Here I am.  Stripped of all of my roles, anonymous and unclothed.  It is a strange freedom that is both terrifying to the marrow and as seductive as new love.  The canvas is stark and white and waiting.  I hesitate.  I listen.  The noise of my mind rushes in to fill the gap, to ease the silence.  But I am at home in not knowing, living with ambiguity has become a blessing. The doors are open and the dark beasts roam freely.  We dine in open air splendor without a care.  What was once hidden in the black of the abyss becomes seen in the light of day. How long I have waited for such a stripping of myself, of the holy layers of my human life?  This intimacy is succulent and ripe.  Surrender.  What will be left after the splay?  Oh so many deaths has this one life been.

The wheel is turning and I am still.  All of the attachments, identifications, and inflation are fed to the flames of the eternal pyre.  There is no knowing left, no fixed constellation of Self. I navigate by intuition, leaving behind all of the volumes of ‘ what to do now.’

My historical self as fictional as any notion of separation. The moment holds no then, or when, or even why.  This is the terror that the sleeping face and deny.  Swallowed by the embrace of mortality, of the fleeting truth of I.  Even the solid is on closer look a dance of space and molecules.

I wash the dishes and sweep the floor, make the beds, and wash the toilets.  Liberation has never been so sweet.  I am taken in and out like a long breath, like Sat Nam on a Sunday morning.  My current guru’s are new to the world and filled with wisdom and truth.  The two year old told me yesterday that my job was to “love them.”  She knows my work in the world, she knows why I came and why I stay.  To her, I am simply her Santima someone who mysteriously appears and disappears, just like we do.

This contentment fills my body until the last twelve months of my life disappears into the archives.  Without this faith that carries me across the water, I would have drowned before I ever spoke a thankful word.  My beloved how deep the well of my love, of my gratitude…

Santidevi

The View From My Tree House

I have come to realize that my feet are mysteriously linked to my heart, for,whatever my heart desires my feet are sure to follow.  I do believe they are equally responsible for my wanderlust and gypsy nature, for conjuring adventure against reason.

I leave Denver by way of a 17 ft. u-haul trailer, a wing and a prayer.  My daughter Adrienne once gave me a card that read, ‘when you have come to the end of all you know, there will either be ground beneath your feet or you will be given wings to fly.’

I have come to the end of all I know.

I reduce my belongings by two thirds and now live quite simply in 500 sq. ft, my version of monk’s quarters.  However being a bohemian means that it’s hardly austere.  My abode is a 1920′s tree house with a wood burning stove and a deep soaking tub. I am a half a mile from Lake Washington in Seattle, with a commanding view of Mt. Rainier.  The forest surrounding my house is thick and overgrown, the kind of place where small creatures and children like to hide.  This place is reminiscent of my beloved Ireland and all the things I love most about it, the water, the smell of the air, the winding roads and emerald paths…

There is something inside of me that has always been drawn to the unknown and foreign.  My senses and intuition are heightened in unfamiliar places.  I am challenged to let go of my prescribed sense of self, of all the places and people that give structure and meaning to my world. It lends a perspective that is humbling, stripped of  all personal identity save human.  In a city where I know less than a handful of people I have an anonymity I have never experienced before, and it is both unsettling and liberating.  Where I was once a chapter book, I am now a blank page.

Who is this woman who has left all she has ever known?

Who I have been feels remote, like a lover distanced by time and space. Yet I feel the faintest breath of my former self surface when I bathe, right before I awaken and sometimes when my mind gets still.  She is a chrysalis hanging mid-air.

I knew my heart would ache for my children, that I would miss my family and friends beyond the bearable. I knew that I would be challenged to the marrow to create a new world void of streets as mapped in my mind as the lines on my hands. How was I to know that simply knowing whether to turn right or left was so critical to my sense of confidence and comfort, or that I would feel so skinless?

My saving grace is my ability to surrender to the moment, to allow every thought and feeling to evaporate, to relax into my own vulnerability and emotional pain.  Sitting with uncertainty has become my practice.  Beginner’s mind, I allow myself to be the newly born. I am the ‘observer’ in this new life, the perpetual witness. I have the grace of continual connection to the subtleties of my inner experience, to the richness of solitude.  When I travel alone in foreign places I feel a quickening, a deeper level of expansion and a release from all the limitations of my conditioned mind.  Strangely enough I feel most at home when I am not.

