Reflections

Who is she…?

Who is this “mother” who gave birth to me, more than half a century ago?

She was more than just a conduit through which my spirit could connect with another physical body. Wasn’t she?

She had her own thoughts, her own feelings, her own needs, her own demons. Didn’t she?

She might be a faceless stranger to me, but someone must have known her, right?

I don’t actually know, as we never truly “met.” At least not here, in this timeline, while I’ve been Lisa. But, of course, we shared the same space. Even the same body. Some trace of her must remain within me. Somewhere… Right?

My conscious memories of this timeline don’t truly begin until I was almost 3 years old. Everything before that is hazy and vague, and by that time, she was long gone. But I never knew why…

My brother remembered her, and he loved her. So much so that he never stopped waiting for her to return. The few stories he told me merely emphasized her abuse, made me grateful I couldn’t remember her. But he never gave up on her. Ever… Why?

Was he simply another abandoned child, longing to be cared for? Or was there something special about my mother that he craved to connect with again, in spite of the abuse and abandonment?

Today is the anniversary of the day they discovered him dead. I remember that day, though the year escapes me now; sometime in the 90’s though… He’d been dead for days, and the smell drew his neighbor’s attention. He died alone. No cause of death was ever determined…

I remember him visiting me in my dreams on his first birthday after his death. He was happy. At last. Standing on the other side of a river with her at his side. In death he had gained what he’d always longed for in life – reunification with our mother.

So what made her so special that he never could let her go? Today I am wondering…

Science claims to have proven that much of our innate “intelligence” comes to us through our mother’s genes. Judging from the way my family has grown, I tend to believe that; my daughter is at least as “smart” as I am, and her children outshine us both… So, should I assume my mother was also highly intelligent? Maybe too much so to “fit” into the world as it was when I was born? She was a college graduate who made a living as a model, before being relegated to a lonely life as an army wife and mother… That would have made me crazy!

And she was “crazy,” every bit as much as I am, though my father tried to keep that from us kids. But we found out eventually. About her time in a lockdown facility, her “nervous” condition, the mysterious deaths of two of my siblings…

I am the only redhead in my family. I thought I was adopted. Turns out my mother was a redhead, too… Is that significant?

So many times through my childhood I remember my drunken father caressing my cheek, looking deep in my eyes, and murmuring about how much like her I was… Even my brother would echo those sentiments in his less guarded moments… Hmm…

So, who was she? This woman who gave birth to me more than half a century ago?

I honestly don’t know. But today I am on a mission to find out…

Today I choose to open my heart to that lost and closed chapter in my life. Today I invite her memory in, to meet with me, to speak with me. No judgment here. Just compassion. And an honest desire to know the spirit of the one who carried me into this place, sharing first her body, her genes, her home, and her madness…

I think it’s time we finally meet…

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Poetry, Reflections

Caught in the Crossfire…

… of too much

happening all at once…

Battered and bruised…

Confused…

But certain I’m on the “right” track.

Consistent themes?

“Save the children!”

“Just say No!”

“Letting go…”

Familiar slogans demanded now

in new contexts.

Nothing ever truly changes, does it?

Cycling round and round…

Learning?! Really?!

Covering new ground…?!

Doesn’t feel that way today.

Repeating…

Endlessly…

the same old tired game.

But then…

I’m caught in the crossfire…

… of too much

happening all at once.

So what can I expect to see?

When I’m constantly forced to…

DUCK!!

*** *** ***

Keep your heads down, friends, for Change be upon us…

And there is nowhere left to run.

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Reflections, self-discovery, Visions

Immortal memories… Confession or Myth?

*( for Sha’Tara…)* These observations are all based on “memory” which may (or may not) be “true.” Memory itself is often faulty, morphing to better suit how we see ourselves, or how we think things ought to be. When carried with a diagnosis of schizophrenia, they could also be pure imaginings, as “reality” itself morphs to fit my expectations. But keeping all those caveats in mind, here is what I can recall… ūüėÄ

All my life (this life) I have been haunted by “visions” of other times, other worlds, other lives. Mine? Or someone else’s? I’ve never really been sure. They come and go, triggered often by whatever may be occurring around me. Some are outrageous, seemingly pure fiction, making me reluctant to share them at all with outsiders, except as stories to read or share around a communal fire. Others are muted, seeming “less” than they feel, overwhelming me with a sense of significance, while not revealing anything apparently relevant or important at all. But through these “visions” of other times are certain Constants…

1. “I” am always female, even if I am not human.

