I have a friend…

….We’re not friendly anymore. But I still love her. I think.

Can I call it love if I want nothing more to do with her? If we are totally estranged because I want nothing more to do with her? If I chose to walk out of her life once and for all?

Of course I do look back from time to time…. How could I not?

She was such a huge part of my life! The laughs we shared over the years… genuine, rolling on the floor, gut wrenching, tear producing laughter! I swear I pulled more than one muscle in my life just laughing with her!

And then there were the tears – sobbing, hopeless, helpless tears. Situations we couldn’t control, and we couldn’t fix, and we couldn’t escape… She was always better at grieving anyway.

And there was everything in between. The raw honesty and the outright lies. The deep loyalty followed by the inconceivable betrayal. The white rage and the soothing azure of serenity. Moments of pure perfection. Years of separation. Collaboration. And isolation…

Trust me when I say I didn’t walk away without thinking about it. I spent years thinking about it. Finally planning it. After more than three decades, I’d finally had enough. I wanted to purge the toxin from my system. I needed to. And I needed to do it in a manner I wouldn’t regret…

Oh, I fantasized about it all the time in those last couple of years together. Building my case, justifying my decision, planning my good-byes. The things I wanted to say, the letters I would write… She needed to, or maybe deserved to know why. Right? But, in the end, I said nothing at all of consequence. The “issues” were all mine. She had told me to learn to live with them or walk away; I chose to walk away. I hugged her, I told her I loved her, and I left. End of story…

And I have not regretted it since…

She was one of those people that everybody loves. She was charming, sincere, warm and generous. But she was so much more than that. She never, for example, truly did anything for free. She got her hooks in, then called up favors when in need. But it always seemed like you wanted to help her! And if there was some nagging doubt, deep in your soul, it was nothing more than self-doubt I am sure. Because people honestly believed they loved her! And very likely did. Some went so far as to adore her, idolize her, revere her…. They freely offered up their lives while she manipulated them…

I know this because I helped her…

It’s almost like she wanted to do the “right” thing, and sometimes even knew what that was. She met many teachers along her path who seemed to recognize her soul and wanted to help guide her, no strings attached. And often she would let them try. But at the end of every such path was a choice, a test, and wise, well-taught or not, she could never commit to “right”. It eluded her, and she avoided it. And both were happier that way…

She spent most of her adulthood seeking “evil”. She wanted to know if it was real. Not horror scenes, or blood and gore, but “Evil” in its truest form. It fascinated her. Compelled her. Defined and punctuated every moment. I know that feeling; I sought Truth with the same fervor. No wonder we were drawn together…

Until, at last, her mantra, repeated endlessly, was this: “we’re either here to serve Others, or we’re here to serve our Selves”. There could be no in-between. Life had shown her, there simply wasn’t anything else. At least nothing else that mattered. She believed she was here serving others; but the truth was, she was only here serving her Self…

I feared I was only serving my Self, but I killed mySelf trying to serve Others…

Some might say we both found what we sought.

Others might question if the friend is really someone else…?

Irrelevancy…

I wanted to write a piece titled “The Watcher,” to share where I’ve been these past few months. And yet, I could not write it without miring myself in hypocrisy so deep as to make the story irrelevant (at best), or self-destructive (at worst)… Or maybe it’s the other way around…

You see, the Watcher is a tale of perspective. In that role I sit as an observer of all things, but never truly interacting with any. I use my cosmic remote to change the channels, allowing me to safely view many lives, without actually experiencing any. Human or not, across multiple timelines. I can binge-watch any that intrigue me, and skip through those that bore me. I can fast-forward through scary moments, and rewind to savor the exciting times. I can, in essence, control exactly what I observe without actually being in control of what happens. But it only works because I am present in all those variations…

But if I am truly present in any of those scenarios, then I have rendered my self power-less by making it impossible for Me to affect those separate existences. I can only observe!

And should I truly want to interact with any of my stories, then I must first abandon my role as Watcher. I must lose myself in a particular storyline, forgetting the vastness of my existence, thus limiting my perspective to my immediate surroundings. I must blind my self to all other possibilities. That path is one of Self-destruction.