The winged part of my nature loves the freedom of spontaneous movement, of the discovery that comes with the unknown.  It is not easy on my human psyche, on the part that needs to feel anchored.  Anchored to what?  My bold move has awakened the primordial fear of my mortal and impermanent existence, of the transiency of my life.  This is what has been lying deep with my unconscious mind and causing such a tsunami on the surface.  Nothing is permanent.  This is the lesson I learn once more.  But there is beauty in the brief, in the unrepeatable moments that come and go, that compose this delicate weave.  I drink my coffee, watch the morning light caress the surface of the lake, and bow to the mysterious forces that flow through my veins…

the mantra forms in my belly, an embryo of it’s own making.

dissolving once again and the soil beneath me slips away.

tethered  to this world only by the beat of my heart.

i am scraped clean, and splayed into the freedom of nothingness.

the gypsy north wind is blowing and my skirt rises to a cloudless sky.

my beloved keeps my pulse steady, and the mystic in my eyes.

no more checking my Self at the door, my elevator world comes to an end.

the smell of the earth, naked skin in the sun, a growing absence of I.

i fear not the losses, a string of

pearls plucked from the sea.

i have grown old into non Self and now there is no mortality that paralyzes my earthly bones.

i  can endure the red, black and white, the fire of the eternal One, but not a moment

without you.

awakened in you i doth not sleep.

feed me your tender kisses my beloved, and lie inside my body this night.

there is no me with you.

santidevi

There is only you, and you in this little inhale of a life.  What’s truer than my love my beloved, than these salty tears that fill my heart.  What is truer than this fire that burns me white ash and rain, that tenders my spirit?  What is truer than the devi that makes love to me, that whispers my name in unspoken tongue.

Who am I in this flesh and bone?  I am a body of grace licked clean, sweat and fear rising out of the nebula of my womb.

Oh my darling, shining, white haired child, that dances naked feet and twirling.  You are my ‘ I Am,” picking wild grown wonder out of thin air.  Rooted in the soil of my body, despite the holocaust.  You still peer out on a mystical land where lions roam, oh sweet and feral innocence.  All I am, I Am.

The red balloon takes air, small perfection and blue sky.

I am here, here I Am, my waiting so near.  Braille beneath my fingertips, encoded in my like the memory of Ireland and Mr. Devi and the man at the door of room 105.  The Spanish flute song that serenaded my thirst.  I feel you in me like the fluids of my body coursing.  A hum of you on my lips, your baby skin shining luminous in the half moon of my belly.  Arrow left you said while you slipped into the life that left with the sun.  Dubai…

What is left in this thin pulse and yearn?  My Self grows translucent and the stones are stacked, desert cairns… and the only way home.  My hair touches the ground.  I sing my chanting soul, cell by cell resurrecting Eve, my lady of Guadalupe, Danu, Kali Ma, Hera, Quan Yin, Magna Dea, and the holy of the holy… Salvation.

Wake up, wake up the light is shining.  I am listening my Beloved, I am bowing, fill me, fill me.

This was written in the process of yoga, movement, breath, surrender, cellular memory, tears, and joyful reunion.  Thank you Hawah for your gifts, presence, self inquiry and seva.  I am so grateful.

love,

Santidevi

http://www.everlutionary.net/

People from all walks of life have come to be in the presence of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, to listen to his message of a stress free and non-violent global society. A simple man dressed with a smile, and robed in white.  He emanates a playful spirit, that is completely animated and peaceful. Sri Sri Ravi Shankar has done the seemingly impossible, uniting and awakening humanity across the planet.  He has crossed religious and cultural barriers with the open heartedness of a child and the wisdom of a saint.

I have come to meditate, to experience his divine presence.  I am unable to sit comfortably in the chair, and so I decide to go to the back of the room and sit cross legged on the floor.  I close my eyes, my breath deepens, my mind becomes spacious. I am home.  He speaks softly, his words are simple. There is a harmonious and melodic quality to his voice.  I suddenly feel the pulse quicken at my ajna chakra, my mind becomes instantaneously one pointed, the boundaries of myself dissolve into the vastness of my being, and I feel the transmission of bliss.  When my eyes open I realize that I am sitting directly in front of Sri Sri.  I smile, he smiles.