2. I “see” and use time differently; “time” being merely a means of ordering events, not written in stone, and easily re-arrange-able. A corollary of this Constant is an obsession with all things time-related, as I struggle to reconcile my sense of timelessness with the rigid standards of my current lifetime. This includes a sense of immortality and an unrelenting idea that aging and death are unnecessary, even in human form. (Though I clearly haven’t figured out how to make that work yet! Lol!)

3. A deep and abiding sense of “loss” and a vague, undefined sense of “hope” that somehow (must!) justify that loss.

4. A need to “hide” in plain sight, to remain anonymous, even when my ego craves attention…

5. A sense of purpose, even if unknown, often accompanied by enforced repentance (where I am the enforcer); a certainty that any “punishment” I draw upon myself is well-deserved, even if out of context.

6. A sense of waiting… for some time, some clue, some event far distant when All will be revealed.

In addition to these Constants are certain Patterns that repeat. For example, almost all occur in the northern hemisphere of Earth; I have no real recollection of having spent time south of the equator, though I suspect I visited once or twice. Mostly my time here has been spent in North America, in the Ohio basin and around the Great Lakes. I do have many memories in northern Europe as well, centered around a “home” feeling in the area known as Scotland, but I am certain I spent time on the mainland as well (none of which was pleasant, I might add, carrying feelings of terror, dread, sorrow and regret).

I also tend to remember many of my “deaths,” even now recalling and judging the least miserable ways to die. (The easiest way I remember is electrocution; one of the worst ways being drowning.) Along similar lines, I am downright phobic about torture and “zombies,” a very specific form of undead. I can’t even watch such scenes in movies or on tv without cringing, walking away, or changing the channel.

The mere sounds associated with torture, or seeing the tools used, will send me into a nearly blind panic. I can only presume that “not being able” to die, having some sort of regenerative capability while suffering some such cruelty is behind this “irrational” fear. I often speak of Death as a friend who abandons me, as a goal that eludes me, etc. Even in this current lifetime my friends all joke that I cannot die, only suffer eternally…

I have had multiple dreams about death (in this lifetime) arising from some flesh-eating disease, and perhaps my fear of zombies relates to this. Or maybe it is a memory associated with leprosy, or something similar…

I have an awareness of the stars, though no desire to go out and travel among them. I prefer the terrestial beauty of life on this planet. I tend to look up into the night sky, taking note first of moon and planetary positions, then finding the constellation of Orion (when possible), followed by a search for the Pleiades. My search is always the same, and always in this order; a habit I cannot break. I feel no kinship with Orion, though; rather it is a sense of wariness that causes me to seek it out. My love goes out to the Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, and though I often cannot find them in the night sky, my heart feels both joy and sorrow when I do, usually obscuring the image in a blur of tears…

I also have a fascination with “magick” – not illusion and subterfuge, but a true altering of reality to meet one’s needs. This is coupled with an interest in science, where all such magickal happenings can be explained. Quantum physics is both my nemesis and my mentor, drawing me in with potential and possibility seeming to match my “understanding” of how things work, but eluding me in technicalities I will likely never fully understand. But I suspect they are the “same” principles, ultimately, where magick is the intuitive grasp and use of quantum physics’ very real laws and processes.

So here’s what I “remember” of my life as an alien (not from Earth, but here nonetheless)…

I have no clear idea of how I appeared to others. Perhaps there were no mirrors and that is why, but I can only “see” myself from my perspective looking down. I was tall, willowy, with outlines that wavered inconsistently. (Not fully present, or a shapeshifter, perhaps?) I wore a long robe of natural fiber, off-white, which seemed to glow in the right light (or I did), mostly at sunrise and sunset, moonrise and moonset, transitional times usually.

