September 1, 2024
I don’t feel like I have a hall pass from the Universe to indulge in a negative attitude. The basic survival boxes are all checked, and then some: food, shelter, clothing. Bonus: comfortably sheltering just a few miles north of Santa Barbara, on the American Riviera, with the human I love most in the world, and two delightful and companionable felines.
Super-bonus: easy mobility! I’m beyond blessed to finally experience life without chronic pain thanks to hip replacement surgery six months ago. Surely I have no right to feel anything but happy, happy, happy. Or at the very least, mostly content, most of the time.
Yet my moods rocket all over the place. If I’ve had weirdo dreams, I wake up on edge, as if I’d traversed a perilous journey through the night and am not quite sure I made it out okay. Given what’s possible about the dream state, the astral plane, and Angelic / ET / Other-dimensional partnership (or interference) with humanity, maybe that’s not too far off the mark.
When I peer from my semi-isolationist bunker and bring to mind what is actually happening in the world, and recall what channels and commentators are telling us about the increase in crazy-strong vibrations, solar flares, world tensions and apocalyptic fears, it’s no wonder I’ve misplaced my rose-colored glasses.
*****
I’m finding a sort of spiritual catch-all cure in the loosely defined, imperfect practice of being here now. I’m also diving with as much glee as I can into all the moments of the ever-unrolling reel of Now that are just plain fun. That are predominantly satisfying and pleasant.
Sometimes I remember to practice something Dr. Peebles suggests. Throughout the day, stop and ask myself: what am I doing right this minute?
It’s a shortcut to a moment of being in the now. It requires stepping away from clock time and checking in with the place that has no time. The grand internal space of the self, the space that merges with star space, deepest night, a silence beyond silent.
When I just checked in, I felt the second-hand on the artificial clock of Earth pause, hover, and wait patiently for the response…I am enjoying myself.
No dissatisfaction. No urge to hop up and do a chore. No compelling desire to even do a fun task, like putting out more fall decorations, which inexplicably brings me such delight. I just sit, my gaze alertly traversing the room, gliding over the recumbent cats.
The second-hand on Earth’s clock restarts, my mind hops back into the driver’s seat, and I’m ready to crank into action. But I don’t immediately do anything. I deliberately recall that endless black stretch of space/no space, the seamless merging between it and me, the silence that underpins all the noise of this world. And I know I will take a piece of that with me to the next choice of action. That tiny moment disproportionately colors all other moments, like a potent drop of food coloring changing an ocean from deep blue to palest lavender. It’s illogical, and patently impossible…from the perspective of normal reality.
Normal reality is overrated, in my book. I prefer the reality I can create, even if it doesn’t appear to manifest in the see-touch-hear bubble that surrounds me. Luckily I have access to the joy-promoting tool of imagination, tucked into my superpower arsenal right next to prayer, meditation, hugs, and a cat who never stops purring.