A little girl, no more than two, is dressed in kundalini white. She has a little fountain of blonde hair on the top of her head, and a box of red panda licorice in her hands.  She is behind the table next to me and is giving Daniel, an “Art of Living” teacher, a piece.  Pure love.  In my mind I say, I want a piece of licorice too!  She immediately walks around the whole length of the extended table, she has heard me! With a radiant smile she assures me that she is on her way. Her soul is shining, she looks into my eyes and  says, ” I am going to give you one.” Her perfectly tiny hands reach in, and she pulls out two.  ”I am going to give you two, she forms her fingers into a peace sign.  I cup my hands as they fall.  Then she turns around and walks back to her mother. One human being giving selflessly to another, this is seva, this is love.

Real truth is merely love, that which cannot be defined, that which is ineffable.  His holiness embodies and transmits this love with great humility, sincerity and grace. He is a uniting presence, bringing forth the innately Divine nature of humanity. Every human being longs to know, through their intimate experience, who they are. This is the yearning, the desire that is the catalyst for awakening.  Is it any wonder that we gravitate towards those who have actualized their potential, their true nature?  We refer to these people as holy because they have become the living truth, love.  There is an absence of suffering, an abiding peace and joyfulness in their being.  How is this possible?  What allows them to experience this?

Simply, they are relaxed. In relaxing we naturally enter a state of expansion and awareness, a state of receptivity and acceptance. There is a sense of spaciousness. This spaciousness accommodates whatever we experience with equanimity.  When we relax the breath we relax the body, when we relax the body we relax the mind, when we relax the mind we experience liberation.  The conditioning and habituation that normally defines our thinking, our perceptions, and our behavior is no longer predominate.  We are now able to respond to life authentically, with spontaneity and ease.  Effortlessness arises out of non-resistance. When we relax we become our natural meditative and awakened Self.

I invite you to experiment with relaxation as a means to “realization.”  Make this your everyday sadhana, and practice.  See how this affects your life.

Love,

santidevi

Inchaqin waterfall

One of the things I miss about being at home is doing my laundry.  So I head to the local coin-op, where I meet Michael a local actor who instructs me on how to use the machines.  He invites me for a beer while our clothes are washing. We cross the street, to PF McCarthy’s pub but not before stopping to scratch a black and white cat that stretches its back in anticipation. One is never short on friends immediately made in Ireland.  We chat about this and that as if strangers we’re not.  It such a relief to just communicate as one human being to another with absolutely no agenda or pretense.  He came to Kenmare over ten years ago from Dublin and never left. County Kerry has a powerful allure.

I feel so completely alive and at peace.  Kenmare in gaelic is Neidin, which means, “little nest.”  It is nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains and natural beauty that leaves one speechless.  My body feels so different, so easily lived in.  I have taken to driving on the left, being opposite from what’s “right,” it suits me perfectly!  I listen to the Chieftains and wish I were driving in my Mazdaspeed with its Bose system. I take the Ring of Beara road,  I decide to take a short cut over Priest’s Leap. I see not a single car, it’s just me and the height fearless sheep who are undaunted by my four-wheel maneuvering.  It is really more of a trail than a road, and I know Beau would be loving it.  This desolate land has a wild, rugged, and untouched beauty. Whatever lives here does so purposefully.

Castletownbere is a working port town with brightly colored store fronts and homes. It has become a mecca for spiritual healers, body workers and alternative healthcare practitioners.  There is an eco-health store that carries much of what we have in the States.  I source a small hardware store for a traditional fisherman’s cap for Beau. The keeper is just closing up to go to a funeral, in fact the entire town seems to be going.  A processional is walking up the hill, followed by a snaking of cars the length of the main street.  It is a sunny day, warm and windless.  I wonder who has died, and how they lived. Death is still visible here where cemeteries over look villages, and the dead share space with the living.  It tends to keep one mindful of the transiency of life and our own relative importance.  I buy grapes and fresh dates from the farmers market.  They have exceptionally good produce and my road trip wouldn’t be one without it.  Walking the dock I am transfixed by the color of the water, my personal favorite, fittingly enough, sea blue-green. The town is unspoiled by tourism, it is refreshingly authentic. People in County Kerry and County Cork always raise a finger or two when driving past, a custom I grew up with in rural Nebraska.  The gesture touches my heart.

