Sometimes when we’re blue and shackled and not-knowing-what-to-do-next the Universe can manifest the next right person who lights our way, who provides a flashlight onto our path, who confirms our right to exist with so-and-so opinion.
OK, I admit, the Universe also sends us that irritating person who destroys our confidence, who takes away our voice, who confuses us with his righteous tone as he tells us what we’re supposed to do next. (Especially when our inner voice points in a direction that feels more right.)
I don’t have any answers.
Like you, I bloom at this place here-now and witness Life sharing its tidbits, both wanted and unwanted.
I share my questions and temporary answers, unbidden, in many spaces.
Like you, I sing the notes of Oneness and separateness. I won’t take the high-and-mighty path, except when I do. I don’t even believe in “me”, except when I do.
I don’t claim enlightenment–or even wanting it–except maybe last Saturday.
Today, when I was feeling blue, a friend wrote with words of support. When I couldn’t see the larger picture because of stinging wasps of opinions, she etched it with brilliant colors. She said, “You provide a space where people can find their voice. This is no small thing.”
Like those who struggle to find their voice, I find and lose mine a hundred times a day.
I don’t like those who pretend they know, except sometimes when it seems delightful to exist in a multi-faceted diamond hologram of opinions.
Sometimes I want to quit blogging because of the weight of other’s insistence.
Other times those opinions seem so logically a shining part of the Oneness that I beg, “More, more, more!”
Some people try to banish their blue hues with positive thinking. Sometimes, so do I. Yet, more and more, I sit patiently with the blues, allowing them to exist, allowing them to shine their unwanted color into the rainbow of what-I-am. (Which, sometimes, is everything, even you.)
Don’t try to tell me how or what to be next.
Like you, the Mystery flows through like a river, illuminating this and that, sorrow and delight, the Holy Grail of its unfolding.