This was supposed to happen

 This was supposed to happen.

 I woke up with that in my mind today. It takes the sting out of unpleasant things.  At least in my mind it makes me feel as if somewhere, the script writer of it all, was totally planning that, and has something better in mind to add to the story, when something is taken away, and it's really painful.

 This was supposed to happen.

  It makes me feel soothed when there’s nothing else to be done. And all tears have been cried out. And what you held so dear, is nowhere to be found.

                                                This…

                                                Was…

                                                Supposed to happen?

                                                My mind laughs at this thought. And thinks it rude, and harsh. But there is something in me, that finds it very soothing.

   To say it to myself, gently, and kindly.

   The me that has a higher view, is the one saying it. 

                                                Someone on a hill who sees beyond the chaos of destruction, and the Kali energy that destroys, and takes away things.

 It is my way of telling God I trust his divine plan, beyond my seeing.

  This was supposed to happen, and if was supposed to happen, then I can somehow pick up whatever needs to be picked up, and rebuild whatever needs to be rebuilt.

                                                And try again.

                                                Maybe softer this time. So I know that whatever appears, is just a gift, that will, in its season, come, and in its season go.

This was supposed to happen. Makes me not feel as if I’m not pushing so hard against whatever it is that is happening.

                                                House blown away.

                                                This was supposed to happen.

                                                Wife left you.

                                                This was supposed to happen.

                                                Dog died.

                                                That was supposed to happen.

                                                Your boat capsized.

                                                And you had to learn how to swim.

                                                Family left you.

                                                That was supposed to happen.

                                                Sickness, loss, decay, death, life, luck, strength, weakness, power, wealth, loss, or gain. It was all supposed to happen.

                                                This. Whatever this is. Might be a really big this.

                                                Or a small this. Real small. But painful to you.

                                                Someone else’s this, might be huge to you, small to them.

                                                What ever this is.

                                                That is happening.

                                                As the wind howls.

                                                As storms blow.

                                                As life and death, and birth and decay happen all around you.

                                                As pain, and joy, and sorrow, and happiness swirl in, and out. And you say, with open arms.

                                                This was supposed to happen, and you let it go.

                                                This was supposed to happen.

                                                And you let it all stay, or go, as it needs to.

                                                And sometimes, while you’re living it.

                                                Everything inside of you screams the opposite.

                                                As you are face-to-face with something you don’t want to see.

                                                And you have to be with whatever the moment brings.

                                                And hold on, and let go, and do it all over again.

                                                But remember, and I say this to remind myself, to come up for air.

                                                This was supposed to happen.

                                                And something inside me relaxes. And I feel a sense of the tightness leaving, and a knowing. This life is school.

                                                So any thing that happens.

                                                Is learning you. Is growing you.

Is loving you.

And anything that leaves, is clearing away something in you.

                                                Making space for what is real, and lasting, showing you the place that untouchable by both pain, and pleasure, sorrow, and joy.

                                                That space.

                                                Remember that space, so that whatever happens.

                                                You can always find it.

                                                How beautiful that space is---that frames all the comings and goings of form, and how it animates it, and enlivens it. And how beautiful the form, and how beautiful the space.

                                                How beautiful life.          

                                                And death.

                                                Though, sometimes it takes a trained eye to see the beauty in both. The reasons for them coming, and going.

                                                The bigger picture beyond the happenings of it all.

                                                And sometimes life, and sometimes death appear before you Ugly in every way possible. So much that when we see it, everything inside us says no.

                                                And rightly so.

                                                And sometimes you may have to sit with those things, and be really close to them. And it can shake you to your very core.

                                                This.

                                                But it was supposed to happen.

                                                Remember.

                                                For that which we really are, does not decay, or die.

                                                That which we are is eternal.

                                                Beautiful.

                                                True.

                                                Perfect.

                                                Untainted.

                                                 If could write myself right next to you.

                                                Here, and now.

                                                I would hold you close, with whatever it was that was troubling you, and I would be with your pain.

                                                And sit with your sorrow.

                                                I would massage your feet.

                                                And kiss your bruises, and scars within your soul until they disappeared.