The Dzogchen Beara Retreat Center in Allihies was founded by Sogyal Rinpoche he is the author of the highly acclaimed book, “The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. One of the reasons I have come this way is to visit their Spiritual Care Centre. “A place of respite in an environment of peace and outstanding natural beauty where people of all belief’s can come to rest, reflect and find meaning in life and hope in death.”  I worked years ago at the Temenos House, a buddhist inspired private care facility for the frail, elderly and dying.  It had a very profound effect upon my life. Witnessing someone’s death is a hallowed initiation into the mysteries.  Places of meditation, of devoted spiritual practice, lend themselves to those who are in need of inner quietude and contemplation.  I have always felt the importance for such places, so that we can consciously make our transition, and reflect upon and integrate our life’s experiences.  Looking out upon the sea, its nearly immeasurable vastness is the perfect visual metaphor for our immortal soul.  I cannot imagine a better place to feel the expansiveness of one’s own true nature than in this sacred haven.

View from the Spiritual Care Centre

I drive over the famed Healy’s Pass.  It is an eight mile switchback that takes you between the two counties.  The mountains are dusted in snow and I feel the temperature rapidly drop.  In the distance a heavy rain falls on umber hills.  The natural world has always been my refuge.  I feel whole when I am in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the elements.  I am a nomad, and it gives me great joy to wander.  I thought about that today while driving, and I realized there is nothing more deadly to my spirit than routine.  I revel in the unexpected, in those things I have never encountered, it calls upon my creative ingenuity, resourcefulness and imagination.  Since arriving in Ireland, I can actually feel the synchronicity unfolding, the coinciding of events, of immaculate timing. There is magic afoot and I am observing with a heightened sense of awareness.  The effortlessness of being here has given credence to any skepticism I may have had in regard to Julian Lee’s prediction.  He was absolutely right!  It has in every respect, been like coming home…

santidevi

A beach on the Dingle

Within minutes of the drive I see a sign that says simply, “stone art”.  As I whiz past in my left hand fast lane, I am commandeered by my inner voice and I promptly turn around.  An old forge, with a hand painted sign hanging on weathered wood beckons.  A man emerges with a blue and green knitted hat, and warmly greets me. One glance around the small half room gallery and I realize I have fell upon a master of the old arts.

Antonio Fazio in his element

Antonio Fazio is an Italian stone cutter/sculptor.  He came to the Dingle Peninsula by way of omen.  At 40 he was in Sicily and working as a photographer.  He was done with the narrow mentality of his environment, which had grown increasingly stagnant as his spiritual awareness grew.  A woman, a stranger, suggested that he move to Ireland.  He took that as the sign he was waiting for.

Antonio was initially offered a job by a local man but he told him his spirit would find his work, and it did.  One day he picked up a rock and a small hand pick and began to draw… that was in 1995 he has since done a thousand or more pieces that are now being purchased by collectors worldwide.  He is deeply awake, aware and spiritually guided.  We share our stories, our connection to the Oneness that pervades our experience.  The joy we feel in fulfilling our lives by way of our Souls desire. As I look into his eyes and he into mine the timeless unfolds, there is a luminosity to those who are in communion with the Divine. Our conversation continues into ever deeper terrain, when two young foreign exchange students from Italy and Spain come into the drive on their bicycles.  They graciously take our photo and ask us how we know one another.  We smile.

