My impatience keeps bumping to the surface. The sameness of days becomes less tolerable with the passing of each seemingly uneventful week.
Some sage might advise me to sit quietly and be open to receiving the radiant energies, the rising vibrations, that we’re told are beaming to us continuously. And indeed, this cure might do the trick for me. I’m sure it has for many.
While it might not change a thing in my physical reality, it could help change my internal landscape. To alter the eyes with which I see the external landscape, to become accepting and even loving toward that which is.
It’s quite a practical attitude, really, since very little of what actually is falls into the purview of something I can physically influence.
Sometimes I wish I’d opted for training in Buddhism or some other Eastern religion. I could use lessons in achieving genuine tolerance for life exactly as I’m experiencing it.
In the tenets of that training, I imagine that impatience is discouraged while acceptance of What Is sits atop a golden pinnacle.
Acceptance is in short supply for me these days. I don’t think it’s normal, no matter how many times authorities insist it is, to force people to choose between risky medical treatments and their jobs.
Meanwhile, many supposedly democratic governments look like they’re becoming blatantly authoritarian, sometimes to the point of brutality.
And yet, if I don’t accept that at this moment, this world situation is What Is, it’s a recipe for continuous inner turmoil.
It’s getting difficult to write without repeating myself, to discover a fresh angle to describe my experience of this Groundhog Day–like loop we seem to be trapped in.
I feel that many of us are well informed about what’s likely happening behind the scenes, why we’re stuck, and who’s keeping us here. But it seems that the mainstream’s censoring of facts, and the consequent cluelessness of much of humanity, will likely continue until something of worldwide import occurs.
Something so big that it can’t be ignored or spun into fitting the globalist narrative.
And then, we’re told, there will be no more covering up or denying the facts about many things.
Maybe it’s not too late to study Buddhism. Perhaps I could join an online meditation group, even though my enthusiasm for electronic meetings is lukewarm at best.
There used to be a weekly meditation study group at the nearby Unitarian Universalist Church. All are welcome, one needn’t even be a congregant.
Before the Covid attack started, I kept an eye on the schedule and told myself, this week, I’ll go. Or next week. Soon, I will go to this study group.
Like-minded people interested in spiritual growth. Companionship. Camaraderie. And it’s only half a mile away! That sure looks like the Universe issuing me an invitation.
I don’t know if the group has restarted. Maybe they’re meeting outside in order to gather without having to wear masks, or space chairs six feet apart.
I might check the church website. Or I might not. At least, not yet. We’re still living with ham-fisted governmental mandates in California, and churches have been hard hit by purported safety policies that are very effective at discouraging community mingling.
Regardless, I will tuck that thought away, in the place where hope refuses to die. The place where I can visualize Earth’s Golden Age flourishing in the continuum, as Matthew Ward puts it.
Perhaps before I know it, some fine morning I’ll open my eyes and that Golden Age will be gleaming all around me. Undeniable, irrefutable, glorious.
And I have a feeling there won’t be one minute of it that I will find repetitive or boring.