When we call out to God and ask for answers, if we are quiet enough, we will get them. Unfortunately, we don’t get the big voice from the sky while standing alone in a field (this would really work for me) and Jesus doesn’t literally show up at our door to talk things over. “Yes, I got your message the other day and was in the neighborhood. Why don’t you brew up some of that fantastic coffee I keep reading about in your blogs and we will go over everything!” Wouldn’t that be fantastic?! Ah well, maybe when we pass on. Until then we have to pay attention. We are dealing with the Spirit world after all.
I had a couple strange days of internal struggle and other events. It’s the first time in ages, but I struggled with myself in all my occupations. I wondered if I was really a good friend after all, if I was a good parent, if I am worth my salt basically. I haven’t had these thoughts in so long I felt like another person. Then a family member called one night and we cleared some things up in a light way, but it was needed. Then a friend called last night and I had so much fun talking to her that it shook me right out of my mood. I felt great. This is partly how the Universe works. You’re sad, in pain…someone is usually sent to comfort you or give you some message.
Today I rose and feeling better, I spent all day organizing my cupboards and cabinets and uncluttered. I then went into my weird thoughts again. I was thinking about my past and how painful it had been, how much I have truly suffered in my life (some self-inflicted I will admit) and I still am wounded. I sat on my bed and I held my mother’s photo in my hand first. I ask her to help me with some things in my life. I know she’s with me right now. I had a photo up of her the other day and I took it down to replace it with Arjan’s photo. I was really thinking of her because I’m writing my childhood memoirs and this is probably why I’m such a mess…dang it!
The next day Bali comes to me with this really nice, classic photo of her when she was pregnant with me and he puts it on the dresser. I don’t think much of it until the next day when I get a package filled with stuff from St. Joseph’s Indian School. Now, I donate, but I have never, ever received anything from them. My mother did, though. She donated to them all the time and they would send her dream catchers and blankets. This was my mother’s thing. We have a trace of Indian and she was into it. I realized that this was her way of communicating that she’s here. Strange right? I’m writing the book about us, she and I, I’m having issues with it and because of it and here she’s showing up.
Sounds crazy? Maybe. So, I talk to her photo. Then I take my old victorian Jesus picture and I sit on the bed and I beg for a healing. A big, fat healing to detach and feel the joy. Later my neighbor sends me this quote without having any clue what is happening over here in my little hut, she just thought it sounded nice;
without mud, you cannot have a lotus flower. without suffering, you have no ways to learn how to be understanding and compassionate…. happiness is the lotus flower, and the suffering is the mud. the practice is how to make use of the suffering, make use of the mud, to create the flower, the happiness, this is possible. ~Thich Nhat Hanh
Amen! So, there it is folks…the other side communicating the old fashioned way. I love it. We are never alone.