Antonio has brought back the sacred feminine image of the Sheela na gig. Academics cannot agree on the history and significance of her presence on churches, castles, and other sacred sites throughout Great Britain but particularly in Ireland.  Her origins are shrouded in mystery, but one thing is certain she has survived for centuries despite her controversial form.  She is naked, with exaggerated genitalia, she is most often seen spreading her vulva wide with her own out stretched hands, her legs brought up high, breasts swollen and or hanging.  The Goddess as maiden, crone, hag and fertility icon all in one. She represents birth, death, and resurrection in her purest form, the creative power of the life giving feminine. I am reminded of the yoni and its significance in India, of Kali in her fierce and formidable nature.  I see my Sheela in her sandstone perfection, carved by the heart of a man who has seen the truth.  I give him a deposit of a 100 euro’s…

The Dingle is steeped in the mystical, assembling artists writers, healers, and borderlanders.  The land is green and fertile, small flowers begin to challenge winters rule.  The sea water sprays on blackened rocks that reach jagged perfection, sand beaches, tourquoise water, and sheep that have no apparent fear of water.  I stop at the beehive structures, or “ringforts,” that have stood as they are for over 4,000 years. Living in the round is much preferred to our rectangular existence.  I imagine a skilled architect placing those stones in such a way as to survive the sea wind, driving rain and raiding invaders for centuries.  What will I leave that will withstand the ravages of time?  I continue to Brandon Creek, down a narrow road to a pier that warns against high tides and rogue waves.  I heed the warning and keep a safe but curious distance.

Dingle has ley lines, or straight lines that connect sites of sacred and ceremonial significance.  It is said that they stretch dozens even hundreds of miles.  It is unmistakably a powerful place, one I will come back to.

The road from Dingle to Killarney is incredibly scenic.  What I am most wanting to see is the Killarney National Forest.  I am hoping to make my way for a walk just before dusk.  Killarney is the tourist capital of Ireland, and thus not a place I have interest in exploring.  The park is entirely different matter with over 250,000 acres of lakes and woodlands.  I walk to the Torc waterfall down a path that looks surreal. The trees are wrapped in green so florescent that it is seemingly glowing.  The air is so fresh, the finest mist hydrates and renews.  The damp of the forest awakens my senses.  The earth has its own arousing scent.  It is in the woods that I feel at home, in my element, with my kin.  I know that I am being observed by unseen creatures, they watch, I listen.  There is a part of me that is completely feral who could disappear into the trees and never be seen again.

Killarney National Forest

The way to Kenmare is harrowing to say the least, I am grateful for my years of Colorado driving.  Mountains, snow covered and shrouded in clouds loom in the distance.  I arrive at the Brook Lane, a modern boutique hotel, exquisitely designed.  The interior is textured and has an eclectic sense of color and style.  Let’s just say I could live here.  I eat a bowl of unsurpassed seafood chowder at Casey’s, take a hot bath, light a candle, say my prayers… and dream of a life in Ireland.

Landing in Chicago, the city is blanketed in white.  We land on a runaway covered in snow and ice.  A two hour layover that turns into four.  I stare out my window seat and watch the world beneath me.  Drifts accumulate on the wings,  little tonka trucks shovel the impossible, while our luggage sits amidst the dropping temperatures and flurries.  I see a whole line of emergency vehicles following a plane that has just landed.  The wind is howling strong, and relentless.  I call to it, will it listen?  Just to be sure I knew I had been heard, it begins to form small dust devils, lifting the snow into circles of shimmering light.  I have seen it do the same with sand in the high desert, in northern New Mexico where the wind never tires.  A good omen. Everyone on board is anxious, it is a long flight and as I watch the sci-fi of the de-icing robotics I wonder if the alien green fluid will keep us from falling from the sky.  It is midnight before we are in the air, and the cabin grows quiet.

I arrive at Heathrow, a virtual maze of an airport, and a city unto itself.  I have been through here several times but it  doesn’t make it any easier to navigate.  I have less than 45 minutes to get through U.K. customs and make my flight on Aer Lingus for Dublin.  The interesting thing about time is the more you slow down, the greater its expansion.  I refuse to be in a rush, adventure will be had one way or another!  I consciously center my awareness on the fact that there is no where to be other than where I am.  This is how I choose to live my life no matter what the circumstances.  I arrive minutes before they begin boarding flight 165.  I sit behind  hollywood actor, Samuel Jackson who is easily recognizable and conspicuous in his ray ban black sunglasses.  I am relieved to travel in this world anonymously.

