Finding the magic
Hello, love. Welcome to my very official first blog post. Thank you so much for being here. If not for you, I would be talking to myself. Again.
I have to say, I am thrilled out of my ever-loving mind to be right here, writing and connecting in the heart with you, living inside my dream. I will be sharing here about love and life and the pain in between, from my first-hand experience, that which is true for me. As, my whole truth is the only real gift I can ever offer to anyone.
The thing is: the soul craves truth. (And also meaning, purpose, creativity, and fulfillment. But who is counting.)
Actually, it demands it.
Like a boss.
Our soul is constantly commanding us to come home to our truth, spitting out all falsehoods that we have unknowingly created about ourselves, like a baby refusing that last spoonful of green peas with disgust. She speaks the truth to us in the unspoken, in Her not-so-subtle way, to let us know when we are off track. When we have abandoned the reality of our inherent nature.
That gnawing discomfort we feel—the depression, the anxiety, the hole, the lack, the shame, the permanent loneliness, the guilt, the not-good-enough-ness soaking our every cell—that is our soul (or spirit or higher self or God or both) tugging at our pant leg, like a toddler with extremely urgent news, letting us know that we are far from Her. Alerting us that we are so very far away from love, and from the truth of who we are as a creative, infinite soul.
She is begging us, down on Her knees, inside our pain, to wake up and become aware of the perfection of our internal guidance system: when we feel like shit, we are out of alignment with our eternal truth.
We are loved. We are good. We are whole.
We are the Beloved, a heart beat of the One Heart, an extension of Divine Love/Source Energy.
All else is simply a big misunderstanding. (Can you imagine the tragic irony?) Made-up human stuff. But the real stuff of our addictions and codependencies and narcassism and general suffering. The imagined stories created by the mind of a vulnerable child about her separation from love—based on her interpretation of her adult world, her parents conditional love, and her place within their adult drama—that are carried into adulthood on her [our] chests, like a shield of self-protection. Locking us in, and real love out.
The good news (and the bad news) is that the soul is speaking to us through our divine human emotional system, which is designed to inform us about where we are. Once we grasp how to work with it, instead of denying it and pushing up against it with resistance, life begins to feel friendly. Even, kind.
It really is so gracious if you think about it, that horrifying fear and terrorizing anxiety and overflowing bliss, always letting us know where we are on our path. How else would we know where we are— whether operating from love or fear— unless anxiety paralyzed our bodies, wrenched our guts, and made us hold our breath and beg for mercy? Or unless the thrill of bliss coursed through our bodies with goose-bumpy tingles up the spine, fluttering in our chests and notifying us about that which makes us feel most alive, joyful, and purposeful?
Our emotions inform us of the story that is playing beneath the surface, and how to get back home to the truth of love.
If that isn’t loving, I don’t know what is.
Could it be that fear and anxiety are but an offering—a forced pause inviting us to inquire within about where we are and what we are believing about ourselves, and about life? A gracious interruption in the flow of our life force energy to wake us up to that which is real, and that which is imagined. Reminding us that the only thing that is real is love, and all else is simply fictitious befuddlement.
Once upon a time, I fumbled hard, and then harder, and finally stumbled upon my awakening.
I caught the vision while driving through the Tuscan hills in a black Fiat, shifting gears with windows down and dust flying behind me, gazing with an open mouth in awe at the magnificence of the endless rolling hills of vineyards and olive trees.
Mind-blown, the simplicity and clarity of Oneness dropped into my expanded crown and saturated my being. I received my Divine Inheritance, deep down in my bones.
I am One with these hills, Spirit, and all of creation. I am the One Heart in all.
I have never been separate from Divine Love. It is who I am.
I am.
My spiritual path evolved and self-acceptance became my only mission. (And self-love and self-compassion. But who is counting.)
For me, true spirituality is the equal acceptance of my humanity and divinity. Not spiritual growth or becoming someone better or happiness or peace or mastering the mind or enlightenment or serving others and certainly not positivity. But the daily devotion of supporting my personality/ego to be in service of my soul.
The real work. Taking my mask off, my shield down, and letting my whole self be seen and loved by myself, and thus, others. My Wholeness, where my true power lies, is dependent upon my acceptance of the dark and the light within, my love and my rage, my vulnerabilities and my most powerful parts, and my ability to be completely responsible for my experience, bringing unconditional love to all of it.
To be who I am.
In all of my grit and glory. Trusting the power of my soul to walk me all the way Home.
We live life out in deep pain of the forgetting of our true nature, separated from our truth, desires, and dreams. Life feels like something to survive. Love feels worse. Our life-saving shield, which was once our safe keeper, becomes our curse, keeping us from being seen, heard, and loved as adults. This is our collective heart break, and our only fall from grace.
The rising comes in the personal reckoning that each of us is a glorious, untethered soul that carries all of the inspiration, creativity, peace, joy, wisdom, compassion, and love of the universe— held in our human bodies. And, that every person in our life, the easy to love and the hard to love, are also a soul that are in our universe to help us rise into our authentic power. And then, we come to accept that life will throw shit in a fan, but that it is never happening against us, but rather, for us. Always bringing to us that which is for our Highest Good. We watch and wait for the opportunity at hand.
We may not like it. Or want it. But we understand it. We courageously hold these truths in our desperate, cupped hand while we pay our time to the dirt, and wait for the dust to settle. Keeping our eyes peeled for the shimmer of gold glitter that is buried in the messes of life to reveal itself, Knowing that Life is only trying to love us as it jolts us awake, in that ass-kicking, heart-crushing kind of way, and tosses us onto the road of the remembering.
“The soul grows through subtraction not addition.” Thoreau says.
It can be no other way.
We grieve, cuss, cry, resist, and fight against life, and then we surrender to it, and awaken to remember who we are…. or we don’t awaken to what is being offered, and we keep our misery.
It’s our life. We get to choose. (I say, we really can’t fuck it up.)
But if we choose to allow it, Life will take us by the hand, in a most pragmatic way, with each life experience, and lead us home to our original, authentic self. To the secret garden within, where our true essence lives, or as Robert Holden calls it, our eternal loveliness.
Isn’t that just so lovely?
The soul begs, Are you letting life have you, and letting life love you?
Who, me?
Yes, you, darling.
Life is but a dream. It is up to you to find the magic.
As love would have it, I found my glitter buried in the rubble of a life strewn with goodbyes: I was the love I had been waiting for.
Pure gold.
My version of an awakened, soul-powered, magical life:
Each morning, I declare that Life loves me, and I mean it. I place myself in the open heart of the Beloved, seeing myself and every human through the eyes of love. I claim this as my day of greatest appreciation, and I revel in the perfection of my divine guidance system. And if (and when) I stumble upon an unpleasant feeling and experience that tastes unsavory, I will begin again. Pouring some hot, strong coffee, I will turn over every stone, every emotional trigger and reaction, until I am free in love, once more.
Safe at home in the arms of the Beloved. Resting, playing, serving, feeling it all, dancing, speaking my truth, laughing much too loudly, and creating whatever the hell I want in the confidence of my Divine Inheritance.
Because why not?… this is but my dream to dream. And yours.