I was here studying Earth’s wildlife and plants, learning Her ecosystems. I remember being amazed at how orderly it was all arranged, the symbiosis achieved by many species. It was then, perhaps, that I began to think of the Earth itself as being sentient. I also developed a deeply abiding sense of love for trees. Even in this time I am drawn to trees, often stating that I wish to be one. They have such a strong sense of community, of empathy, a wisdom gained through hundreds of years of life, passed on to future generations in amazing continuity. Perhaps it is that Earthian form of immortality that so appeals to me, as well as their innate desire to be of service to All life, in whatever capacity they can serve. Even in “death” their usefulness and blessing remain, enriching those they serve immensely (a truth deeply felt by those who survive in northern climes, whether acknowledged or not).

I was immortal, at least in the sense that I could not die by natural means. My race had regenerative capabilities, and immunity to most microscopic invaders. We had learned to enhance that ability, only growing to maturity, then maintaining that “peak” level of performance. There was something in our blood, a sentience not our own, that could be communicated with. It could also be “shared” for short term emergency purposes by an injection of our blood into other host bodies. But the Blood itself could not replicate or survive in a species other than our own (or at least we had not yet discovered how to do so)…

As a result, we were a peaceful people, valuing life (all life), driven by the accumulation of knowledge and wisdom. Since we could only “die” by catastrophic means (or violence sufficient to overwhelm the Blood’s ability to heal), we were deeply anti-violence. We also grieved each death as a loss of wisdom and community, felt keenly and personally, for all that would not now be achieved.

We worked in tandem with another alien race, more agressive and warlike. I, personally, had little contact with them, working in a field of study that only mattered to them in terms of results. Always looking for resources to exploit, I found them very “unlike-able,” although such judgements would have been anathema to my way of being. It was a constant challenge for me, learning to “love my enemy,” though we had no truly acknowledged “enemies.” Still, I never trusted them, and often blamed myself for both my failure to accept them as they were, and my failure to stop them from pushing through policies detrimental to the indigenous life on Earth…

I also blamed myself for “turning a blind eye” to what was happening. Like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, I hoped that what I did not acknowledge did not, therefore, exist. I was wrong about that…

I place my presence here (my arrival) at some 19000-21000 years ago, but time is such a vague and inconstant concept for me that those dates probably mean little. Perhaps that is when the “rebellion” took place, rather than my arrival, and that is why the time period sticks out in memory…

I know that I was not alone in my resistance. I know that others opposed the exploitation and experimentation taking place. I know that others found the courage to stand up against such policies, in spite of the consequences. And I know many died as a result, both human and alien, and that all were significant losses in my heart; losses I felt keenly responsible for…

I could not take up weapons for the cause, but I could work to destroy the portal through which we travelled, trapping most on the other side. It was an act of betrayal so profound that even now I cringe to think of it. But I truly believed it must be done, and I accepted the consequences of doing so.

(As a side note: when I returned at last to the scene of my crime last year – the Serpent Mound in Ohio – so much of this came rushing back. And I was appalled at the disrespect such sacred ground had attracted from those “happily ignorant humans with good intentions and a total lack of history”. For they have many theories of why the mound exists, and few ring true to me. For me, it is a graveyard, a place of death, a scene of betrayal where a great battle took place. It is also a reminder of so much that has been lost, and a warning of how easily those sacrifices can be forfeited. For while I was there, I passed humans seeking to re-open the portal so many paid so much to close! And I was angry beyond reasoning, truly wanting to hurt them all! It required much discipline to move beyond those rage-fueled impulses to discover that perhaps it is, indeed, time to reassess my position; to at least consider I may have been wrong before, or that the time has come to let the battle continue, without my interference. But it is hard…)

When my self-imposed exile began, I chose to continue my work, learning about this planet and attempting to foster peace and healing wherever I went. I moved around a lot, though mostly within a confined territory, choosing (once again!) to ignore what was happening outside it. I knew others (alien others) were also trapped here, but I purposely avoided and ignored them, leaving each to find their own way on this planet. I never even bothered to try and find out how many were here, avoiding many places where stories abounded of alien encounters. I believe today that guilt, shame and fear drove me, not being able to peacefully reconcile my betrayal of others with my upbringing. And I remained immortal for a time…