Which ultimately, and eventually, leads back to my role as the Watcher…

*** *** ***

These past two nights I’ve had the strangest dreams…

Last night I dreamt of my greatest fears, and all my efforts focused on turning away and avoiding them. I knew that I was dreaming, of course, but I still didn’t want to confront them. I kept yelling at the characters in my dreams to stop trying to show me, and I would physically turn my head away before they were revealed. That turning of my head would waken me enough to shift positions. But upon returning to the dream state, I would discover the same dream , albeit in a different setting…

Finally, I declared “enough already!!” You are all so determined to force this on me… “let’s get this over with!” And so someone slid the box of baby bunnies out from under my chair. Baby bunnies! And my alarm went off, leaving me exasperated as well as exhausted by my less than restful night…

Tonight I am dreaming of my character flaws – those very traits I’d like to think I’ve shed along the way. Like arrogance, for instance. I’ve worked hard to drive that feeling of superiority born of insecurity from my consciousness. But as I dream tonight I hear myself shouting, “why is everyone trying to make me look and feel stupid?! I am not an idiot, no matter how many idiotic things I’ve done! No matter how many bad decisions I’ve made! I am still smart, while sometimes doing not-smart things!!”

Deep sigh…

What was I saying about arrogance and insecurity? Hmm…

*** *** ***

I know there is relief to be found in irrelevancy. It is uncomfortable at first, learning that nothing I do, think or believe truly matters to the outside world. But when the shock of surrender fades, and the Ego truly relents, there is only peace left. An endless (pointless) calm that serves no one but my self.

And I can sit back and watch Others striving to become. While I can simply be…

Cleansing the Palate…

Suppose I told you this was all a dream. That none of it was “real.” Would you believe me?

Would you take such a statement at face value, or look for some “deeper” meaning? Would you suppose I was creating some allegory, or perhaps that I was claiming some easy cop-out to the bizarre narrative we live in today? How would you react?

I’m actually asking here. Not telling. I’m curious to know how you think. And feel…

Because the stories we tell our selves tell us so much about our selves. And I want to know you a little better than I do. I want to know where your hearts truly live. Where your minds truly wander. I want a glimpse (just a glance) behind the human mask you wear…

This is not about your culture, or your color. It’s not about your beliefs. I’m not interested in your history. I don’t need the distraction of your experiences. I just want to know you in this endless, infinite Now…

Could you show me that?

Would you?

I remember, a few decades ago, developing workshops on this very topic. “Self-Myths” I called them, the stories we tell of, to, and about ourselves. The roles we instinctively adopt and perpetuate. The means to an end, but also an end to the means. Self-limiting, restricting, biased in the extreme. And so often unconsciously (or at least subconsciously) embraced.

Imagine “waking up” to read the writing on the wall, recognizing (finally) that there are only shadows there. And all you have to do to “end” it all is turn around.

And face the fire…

What would you do?

***********************************************

That’s okay, you don’t have to answer that. I think I already know.

The real question here is, do you?

The Reckoning…

Sirens wail as the city burns. All around me violence seeks its voice. I am surrounded, and there is nowhere left to go. Outsiders came among us, altering the narrative, realigning the rules of engagement, redefining the very purpose of the Gathering. What started as a peaceful, legal protest, a desperate attempt to unify hearts and minds in common cause has, instead, become a threat to our very existence…

Mobs roam the streets now, comprised of locals willing (even eager?) to be corrupted. They loot. Not just corporate white America, but local Mom and Pop stores, too, ripping out the very roots of our sense of community. Shots are fired at both ends of my street. One of the houses here burns. I have friends willing to come and evacuate us, but why bother? The hatred is everywhere; the sense of entitlement pervasive. There is nowhere safe in this city tonight. There is nowhere safe in this country tonight. There may be nowhere safe in this world anymore…

Yet I feel no fear…

The time of the Reckoning is Now. And I am as “prepared” as I will ever be. So bring it on, already. And let’s get this over with…

*** *** ***

Days later and my feelings haven’t changed. If anything, they have solidified. The sun rises and sets, commerce begins its slow grinding efforts toward reopening, the daily gristmill calls me from my home under dire threat of what might happen if I refuse to answer it. And yet none of it truly matters. It’s like background noise, static on the line… leaving your radio or tv on, but not really engaging in either. For I have seen my Self, have learned my truth, and I can no longer hide behind my ignorance. But can I explain it to you?

Hmm…

Why should I want to?