                                                And when the storm was clear enough for you to see and hear a word. I would ever so quietly whisper.

                                                Remember, this was supposed to happen.

                                                And God is good. All the time.

                                                Repeat this. And remember it.

                                                This.

                                                And then let it go.

                                                This breath.

                                                Was supposed to happen.

                                                That time you lost something very precious to you.

                                                It was supposed to happen.

                                                It was a gift, a hole.

                                                A wounded heart, aching, and bleeding.

                                                It left a space.

                                                So you could see that which never leaves, and never dies, and never fades.

                                                This.

                                                So that when it’s all let go of, as life gifts you the gift of letting go.

                                                You know.

                                                How beautiful, how temporary how soft, and ephemeral all the forms passing in front of you are. And how precious every moment is.

                                                And what a gift.

                                                So you makes sure to kiss each now, even the ugly ones, and embrace what they have to give you. And then let them be or go as the moment choses. And let your heart love them.

                                                Let it make you soft, and gentle. Let it make you love even more. Let this knowing open your heart and eyes to see the forms of God in drag, and free them by letting them be as they are. Loving them as they appear.

                                                And as we let life live us. As we let God is write his plan into our story.

                                                I surrender to the now that life brings.

                                                Knowing that this was supposed to happen.

                                                And we little ink blots are just a piece of the story.

                                                That’s supposed to happen.

                                                Thinking we are making things happen.

                                                But God is moving us.

                                                As he moves the wind.

                                                As birds fly across the world, guided by some divine hand.

                                                As butterflies migrate to warmer places.

                                                As ants seem to have some directive and compass as to what they are to do.

                                                Just as bees know how to make perfect honey.

                                                And birds know now to weave nests.

                                                And flowers know how to bloom.

                                                And trees know how to make shade.

                                                As birds are born with their own songs withing their own hearts.

                                                God sings through us, something. Writes through us, a song.

                                                And I suppose my song is just a simple note, and here, I’ll sing for you.

                                                A song about life, and death, and rebirth. And about the sun, and the rain, and all those things that are soft, and beautiful.

                                                Hold them close these now moments. Love those who are yours to love.

                                                And know what a gift this life is.

                                                Know what gift your heart is, to be able to feel it loving, and giving love.

                                                The forms that appear, and then go back to God.

                                                How beautiful it is.

                                                And how painful.

                                                Every time you open your heart and let in life.

                                                Your heart grows a little bigger.

                                                And every time you let the form go.

                                                Your heart trembles, wondering if it has the faith to love the space, just as much.

                                                And so…

                                                We live.

                                                And strive, and earn, and battle.

                                                Only to let it go.

                                                And in letting it go, we find.

                                                We are still here.

                                                You and I.

                                                God.

                                                Spirit.

                                                Existence.

                                                Love.

                                                Light.

                                                Truth.

                                                And just as is it all coming and going.

                                                God is.

                                                The I am.

                                                Behind it all.

                                                And I wonder….

If all this was supposed to happen. And God is writing us all.

Every bit.

  Then there’s nothing to be worried about at all. For the song is a love story, written within each of us.

Inscribed in all of our hearts long, long ago. 

We are all writing it together. As we find the oneness which we all are. 

 

 Bess found this video. And I found it comforting, and as I feel all of us are going through many painful things, and trying our best to keep standing.

 

 

 

 

                                               

                                                                                               

                                               

Pareidolia, two lights, my Father’s day post

Pareidolia my Father’s day post

So this was my view the other day in my tent. Waking up. It was so beautiful, popcorn, wave clouds. 

 

With the full moon too, the sky has been so magical.

The other evening, we didn’t make it to the canal during the day. So Bess and I took a moon swim under the full strawberry moon. It was so beautiful, and so magic. I wish my camera could take beautiful night photos. Because it was stunning. And magic.

A screech owl though, was calling back and forth to its mate that night. And Bess and I were glad to have each other hear it, while we were in our tents, because it sounded so scary.

It’s been a week since Father’s day.

And I thought I should post something.

About fathers.

How grateful I am for the fathering energy. The energy of love, and protection, and provision in my life.

I have learned that sometimes the father energy sometimes shines through ports unsuspecting. Through friends, neighbors, strangers.