But the day did come when my immortal life on this planet ended, though I’m still not sure how. Perhaps I was murdered, or simply gave up the will to continue when my “blind eye” strategy backfired once again. For I saw much violence come to destroy the terrestial life I had nurtured and encouraged, and it was a whole new level of betrayal; like taming an animal with gentleness and respect, only to see it tortured and destroyed when it approached others in trust. I was responsible for that misplaced trust, and I saw the horror in their eyes as they discovered that themselves, too late to prevent their decimation and suffering…

Upon my death, I must have chosen to return in human form, though I remember feeling shocked (and secretly excited) about having done so. That first lifetime I remembered much of who I’d been before, retaining memory, knowledge and wisdom. But I would soon discover all three fading, with each subsequent life lived, creating a sense of urgency in me to recreate immortality (or timelessness) in human form. Until all that remained of my alien identity were those Constants and Patterns I mentioned. This is no doubt why I speak of “devolving” into human form; not so much a judgement of worth, but a measure of knowledge and wisdom lost through successive rebirths…

When I speak of having “retired” from the life-death-rebirth cycle, and my subsequent choice to come back at this time, I do not know if that retirement refers to my immortal alien life, or a completion of a human journey. I suspect, however, that both may be true, and that I have returned now because that portal may re-open soon. Am I here to stop it? Or finally face those I betrayed? I have no certain answers either way. But I am here to bear witness to whatever happens next…

*** *** ***

I have at times in this lifetime (and others I suspect) found “followers” behind me on the path. They are drawn to me for reasons even they can not elucidate, but it always involves learning or guidance in some form. I, myself, am always reluctant to encourage this, knowing in advance how it will end, for it always ends the same – betrayal and abandonment, for no rational reason they can recall. One day we are friends, and all is going our way, and the next day they will turn on me, naming me a hated enemy. When pressed for some explanation, their answers will be incoherent or not forthcoming at all, usually involving brainwashing, or magic, or some accusation of an imaginary crime, which leaves me standing there (alone again), shaking my head in bewilderment and vague denial. But I recognize the look in their eyes, for I have seen it countless times, and the name for what they feel is Fear…

I’ve even had occurances when people I’d never met were warning others to stay away from me. I have no idea why; and no one could (or would) ever explain it to me. I’m not a scary person. I’m peace-loving, gentle, understanding, empathic and sympathetic, and I abhor violence in all its forms – physical, verbal or emotional. But Fear, by its very nature, is irrational, and so all I can do is move on. Alone…

I know that every journey is unique, and each must find their own way to “enlightenment” or not. I fight the desire to judge others on their journey every day, knowing (though perhaps believing differently) that every path is taken by choice, and I cannot choose for another, even if I disagree with where they are headed. I stand by, trying hard not to interfere, when such choices will likely lead to harm, for themselves or others (including myself). And I wait…

For what I cannot say…? Redemption, perhaps? Forgiveness? A chance to “right a wrong” that can never truly be undone? An opportunity to weight the Scales of Justice, even if said justice be against me?

I know one thing for certain, and I feel it in my bones and in my heart – that Time is coming… Soon!

My personal past, the truth of who or what I am, will be revealed. To me, if no one else. And I will know exactly where I stand (at last) in the broader scheme of history…

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Reflections

Wordy, wordy… the Message in the Medium…

I use too many words to express how I feel, to say what I mean, to get my point across… ¬†If you follow me at all regularly, you know this. ¬†I often meander way off track to get to where I’m going, taking the scenic path through unnecessary landscapes, just to prolong the journey. ¬†I know this about myself. ¬†I’ve heard it all my life. ¬†It’s one of the reasons I’d never make it as a published writer, because I refuse to let those extra words go, and I will not allow my message to be biased by arbitrary (even if well-reasoned) word count limits…

So to be told by someone that I “sure take a round about way to make a simple statement” shouldn’t “hurt,” right? ¬†But it does… ¬†It feels like a rebuke. ¬†Because it is¬†one. ¬†It also happens to be true!

