All Still Turns to Gold

 

Another “big date“ came and went yesterday, with no discernible events, and the part of me that savors unhappiness clamped onto this knowledge with an iron grip.

I spent much of the day in an epic bad mood. Frustrated by all the people who refuse to wake up. Irritated by commentators and channels who keep flogging certain dates, knowing all the while that no prediction can be completely accurate.

Worst of all was my overriding self-criticism. I know better than to let outward events, or nonevents, influence me. And then there was the opposing self-talk, chiding myself for being self-critical!

No wonder extraterrestrial races sometimes seem puzzled by humans and our extremes. Even within one body, we can be a battleground.

*****

Much of my life really is all about moods. Feelings. Feelings I don’t want to feel, feelings that happen despite my protesting them, and those seemingly rare feelings that I actually enjoy.

Even though I intellectually recognize that it seems we need to experience negative and unpleasant things, I’ve never reconciled to it. I’m not sure I want to reconcile to it.

I wouldn’t say I’m exactly fighting against having bad feelings or bad experiences. It’s more like a disgruntled acceptance. The kind you might feel when you’re mugged in an alleyway and decide not to fight a gun with your bare fists.

Here, take my money, take my jewelry. Just don’t shoot me, okay?

That’s how I’m experiencing the negative stuff that keeps bubbling up in me right now. Begrudging surrender to what’s apparently inevitable. Feel it if I must, go through the thought processes because I have to. Just don’t try to make me enjoy it.

I would consider that adding condescending insult to unwarranted injury.

*****

Yesterday, in the midst of the blackest of black moods, I addressed my Guides in sheer exasperation. Okay, Beings of Light. Here I am feeling this junk. I would like some help, please. Any suggestions?

I immediately got an image of a train chugging along, the red caboose bringing up the rear. Uncouple the caboose, they murmured. An invisible hand lifted out the peg and the caboose began to fall away into the distance while the train zoomed merrily along, unfettered by that weight.

Several thoughts appeared more or less simultaneously, blips of light from multiple sources. One thought was that the caboose contained all those clueless people who refuse to wake up and who are never going to wake up in this lifetime. One of my fantasies is that it’s “their fault“ that this mega-awful world situation continues to drag on. Their dense, unaware energy is perpetuating it all.

Another thought held up its hand. Hello there, I realize it’s fun to blame somebody else. But who are those oblivious people, other than parts of yourself?

Well shoot… Another spiritual truism spoils my blame session.

*****

I don’t have an answer for slogging through bad moods. I am absolutely grateful to not be in the depths of one at the moment.

Maybe absolute gratitude for the absence of crap is the best coping mechanism I can manage right now. Doesn’t sound like a highfalutin spiritual solution. Then again, I don’t consider myself a highfalutin spiritual anything.

Just another human, attempting integration of self while in the midst of a world that itself is falling apart before it can reform in its golden glory.

All the bad moods in the world can’t prevent the rising up we’re experiencing. That is one certainty that, while I may doubt it in the depths of despair, never vanishes from the true steady core of myself.

*****

I watch the caboose as it falls away farther and farther behind. There are uncomfortable parts of myself that I’m happy to leave in that caboose. If I can’t integrate them, then let them go where they need to go. I don’t have to be weighted down by them and I don’t feel obligated to try to drag something up into the light when the miserable creature keeps squeezing its eyes shut, mouthing no, no, no. An off-the-charts level of fear isn’t something I can overcome with my limited human self. 

I notice a lovely golden light shimmering over the caboose as it fades away in the distance. And a part of me is there in that light, too. 

I can let that all go, the dark that doesn’t want light, and the light that keeps offering itself regardless.

I make my way to the front of the train and, with the conductor whose hand is on the lever, look forward. “Faster,“ I murmur, and the train leaps ahead on the tracks, disconnects, and soars up into the sky.