A short flight to the Dublin airport, exactly an hour.  I pick up my one “no worse for the wear” suitcase at baggage, grateful to the Gods that it is here and not anywhere else.  I exchange my nearly worthless American dollars for the upgraded euro.  I am on the road again.  I love nothing, nearly as much, as I love being anywhere I have not been before.  All the comfort of the familiar is erased.  I don’t know where I am going or how I will get there.  My immediate dependency on the unseen and the unknown is so keenly felt when I am out of my element,  it makes my surrender ever more sweet.  As I  listen to the symphony of languages being spoken, none of which I understand, I savor my new world.  I have always felt as if I was a foreigner, looking in from the outside.

I take the air coach to City Centre, the heart of Dublin.  I have a room for the night at the Arlington Hotel, a three star landmark with nightly traditional Irish music and dancing.

The Arlington Hotel

This I didn’t know prior to my arrival.  My room is simple with the only amenities I need, a bed and a bathtub.  It is now nearly 6:00 pm and I am starving.  I cross the Liffey river by way of the temple bridge.  No pub food, not tonight.  The Gourmet Burger Kitchen.  More vegetarian choices than I can decide upon.  Falafel with homemade chili sauce, raita, fresh tomato, lettuce and red onion.  Best burger I have ever had!  I wander down cobblestone streets, a brightly painted pub on every corner.

I venture into the Temple Bar and listen to soulful Irish ballads and pop hits from America.  When I enter the Quay Bar the men are gathered around the T.V. watching a football game and drinking beer.  I decide this is a good spot to have my first ever Guinness.  I guess I needed to go to Dublin before I indulged.  The bartender makes sure I understand that it has to sit before it gets its second pour and then once it has formed a perfect foamy head I am allowed ceremoniously to take my first sip.  I love the ritual of course but the taste is even better!  I end the evening at the Knightsbridge Pub adjacent to the Arlington.  The music begs my body to move, but no one’s dancing.  Hand clapping seems to be the preferred show of enjoyment.  Two young, spirited and dark haired beauties join me at the bar.  Anya and Barbara are longtime friends and spent a year living together in Melbourne.  We have an interesting conversation about the existence of spirits and the gift of sight, the economy, immigration woes in Ireland, the beauty of travel etc.  They give me kudo’s for traveling alone.  This gypsy is at home where ever her feet land.

The Temple Bar

I have always believed in signs, in synchronicity and otherwise magical happenstance. Whenever I have needed direction it has always appeared in an illuminating and spontaneous way.  Lyrics to a song inspire me to take a risk, words on a billboard answer the question I have been pondering, someone gives me the very thing I have been needing most etc…  I have learned through experience, that my life is being choreographed in concert with my purpose, despite my best effort at times, to derail myself. There is a constant resonance happening between my deepest longing, and life’s desire to fulfill it.  It doesn’t require effort on my part, merely an unshakable trust, and a willingness to suspend my judgement and fear.

This is what I love most about life, it is never certain.  I know your wondering how I can possibly be sincere in this sentiment.  Understandably confusing if you have read my past few posts.  Let me clarify.  Now that I have my bearings once more, I am remembering how valuable uncertainty really is. When I am uncertain, on some level I am aware of the immense possibilities pulsing just beneath the surface.  I am no longer trapped by what I know, but freed by what I don’t.  In the face of the unknown I am asked to surrender, to have faith in the beauty and benevolence of life, in the goodness of humanity.  To let go of all preconceived notions about what is and isn’t possible in the world. To possess the qualities of a beginner’s mind.

I have never been able to determine my course, which I am sure has been an act of grace!  I am simply taken to where I am needed most. Whenever I have tried to manipulate or control the direction of my life, usually through stubborn willfulness, I am inevitably cast to and fro in a abyss of self-doubt and misery.  Exhausting and overwhelming myself in the process.  Yet when I surrender to the prevailing forces, those that are intuitively trying to lead me, a sense of calm and peace ensues.

There is an immense joy that is arising as I relax more fully into this uncertain, but amazingly adventurous life of mine. This heroine’s journey is a mapless exploration, yet I am guided in a powerful and deeply gratifying way.  I seem to know I am going in the right direction, even when I feel  hopelessly lost.  The trials and tribulations, the obstacles, and challenges continue to be the catalyst of my character development!  In the ninth hour, when all seems insanely futile, and all for naught, the miraculous happens… I find my way.