My response? ¬†Immediately shut up while silently going on the defensive…

[But I love words! ¬†I want to use them…]

[So what? ¬†No one is requiring you to hear me out… ¬†I’m just making conversation, after all.]

[Sorry… My bad…]

And then I retire with my cup of coffee to mull it over… ¬†And over… ¬†And over again… [Just to be sure, you understand…?*]…

(* note where the comma is placed; it’s important.)

And then I ask myself, “what does it matter?” ¬†If this is who I am (and I like that), what difference does it make? ¬†People are free to walk away any time. ¬†Why should this even bother me?

But it does… ¬†Which tells me something more than mere words is happening here; some truth is trying to reveal itself to me. ¬†So let’s chew on this some more…

Why do I need so many words to express my self? ¬†[Oh, is there an extra space there, dividing the word “myself”? ¬†;)] ¬†Why can’t I be content just saying what I mean? ¬†Why does almost every direct statement¬†feel incomplete?

Is it just my ego revelling in the sound of my own voice? ¬†Is it my insecurity attempting to hold someone’s attention, now that they’re finally listening to me? ¬†Or is there something more going on with Me? [Yes, that capital “M” was intended; it’s not a typo.]

The truth is all those “extra” words serve a purpose in the end. ¬†They provide background, context, for what the words are “supposed” to mean, at this time, in this place… all relative, you see…? ¬†They provide history (how I got to the point I’m trying to make), and connotative context (how and why I feel about what I’m about to say). ¬†But mostly, all those extra syllables are there to illustrate the complexity and design behind simple statements, to show how Truth cuts through dimensional barriers, existing every where, every time, simultaneously, without contradiction. ¬†That¬†fact never ceases to create a sense of awe and wonder in me, and it is the closest thing (I’ve ever experienced) to the feeling known as “faith.”

I, personally, have never “trusted” an outsider to “take care of me.” ¬†I’ve never believed that any human, god or cosmic plan existed with my best interests at heart, even in the best of times. ¬†I’ve always waited for the other shoe to drop – the expectation, the exhortation, the exploitation… ¬†It always comes… ¬†Eventually.

And maybe that’s just the way life is done – an exchange of energy essential to keep things moving along. ¬†Too much flowing in one direction creates an imbalance, requires correction. ¬†Nature abhors a vacuum, right?

So… who’s to say all these extra words are not necessary after all? ¬†If only in the way they hold the space, preventing any lesser truth (or greater falsehood) from sneaking in behind to fill the void. ¬†So much left unsaid when word counts start to matter. ¬†So much left open to interpret, outside my purposeful intent. ¬†Yes, indeed, there are times for that. ¬†But that’s what poetry is for…

And when carefully constructed poetry (or random intuitive ramblings) draw forth too literal responses (“what a lovely picture you paint with your words!”), however well-meaning and sincere… ¬†Well, let’s just chalk that up to the Failed column, with so many other wasted words, because [clearly!] you didn’t get my point at all…

*** deep sigh ***

Words are easy… Communication is not.

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Reflections

Moving On or Giving Up…?

Questioning motives today, mostly my own. ¬†Wondering about this weird “between” zone I’ve been living in of late. ¬†Not really here, but not really anyplace else, skating upon the surface tension of experience without attempting to delve within. ¬†It’s almost like a dream state, acknowledging events as “significant,” identifying which are most currently relevant, suspecting why they may be pertinent, but refusing to make any commitments on this, my own journey. ¬†Like reading headlines and telling myself, “that looks interesting,” but not bothering to read the actual content…

I’ve been “struggling for so long” (yes, those are the words that presented themselves, though I am eager to change them to something less combative, less obstructive, and more positive, but I can’t, or won’t in good conscience do so, lest I give in to some compulsion to be less than totally honest with myself) to grasp (and utilize productively) the concept and tools of self-empowerment. ¬†Decades I’ve spent “learning” this path; yes,¬†decades! ¬†I understand the theory behind it. I’ve explored so many methods of expressing it. ¬†I’ve owned the responsibility. ¬†I’ve dedicated myself to this particular path. ¬†And yet…