Because… because I want a record of this moment, even if I never get to review it. Because I want a chance to explain myself before I resort to silence. Because my Ego demands acknowledgment of its existence, before it gives up the reins. Because my heart cries out its final resistance before it submits to my purpose.

So be it, then… I will speak my truth and see where it leads, and where it follows…

I know two things now. I was young once. And now I’m not. I am a crone. And with that knowledge comes a knowing of its own…

Long, long ago, before I was even human, I made a decision. I stood for a cause. I chose a side. I decided to aid the humans I had been assigned to merely observe. And by doing so, I betrayed those to whom I owed some sense of fealty, if only by virtue of sharing some species-specific DNA. I turned my back on “my own kind” to support the underdog. It was a path taken of my own free will, with eyes open and heart heavy. It was a decision I hoped to never regret. Until I did…

Idealism is a luxury of the young, and young at heart. But with lifetimes between me and then, and with crone-hood firmly weighing down these all-too-human shoulders now, I realize that the “wisdom” of aging is really no more (or less) than the acceptance of Life on Life’s terms. There is no room for judgement left. There is no time for waffling between what I want to be true, and what is. In fact, time itself no longer exists when every moment is Now. It is, quite simply, what it is. Period…

Which is not the same as saying that Change cannot occur, because it most certainly can, and will! Of that I am quite sure! For Change has proven to be the only other constant I have found in my experience. But I will not be the one to direct its course. Not anymore.

The other constant I have come to recognize is Balance, for the Universe itself seeks it through all times. And through Time itself. For what is Time if not the greatest equalizer ever devised, devious and supreme, and triumphant always?! Time is the Great Delusion by which all “things” are measured. Time is what defines us in our separate realities, but Time itself is not real. The irony is both appalling and awe-inspiring. For it is Time that has brought me back to my own beginning, so that I may experience, first-hand my own ending.

And yet… I shall not end.

Stepping away from Time shall make me time-less, aka immortal. For that is my true destiny, as it is for each of you…

So how does any of this relate to the riots raging just beyond my line of sight? How does this understanding alter my course? How do I reconcile then and now?

Simple math really. Connecting the dots. If I chose a side before, then Now I must not!…

Sides and causes are for idealists, not realists. Balance teaches me what I always knew (and thought I understood), but never truly owned until the endless Now. Opposites not only support one an’Other in their mutual existence, but in fact, actually create each other! Shadow would not exist but for the light that gives it form; light would not be but for the darkness it can banish. Each contains within its self the seed and sustenance of its own destruction! And with Time having absolutely no relevance, it matters not which comes first. Or last. They come into existence together, like the splitting of an atom. Or the division of a cell in living form…

By choosing sides I become a mirror of, and for, my “enemy.” I manage to create an enemy of equal passion, equal power, equal determination. “Power up,” (advantage) may alter over time, but such changes are always temporary. For Balance will always assert itself, eventually, and Change will always occur. And Time… [laughing]… Time does not exist!

The only way to win this war is not to fight the battles!

I know this will not be a popular stand to take. I don’t truly expect any others to agree. Of course I have feelings about what is occurring! I have a sense of right and wrong, as well as a grasp of moral ambiguity. I know what I personally believe. But that is just opinion now, and there are way too many of those flailing violently about! This world doesn’t need mine. It likely never did, though the youthful One I identified with would not so easily admit that. What this world “needs” is less of Me, and significantly more Neutrality!

I am done with fighting my self…

So if you come to me, bloody and broken, I will not ask what politics you embrace before tending to your wounds. If you come to destroy me as a symbol of your strength, I will not oppose you. Nor will I martyr my Self. I am Nothing, no thing of consequence to you or any Other.

I am a crone. A grandmother. My role as such is simply to accept. And to love. Unconditionally. Without favor or expectation, but with a fierceness that defines who (or what) I have become!

My reckoning has arrived. And all my choices are behind me…

The Co-Dependency Crackdown. (i.e. Taking My Own Inventory)

Life is a challenge. A series of lessons. A chance to improve. A path to evolution. All of these things. And then some…

Right?

Maybe. Or maybe not. That is what I am discovering, anyway.

I mean, I have spent so much of my life in “school,” learning the hard way. Gaining wisdom, some might say. But all of that implies progress; slow, steady (sometimes regressive) steps forward. All of that implies time.

