little while before our bodies felt like they were turning into ice.  

One very, cold memorable swim, was one evening, when I felt as if I had too much static, and needed some clarity. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, I just biked to the end of the field, and jumped in, as the evening darkness pushed in. 

The water was so cold, that I felt fire shoot up my spine, and it felt strange, and good, and I felt like I’d been thrust right into that moment, for my body was thinking I might have jumped into the arctic ice, and might perish. My heart was beating fast, but I kept swimming. When I got nearly to the end, I paused. 

There was a great horned owl perched on the head gate. I stopped, and watched it, and it watched me. 

We both stared at each other.  I lingered longer in the icy water than I had intended, because it was such a beautiful moment. The owl silhouetted against the darkening twilight. I wondered if it could teach me what it knew. Before I had a chance to ponder any further, I got out, and it flew off. I was especially cold. I felt the cold seeping into my bones, so I booked it for the house, and jumped into the shower to warm up.  

That was the start of the cold swims. But mostly in the sun. So we didn’t freeze---as much. Our swims grew shorter and shorter the colder it got, until we just jumped in, swished around for a while, and then hopped out, because we could feel our limbs turning into junks of ice. It really made us feel alive, and woke us up when the day felt stale, and our minds needed a reset. 

Anyhow, back to our walk, we thanked the canal for the lovely season and continued walking. 

We walked and talked, and made our way to the river. Where my sister promptly lay on the ground, by some beautiful pampas grass, and grabbed a rock. She lay on it, and said it felt great on her head, she was able to use it for pressure points on her neck, and skull. 

 I did the same, and we both tossed our shoes, and watched the sun set, while using a rock as our pillow, and quite enjoying the sensation of the rock, and pressure it provided on the back of our heads. She was right, you could get various pressure points, and it felt relieving. I liked the rock I had laid on, I wanted to bring it home. But, sadly, my pockets were too small, and I didn’t want to carry the big rock all the way back home. 

I then decided, because I was wearing two jackets to put the rock under my jacket, and grab it through my outside pocket, so that way, my hands wouldn’t get cold. After a while of walking, I realized it was getting heavy, so I let go of the rock, but it stayed right where it was.

         Curious....

 I thought it quite strange, so I lifted my jacket up, and saw, that underneath, I had secret pockets that the rock had found its way into, and it fit  perfectly inside this inside pocket. 

I laughed seeing the rock snuggled there.  

God gave me pockets I didn’t even know about. I was so pleased, I felt like I had a been given a great wonderful gift. Hidden pockets. 

Thank you! 

Pockets that my lovely rock found its way into. 

Sometimes I think this is how God works. You find something, and you have no idea how it’s going to work, so you just pick it up, and carry it for a while, and then, like kangaroo, God gives you exactly what you need. 

Extra pockets you had no idea existed.  

I think God must have hidden pockets everywhere.

A secret space. 

Sanctuaries that no one knows about, until you need to find them. 

Places that are perfect for the rocks you must carry. 

Spacious places that will find you when you need them most. 

And here, as the world seems more chaotic. Do not despair.  

God has pockets. Everywhere.  

Pockets, for his papyrus to be hidden in. 

Places for stones to rest. 

Pockets of light.  

Pockets of truth.  

Pockets of wisdom. 

Pockets of love. 

Pockets in places no one would think of looking. 

Pockets of peace, and pockets of joy. And pockets of laughter. And pockets of goodness. 

Pockets of warm even in winter. 

Pockets of sunshine. 

Pockets of green in the frost. 

They are just hidden---places where egos cannot find them, for good reason. 

 For as darkness pushes in, and twilight shadows are seen, and wars start, and some end.  

We all grope around in the darkness, knowing, somehow, somewhere there are pockets of light to be found.  

Pockets where we remember who we are. 

Pockets that will lighten the load of whatever it is we are required to carry. Pockets holding all the tools we need for our journey, built like a trap door to enter, and exit when needed.  

Pockets where everything God holds dear, is contained.  

Pockets of peace to be found, in chaos and destruction.  

There is nowhere, where God’s pockets are not found. As God is the ultimate seamstress, a perfect weaver of all things. A sewer of all wisdom, and all goodness, and all stories.  

And sewn into every fabric, and in every fold, there is woven a golden thread, with pockets for you to put your hands into anytime you need, to draw out inner strength, and inner light, and inner knowing, and inner truth that cuts right through the ego's illusion.

Pockets to unseen realms.

Pockets of God. 

Pockets even in the most darkest of places. In the middle of battle. 

In crumbled buildings. 

Pause.  

Pick up the load you carry. 

There, you will find the inner place, where all is carried, and held. 

A pocket, hidden within your own Holy land. A place that holds all the relics of God, that can’t ever be pillaged or plundered.  

Pockets filled with soul-stuff.  

A pocket, containing your own Holy city, a golden gate, that wasn’t built by human hands, and only God’s hand can find it.  

Who will stop wondering their wildernesses, and pause, before their own temple mound, and start singing where they are at?

Who will find the pocket of God---a stich in time, a seam, a fold, that if you fall into, you will never forget where it's at.

This holy city. 

This pocket. 

Anyone who tries to strike to take, or plunder, this pocket, takes only from themselves.

If someone comes to take from God's pocket, sparks fly, like steel against flint. And a fire ignites that burns away, and purifies, and transmutes everything that comes against it. And everything is turned back into God’s fabric, into holy energy, God’s metal.   

Darkness ceases before this place. 

Violence is given no more bodies to inhabit.  

War is given no other place to war against. 

Before this place, ignorance vanishes and knocks on no other doors.  

Here it is purified. And before God’s pocket, death dies. 

And peace is inherited as your birthright.  

Inner peace is where we create the grid that will light the world.

Where the only battle to be fought, is one of surrender to the highest king. To the highest element, to the highest power, that does not crumble, and does not age, and does not ever get destroyed. 

No ego can understand this place. 

A kingdom, hidden within every soul. 

A place that is revealed, one pocket of truth at a time. 

As we all make our pilgrimages, searching for this pocket. 

Be still, and pause, even in the chaos of the outside realm, you can find God’s hidden pocket within you.  

And if you can’t find it, wait, it will come. If not now, look for it in words, or books, or nature, or sky, or in music, or in your own eyes. 

It’s been woven there. You will find this thread you when you need it, and it will lead you to your most vast precious pocket. Your heart. And once you claim that space, it claims you.

Peace is your birthright.  As is the pocket is is contained.

It can’t be fought for, only allowed. 

It makes its bunkers in unassuming places, in children’s play, and it hides itself in stories, and music, and any place where it is welcome. 

It takes no sides in politics, nor dwells in any one hut, or house, or country. It owns no land, nor claims no space. 

It is the space, and waits for someone to un-pinch their hearts, to let it in.  

It holds no religion, or claims no practice.  

It only knows union, and those who know that space, that pocket, dwell there, even as the outside world crumbles in on itself. 

And so, as the world reels two and fro, fighting for God’s land, those who know what I’m talking about, gently pause, and know. 

Only, that which is given is yours to keep.  

You just settle into yourself. And God will settle into you. 

That which is inherited, will be as near to you, as hidden pockets within your own jacket.  

They are there, these pockets, sewn into you. You just might have layers that others have added, that you have to let go of, in order to find them. 

 You may be unaware of them. 

But they are still there, and always have been. 

Pockets of peace. 

Pockets filled with beautiful hidden treasures, you forgot about. 

Beautiful, spacious pockets, for you to put your hands into, to keep warm, to hold you, and reveal what they contain, when the world needs it most.

Pockets that eventually take all that is made out of its same fabric back into itself.