I get frustrated when it does not¬†seem to work for me. ¬†(Note the qualifier there, as I suspect it is important. ¬†Lol!) ¬†The truth is, if I’m actually being honest, while I may never attain what I want, I almost always get exactly what I need. ¬†My dissatisfaction comes from my refusal to accept that as enough…

Am I really so greedy that “enough” is not enough for me? ¬†How can that be me? ¬†Honestly…

This past week, like so many more before, I found myself in that familiar but unenviable position of seeing my “almost safe” position collapse into absolute uncertainty again. ¬†I was fed up! ¬†“Why?!,” I cried out. ¬†“Why does this¬†always happen to me?! ¬†I get so close to that light at the end of the tunnel, I see the exit bright before me… And then the world trembles, the tunnel collapses, and all is dark again!”

And the answer came to me…

“Why not?”

How do you refute such logic? ¬†How do you answer such simple and real honesty? ¬†I can’t. ¬†There is no compelling reason why I in particular should succeed when so many others are failing (or more accurately flailing about). ¬†There is nothing so special about me that I should be exempt from such setbacks; in fact, my very history (if viewed from a perspective of self-empowerment) would imply that I prefer it this way. ¬†Consistency is key in any experimentation, and in this journey of self-mastery, “just falling short” is my hallmark, the highest rank I have ever achieved… ¬†Perhaps I want it this way? ¬†*sigh* ¬†(I would ask why, but really what is the point?)

So I lashed out against All, acknowledging I was responsible, but still wanting to express myself. ¬†And in doing so, I was presented with story after story of troubles that far surpassed my own. ¬†Relativity, right? ¬†Comparing misfortunes. ¬†I hate it, and I refuse to encourage others to pursue it; just because others may have it worse than me, I see no healthy reason to deny what¬†I feel. ¬†It matters to me, therefore it’s worth experiencing – fully, and without minimizing it.

But I couldn’t maintain my self-centered point of view, and so I turned my conscious thought to “wanting” what was best for the others involved, and trusting that my needs would be met in the end…

And “miracles” occurred – a shifting of reality so dramatic and improbable that reasonability would not have allowed me to truly hope for them. ¬†And within 48 hours, events resolved themselves to meet everyone’s needs. ¬†And I had to stop complaining… (lol!)

It¬†does work, but it does not appear to truly require¬†work when it does… ¬†And perhaps that is where I have led myself astray so many times before…

Because I have believed in my own potential, and I have owned my failure to live up to it. ¬†I have seen how fear, laziness, selfishness and greed have prevented me from truly succeeding, and I have justified every failure with judgments against myself – I didn’t follow through, I gave up, I never gave myself a chance, I didn’t want to do the work, I pursued the selfish (unnecessary) goal, I made mistakes, I was impulsive (or too slow to act), I spoke too soon (or not soon enough)… ¬†Etc., ad nauseum…

But my¬†needs have always been met…

So I “should” be grateful (and I am). ¬†I “should” accept what is (and I do). ¬†I keep on keepin’ on. ¬†Life proceeds… ¬†and plans and needs change, along with those unfulfilled wants, though to a much lesser degree. ¬†Those wants return with amazing consistency, changing only enough to better meet the “times” they are experienced in; at their root they remain the same. ¬†And unfulfilled. ¬†Still…

And still I question why I am here? ¬†Still… ¬†Could there be some sort of connection there?

Nearly 3 decades ago when this path first became clear to me (crystally), it emerged in a rapid series of epiphanies. ¬†Suddenly I was fired up, motivated, eager to pursue what was so obvious, and yet had remained so hidden from me. ¬†I’ve been sensing such an epiphany pending, all week, hovering at the edge of my consciousness but refusing to enter. ¬†Always on the periphery, threatening to topple my well-ensconced beliefs about myself…

Back then, my “others” questioned, as did I:

“But how can I use this to get what I want? ¬†What is the reason for knowing this stuff?”