And if I look at the sum total of my nearly 55 years here (this time), and add to it the memories I have of other times and places, the “facts” (or experiences) would support that hypothesis.

Time heals all wounds. To everything there is a season. Slow and steady wins the race. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. Keep on keeping on… Time wins every time!

But Time is a construct. A deception. A barrier. And a lie. At least for me…

The truth is, every major breakthrough I’ve had (in this life or any other) came as an epiphany. There might have been wallowing that preceded said epiphany. There might have been intention. There may even have been hints and clues strewn about the landscape of my current timespace. But the moment of change was always dramatic, instantaneous and complete.

I spent months pondering the pros and cons of sobriety before I actually embraced it, still using occasionally and making excuses. And then one day someone said the “wrong” thing to me, embarrassed me, and made me mad as hell. A week later, as my anger subsided, I stopped drinking. And I’ve never even been truly tempted to look back. Does that mean I’m not an alcoholic, after all? Doesn’t matter, because I’m not interested in drinking anymore…

I spent years in and out of therapy, on various medications, trying to “fix” what was broken in me. Then one day it occurred to me that broken or not, I enjoyed my kind of crazy. I’ve never needed meds since…

I have spent a lifetime feeling like I need to “earn” my place in the world, developing integrity, seeking reciprocity, taking responsibility for whatever crosses my path. And yet…

It finally occurs to me that I have a right to exist, simply because I do!

Not earth shaking news for many of you, I’m sure, but it was a life-changing revelation for me.

And I don’t need to save the world, after all. Because each of you is capable of making your own decisions, whether I approve of them or not. Each of you has the same right to exist as me…

And as this “truth” sinks in, “gravity” falls away. My back straightens as my load is lightened. My wings unfurl once more, and I am delighted to discover I can fly once again.

And my spirit soars…

And so the rains came…

finally…

heavy and constant…

on a dark and gloomy day.

My mind rejoices at the welcome weather,

while my heart yearns to curl up in shadow

and wile away the day.

Seeking fantasy…

or memory…

or something new entirely.

On a day when tears can easily hide

disguised…

by all that water in the skies.

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.

Lamenting the “Loss” of Spring…?

All around me, locally, I hear people complaining about the “loss” of spring, the missing season.  They are expecting summer to arrive without warning or transition.  And they are miserable enough about it to make conversations, and memes, and facebook statuses dedicated to their displeasure.  And the usual weather related conversations with strangers take on the same sinister tone.  Even I have been feeling the chill…

So I wonder… what exactly are we missing here?

True, it’s cold and damp this April.  And we’ve had snow, rain, ice and wind to contend with on a daily basis.  The sun shows himself rarely, and when he does the ambient temperature hovers just above freezing, while the arctic winds bear down, robbing him of any heat, and leaving us shivering in his brilliant light.  But here’s the thing that haunts me…

It’s early April here in western NY, and this is not atypical weather.  It’s always cold and damp this month, with precipitation taking many forms, both liquid and solid.  But the snows don’t stick to road surfaces or last throughout the day.  Shovelling and plowing are not required, and salt is only occasionally required to de-ice after freezing rains.  Only hardy, early spring flowers are surviving the wet conditions and frosty nights, but that is precisely why we don’t plant our annual garden fare until mid-May around here.  Everything must be started indoors and later transplanted.  Furnaces aren’t turned off until late May, usually, and air conditioners are not required until August at least.  And here in Rochester, where we celebrate the Lilac Festival for a week in early May, it is not unusual to have snow for part of it and sandal weather for the rest…

So what are we really missing here?

And then it hit me today, during meditation, that it isn’t about the weather at all.  We lament the loss of hope instead, the sense of promise that usually accompanies spring.  The “misery” of winter isn’t climate related, but emotional, as we mourn the lack of progress, renewal, rebirth.  Our world is dead/dying, and the majority are finally beginning to realize that things are not the same, everything is not going to come out right in the end, and summer will not arrive with endless sunny days of laughter and play…

Reality is sinking in…

And sunshine, alone, cannot salvage what has been sacrificed to apathy, ignorance and greed…

What is lost is gone, and cannot be recaptured…

Spring, like decency, justice, and truth, is dead…

So let us mourn together in the ways that suit us best.  Let our tears mingle with the cold spring rains, while our hearts absorb the winter’s chill.  And let us look ahead with courage and determination to reap what we have sown.

