“Think on This…
. . . to meet the disturbing factors with as much joyousness as if they were bringing pleasure in the material sight, will alter . . . much in the heart and mind of the seeker. For that which is is a result of the thinking of individuals as related one to another.
Reading 610-1”
Hmm. I remember when I could do this and I could say this and I could really mean it!! I truly lived it. It wasn’t fluffy self-help garbage nor delusion. Today, as I read this in my inbox, part of me said, “YES!, Remember that!?! Yes! Do that!” Another part said, “Oh Bullshit!” It also muttered some choice curses. A part that I think is probably closer to the truth recalled how such things termed heavy now were pretty much the same, though different and I had that Joy, I wasn’t tired, I wasn’t as afraid. I wasn’t clinging with my teeth gripped onto a last shred of stability. I am smiling to have shared a few of these views today, out loud. I think that being positive also means sharing how things really are. I think that many of the nudges over the last few days from friends, strangers, and even enemies are my Higher Power nudging me a bit. I notice in my now kvetching to God about fruffy messages and all the hard work I’ve done meaning shit, IS AN ATTEMPT AT COMMUNION with my God. I am at my worst when I am out of that communion. I avoid it as I do not seem able to do it ‘properly’. THIS AVOIDANCE AND PERFECTION are danger signs for me. The invisible police attack and fine me. They tell me not to bother, and that I have other, perhaps better, or worse things to attend. I think God knows what I am screaming inside in frustration and in despair. I also think that I forget to ask. Forget to share–ok avoid sharing that which will seem like a rant, but is truly my real life. I can’t survive pretending it’s ok. I can’t survive by moving back toward the If Only This or That, THEN I will have joy, be ok, be grounded, have balance, find things that please me, fill in the blank.
The joy of seeing the nudges in the things that others write, allow me to borrow them, when I cannot do it myself. They remind me of what I did do, what I CAN do. They provide me with an open window that I cannot notice because I feel trapped inside a ‘house’ where I insist that the doors are all closed. I thank one and all for this sounding spark.
Elisa's Spot 