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.