After all, acceptance may the final stage of grief, but it is also the first step to healing…

“The Covenant” (Revisited)

As I explain below, this is one of those pieces that occasionally calls out to me for reinterpretation.  Now residing in my “Pages” folder, I found it calling to me yet again in my morning meditation – replaying over and over again, and so blocking any other info from entering.  With such demanding force expressed, I cannot ignore it.  Perhaps it is in response to my recent interactions with Sha’Tara and rawgod, or perhaps it is relevant again for some other reason entirely.  In any event, it is the first compelling “lead” I’ve received in days, so I offer it to you once again…

***  ***   ***

Originally published as a regular post, I have chosen to move it here [Pages folder] for more permanent, easily accessible status.  This poem (?) originally came to me as a “flow of consciousness” piece that bordered on an unplanned case of automatic writing.  It came with such force that it drove everything else out of my mind until it was captured in writing.  Unedited, except for spelling and formatting issues, it has become one of those “go-to” works that repeatedly becomes relevant in different situations and times in my life.  Almost prophetic, it has not only explained and corrected my path from time to time, but I have been driven to share it with others occasionally to similar results.  I share it here, now, because I find references (both obvious and subtle) appearing in many other works of mine, even new ones, forcing me to acknowledge its ongoing influence in my life today…

“The Covenant”

Come…

Sit…

Listen…

and you, T.O.O. shall know

what I have come to learn.

It begins with This,

for this is what I know:

The time is Now…

time now to learn what each Other knows.

Why we are…

Who we are…

Now…

as before…

let us Be…

One.

As it was in the Beginning.

For in the beginning,

there was One.

And One spoke in the Silence:

“I Am…

Alone am I…

I would be Other…

So I am.”

And as each Word was,

so it Was,

and so it was,

that One became Other –

Twelve Others.

But with Otherhood

came Different-ness.

And from different-ness

came War.

So it was through war

that each Other came to know:

Sorrow…

Suffering…

Shame…

And Regret.

And with regret,

came a Desire

for One.

So it was that a Council of Twelve

gathered in the presence of One

seeking Peace,

instead of War.

And a Great Covenant was sealed:

“Beyond Time and Space,

there is Truth.

Within each Heart,

there is Power.

Through each Life,

there is Hope.

Between the Lessons of History,

and the Promise of Tomorrow,

Lie the Meaning and Purpose of Today:

Peace resides where Love reigns.”

And from this Great Covenant

sprang Three Sacred States,

each a world of Four,

with Four each to guide and protect the Three.

All…

in the Name of One…

in the Spirit of Other…

in search of Peace.

So…

Here we are – three

in a world of four.

Our world of four

but one of three.

And the message of the Pyramids

is on the Surface

for all to clearly see:

Four Sacred Children

gather as One

to learn of What Was.

Three times they come,

and through them, we come

to know of what Will Be.

The Promise of All…

The Lesson of One.

And one is asked,

“Who are you?”

And the Answer comes:

“I am Nobody…

But because I am nobody,

I am the same as Everybody.

And being everybody,

I am the voice of All.

As All…

I am…

One.

So who I am

is irrelevant.

All That Matters

Is

that I AM.”

And the Truth is this:

There is no Other!

 

© Lisa R. Palmer, 1995

Whale Song…

Today, during my meditation, I heard the song of whales somewhere far from me.  The sound so melancholy, with sorrow lining every lengthened tone.  And yet there was a sweetness to the song that touched me deeply, too, as though even in their suffering they found something that seemed worthwhile…

The notes appealed to my bat technology, bringing peace with every tear I cried in empathy.  And I knew bliss in a whole new way.  For this was not the manic excitement, the barely contained joy demanding release, but a quiet sense of something “right” not all that far from me…

And even now the voices sing, echoing deep within my mind, flooding me with blessed relief.  It was (and is) what I often refer to as a “perfect moment,” and it strengthened me.  I sense the sound, feel it in every fiber of my being, and know that it will serve as armor as I step out to face the world today…

It is worth savoring…

And so I choose to share it, too, with those who need a perfect moment as much as I do.  I’m sharing it with you…

Peace, my friends, and blessings too.  May today bring to you exactly what you need to carry on…  😀