In men, and women.

I am thankful for my own father, and though imperfect, I see he has tried his best with the light he had to see by. I am grateful for everything he has given to me, and taught me over the years. The lessons, the good, and the bad. The dark, and the light.

I am grateful that the father energy, this warm, strong, steady energy, though sometimes hidden to me, has always been there,  providing light, insight, and wisdom, for me to grow, and to learn from, and most of all, to feel God's presence, and steady hand amid all the heartaches and fear, and troubles that sometimes life brings. 

I am grateful for the sunlight of God's love that shines out through the darkness, helping me to see how beautiful God really is, visible or invisible. 

This spark of unconditional love is the only thing worth holding. This truth, is my treasure. And will always be.

How beautiful it is.

And the more you see it, the more it seems to show itself.

And so God sends us messages.

Little clues.

Light.

Last week my sister, Holly came down, for Father’s day, to visit my dad, and to go to Church here. While she was here, she also gave me a belated Birthday gift.

A yellow bag with sunshine related gifts. And a beautiful sunflower ring. Which was very beautiful, and more significant to me, than she realizes.

Holly, has always loved treasure hunting, and going out into the desert and following old Spanish markers, and clues, to find some ancient treasure. She’s even been featured on the history channel, so great has her passion and knowledge of treasure hunting. 

She often tells people she what she sees might just be pareidolia.

Where you find significance and meaning in ordinary things---where you see faces in rocks, and thing.

I too feel this way.

Not in the same searching for treasure out in some desert land, and finding faces in rocks, way.

But in looking for a different kind of treasure, finding clues, and meanings in everyday events. 

I know, perhaps it’s my way of staying afloat, in life---my ray of hope to see some sort of golden thread to follow in my life. To add meaning to things, and love it better.

To keep my heart open, and flowing, hoping to see God’s face, carved into every facet of my life.

Pointing me in the right direction.

The right path to follow.

Closer to that great cosmic heart.

Oh look, my heart says, another clue.

Another message.

Something for me to see, and decipher, to help me remember who God is, who I am, and who you are.

And in that seeing, I find there is something freeing, and a knowing, that helps me see others, and myself, and God, better.

So I record my findings. Hoping to gather in these bits of light, pointing me to a treasure that does not fade, or diminish with time.

Pareidolia, some might call it, perhaps. 

But it is a kind that keeps my heart shining. 

Where I believe that someday, if I follow the clues placed on my path, that the light will grow so great, that someday it will reveal the paradise that has been hidden from us.

The hidden markers usually found in plain sight.

There to for me to find.

To follow.

And bit by bit the face of the divine unfolds, in the most everyday events.

Markers found, clues, in the unplanned moments, and random words that flow from mouths.

Messages.

And so.

Perhaps my noticing of them, makes me notice them more. And maybe it’s something I’ve constructed as a way to keep some sort of magic element alive in my life. A bit of hope, of some greater scheme than the mundane, and ordinary things that flow in and out of everyone’s life.

So, I record the markers I find, and follow, the rainbows, and love, and the messages, and hold them close to my heart. Faces of God carved into my life, that I have found. And I write them down, carving my own markings for you to find, and see. So perhaps you may find a thread of your own, to follow.

To keep your own heart always open. Always hopeful in the best of yourself, and humanity, and in the divine surrounding us all the time.

Pareidolia.

A spiritual kind.

I find these things, beautiful.

And nourishing. And it makes me feel like God is just right there. Here.

All the time. And I do believe, that someday, when the golden thread has been found, and followed, and all the clues and pieces of this divine puzzle have been placed, and the fractured pieces of the mirror finally come together.

All the pieces we thought were broken, will be seen clearly. As never fractured at all. We just hadn’t had a high enough view, to see it.

And so.

Each clue, brings us a little higher.

A little closer to the place where see. Spirit, God, father mother, all of it, with love.

The oneness surrounding us all the time. 

Rainbows, speaking to you, because you noticed them, so God gave you more.

Gave you more, in so many faces, and people.

Yesterday, we had play practice from nine in the morning until noon. Our friend Amila took us in her car---which has air conditioning! Which was so nice. 