It doesn’t matter what I do to earn my living as long as I continue to be who I am, to live with a humble and grateful heart.  I have awakened once more to what is of real importance to me.  It has been my true souls desire not to be corrupted by the pain and suffering inherent in human life but to live as an embodiment of unconditional love, compassion, wisdom and truth, to remain authentic, simple and childlike in my nature.  To live according to my highest understanding.  So let the north wind blow…

santidevi

How can I even think of discontinuing the work that has taken a lifetime or several to cultivate? Yet when I look at the numbers, the lack of funds in my account, the cancelled events, and the virtually empty schedule in front of me, I am ready to abandon it all. This of course is just my sense of futility trying to gain some momentum.  I cannot allow myself to be disheartened, I, nonetheless, feel cratered.  I have begun to deeply question whether what I do is of real value to others, whether or not there is genuine need for my skills. I believe with every naysaying cell intact, that despite all indications there has never been a more generative time.  I pray for strength, for the means to live in faith not fear.  In the midst of this Soul searching I get a voice message from a student, it was her birthday and she just called to express her gratitude for the help she has received, for the great work I was doing in the world…”the universe is absolutely going to support everything that you want.”  Then when I check my email I have notification that some kind and generous soul has donated $20.00.  Though I have tried to emancipate myself from my need for external signs or validation, I fully acknowledge my need for such encouragement. My life has shown me over and over and over again the limitations of my awareness and understanding.  Just when I think it is time to reevaluate myself into oblivion I am awakened.  I am given another opportunity to realize that every moment, every breath is vital.  Everything has purpose and meaning.  The divine, no matter how far I stray into the abyss of uncertainty, is ever present in my life.

We humans are unlikely to continue anything that doesn’t fulfill our expectations or satisfy us in one way or another. Whenever we invest ourselves, our time and energy in any endeavor, we want to know that it has quantifiable value.  We want confirmation that our efforts are not in vain.  We want substantial proof that ultimately it’s going to improve the quality of our lives, and potentially the lives of others.  This seems like a reasonable way to evaluate which experiences are desirable and worthy of our labor, and which are not.  The challenge however arises, when we depend solely upon our sensory system to be the agent of our analysis.  Our primary senses aren’t able to discern what is happening beyond their conditioned perception.  Our sensory input for the most part is based on prior memory and association.  We determine what is real and what isn’t, by our own relative and limited experience.  Our reality is a direct reflection of our individual awareness or consciousness.  There have been many times in my life where absolutely “nothing,” seemed to be happening, I was certain of it!  I felt conflicted and discouraged.  There was no real evidence of progress or development.  I couldn’t see the whole, wasn’t cognizant of the constellation of events that were taking place beyond my perceptual lens.  Countless physiological activities are happening in my body at this very moment beyond my conscious awareness.  Human beings are being conceived, stars are taking form and dying, species are emerging and becoming extinct all in concert with an intelligence that is beyond my own.  The truth is we can’t even begin to fathom the complexities inherent in our own epic and archetypal sojourns.

In general, we tend to be pleasure seeking, to desire satisfaction in lieu of dissatisfaction, and certainty over the unknown.  We gravitate towards activities we know we will excel in and avoid those that might be humbling.  Ironically enough, the most valuable, transformative and consciousness-raising experiences are those that frequently appear as burdensome, unwanted events, obstacles and challenges.  These life lessons can make us feel powerless, vulnerable and inadequate.  They can destroy our illusionary sense of control, our personal identity, and dismantle our core belief system.  This “dismembering,” feels like death, the one thing we are hard wired to avoid.  This process certainly wouldn’t qualify as “valuable” from the limited perspective of the rational or logical mind.  In fact, it would be viewed as self-destructive.  What I know, is that I have been absolutely liberated by traumatic events, by those experiences that I have ardently resisted and refused.  I know, that what I have endured this past year, the financial devastation, personal loss, and general instability are the seeds of my growth, of my expansion.  I have faith in what I cannot see. I have courage in the face of my own ignorance.  I have abiding gratitude even when I am self-pitying.  I embrace this uncertain life with all of its harrowing trials, the twists and turns. As my enlightened friend Billy says “there is always a shade tree and there are always friends.”