The answer came then, cryptic but certain, haunting me to this very day, where it runs through my mind like an endless refrain:

“You will know how to use this as soon as you see…

the purpose of Being, what it means to be Me.”

And I can’t muster enough depth of awareness to even pursue it…

Giving up or moving on…? ¬†Today, that is the question.

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Reflections

Red Pandas and Snow Leopards, Oh My…

For weeks now, my primary function in life has been acting as host of a new age game show – “Name that Feeling”… (Not really, of course, but that’s how it seems.) ¬†So many people suffering – friends, family, strangers, co-workers… ¬†Chaos corrupts and distracts them, leaving them vulnerable, overwhelmed, irritated and touchy, with one unifying characteristic – the temptation and opportunity to make “bad” decisions. ¬†Impulses based on negativity rarely result in positive outcomes. ¬†So I hear myself speaking, repeating, over and over again: “what are you feeling?… ¬†Ok, but ‘bad’ is pretty vague; can we explore that some more?”

It’s been my experience that correctly labelling a feeling often times introduces a viable solution to address it. ¬†Frustration is more easily tackled with distractive techniques, while anger must be appropriately channeled before clear thinking can return. ¬†Sadness takes many forms as well, each requiring a different approach. ¬†Is the sadness based on grief, loneliness, purposelessness, etc…?

The head and the heart must work together, or be driven ever further apart.  And we, as empowered beings co-creating reality, are responsible for aligning those components, for too much distance between them leads to unhealthy detachment and sociopathy, or, contrarily, dependency and powerlessness.  For how can we make moral and ethical choices without empathy?  And how can we devise workable solutions when logic and reason abandon us?

So…

This weekend the red panda and snow leopard exhibit opens at our local zoo.  It is an event I have eagerly awaited since it was announced last year.  I even bought my daughter a zoo membership this year so we could all enjoy it.  (My grandaughter is every bit as attracted to animals as I am!)  And today is the day we are going to meet them!

Yet here I sit in meditation, conflicting feelings competing for my attention, leading me far from Center, and directly into the cyclone surrounding me. ¬†For I feel empathy for the animals, caged far from home for the cruelly voyeuristic pleasure of humanity. ¬†Yet there is no denying the delight I experience at the mere thought of sharing the same space with these magnificent beings, to breathe the same air, to feel the same sun shining upon our skin/fur. ¬†To be so close to these animals whose natural habitat I will never experience…

How can I justify/live with both? ¬†For my empathy demands the creatures be free, while my selfish delight seeks their company…

Anyone who has experienced Oneness understands that it is quite possible to maintain multiple perspectives on a single experience. ¬†The trick seems to be in keeping the separate tracks separated; clearly divided lanes that allow one to experience from multiple points of view. ¬†The problem arises when those tracks begin to cross over one another, combining then separating. ¬†Such crossover invariably creates disorientation and hesitation, wincing at near collisions, slowing then stopping all forward momentum…

For many years in my city here we had a tangled bit of highway locally nicknamed “the can of worms.” Four major highways came together in a 1/2 mile space, forcing traffic to cross as many as 4-6 lanes of traffic to get to the desired route. ¬†It was a nightmare for drivers, particularly the timid or unfamiliar. ¬†Accidents occurred every day. ¬†Multiple accidents occurred every day. ¬†Those accidents added to the congestion of rush hour, making the necessary lane changes all but impossible, causing frayed nerves, impulsive actions, road rage, and more accidents…

The highway system has since been corrected, but the analogy remains. ¬†When multiple perspectives get entangled that way, the results are quite similar – crash and burn…

So, while my instincts tell me to unify my perspectives, my experience warns me against it.  Especially when the perspectives are actively opposed to one another.  How can I hold such deep resentment against humans like myself for caging these beautiful creatures, at the same time I feel such anticipation and gratitude for the opportunity to see them?!

How can I see so clearly what others need to do, and be so blind to what I myself should do?!

Today’s episode of “Name that Feeling” is a beast…

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