 Then when we got home, Bess and I had to empty the truck of all the sticks we had gathered from the windstorm in our yard, so we could have a car to get some Groceries. Because we’d put off going to town for several weeks.

So we went shopping, and found some lovely wood pallets Bessie can build things with. So we loaded the truck full of pallets.

At Ace, I went in search of two special kind of lights that go into blubs above the table that is at the Airbnb. The owner is away most of the time, so Bessie and I have been troubleshooting a lot things that need attention. This time two lights went out, and Bess and I found some replacements, at least we hoped the lights we picked out were similar enough that they would work.

 

Anyhow, as we got to the checkout stand, I asked a very open and exuberant boy, Name Cody, if he knew the lights we were purchasing would work, like the original. I brought one of the original lights to compare them with.

He wasn’t sure. And said he didn’t know anything about light bulbs. So he called someone in who might know. A girl, and she sat there thinking maybe they weren’t right.

Bess whispered really loudly that she thought the girl was wrong, and that they would work. Either way, I told the girl it was alright if she didn’t know, and that I’d buy them, and hope I could return them if they did not work, as they were quite expensive for two little lights, 12 dollars to be exact.

She said yes, and I noticed writing tattooed along her arm, and asked her what it said. She smiled, and seemed pleased I had noticed. And said, holding her arm so I could read it. “In your darkest moments,I was there.” Then she pointed out two little angel wings on her arm. She said. My dad’s ashes are ingrained into the tattoo.  

I told her I was sorry that her dad had passed away, and that he must have been very important to her.

She seemed as if she had felt seen, for a moment, and said he had meant a lot to her.

I thought it very beautiful, that a woman trying to help us purchase lights, would have a tattoo on her arm, that would denote that a father was with her, in her darkest moments.

To help her see.

Light.

And I do believe that our father, the divine light, is with us always.

I have seen it so many times.

Felt it.

Gods love is tattooed into our very beings, his ashes of love burning bright for us to see by.

The message.

I am with you, in your darkest moments.

And the beautiful thing was.

 

I was going to put off putting the lights in the fixture, until a later time. But I felt nudged to replace them, as soon as the groceries were put away. Bess came with me, and we rode our bikes to the house.

And upon arriving we both noticed a huge amount of water flooding the side of the house, and running down the sidewalk. Way too much water. I was very afraid, at first. I don’t know how long the soaker hose had been turned on. There was an automatic gizmo that had been programed to turn on at a certain time. It was a bit confusing and I was glad the owner of the house had figured it out.

Either way, it wasn’t working properly, and I was worried I had somehow caused it to malefaction in my comings and goings.

I was also afraid that it had been flooding the house for weeks--under the house. Worried that maybe that’s why mice were coming in the house. A lot of worries. As the house is under my watch.

Yet…

We replaced the light bulbs.

And some fabric softener that had run out. And the lights did work.

And I am so grateful the lights went out.

Because if they hadn’t.

I might not have found the water problem flooding the house.

So.

I called the owner, and told her what happened, and that made me feel a lot better. I was worried she'd be angry at me. 

But she was glad we’d found the problem, and I was happy that she was kind about it. 

So in retrospect. 

I am very glad two little lights needed to be replaced.

Because it made it so I could see the water flooding the house, in time.

In your darkest moments.

God is there.

The Father of us all.

God’s ashes.

And when we see the light, God lives through us, and is resurrected within our lives.

The divine Mother.

Cradling our hearts.

And when lights go out.

That too is a gift. For you to see other things by.

So know.

When lights flicker.

When they go out.

It's only because you need to see something else.  

Know every bit that his happening to you, is happening for you.

So you can see his your father’s hand working even in your darkest moments.

Keeping your house from flooding way.

I'm so grateful for light.  

My sister, and her son just stopped in. I was writing when I heard this beautiful bird sound in the hallway. I thought maybe a bird had gotten into the house. I had to go look, and found my sister and nephew with cute bird whistle. Hiding, waiting for me to find them. You put water in the pipe, and blow, and bird sounds flow forth. 

I cooked them some food, and I guess I better stop, to go see if they need anything else. Maybe go for a swim.