peace – Page 4 – One Woman's Quest

Disruption’s Message

Orlando, Paris, Columbine –
horrific stains on social
conscience – no room for
bystanders – our house is
divided, projecting fear into
sunsets, volatility illuminating,
initiating paralysis – terror
cannot be contained by
a single story –

Suburbia is on fire
minorities in the street
witnessing targeted
violence, neighbourhoods
torn apart, darkening clouds
hovering – losing sight of
the richness of our resources
need to shelter, reorganize
fight this fragmentation
of values, together…

Maybe comfort is the enemy
pockets of turmoil exploding
alerting, shaking our complacency
shining light on the faithlessness
of our priorities, encouraging
breakthrough — the world
grows smaller
and none of us
is alone.
(Image: www.theepochtimes.com)

Conflict of Peace

We are peacemakers,
declaring commitment;
celebrating life, diversity.

We stand at the water’s edge,
contemplate forever, pray for
serenity, believe in harmony.

Watch as past dalliances,
like old lovers, drift away,
become memories forgotten.

We are supporters, lift up
the down trodden, extend
hearts and hands in aid.

Rescuers, fearless vessels
surfing the ocean of tears
saving lives for the cause.

Withdrawal is preferential
to conflict, introspective
in our peace-loving stance.

We are hosts, expecting
hospitality, unprepared
for hostility, taken aback

Submission lost to fear;
partnering with revenge
spoon out poison, turn

the tables, defend sanctity,
reposition selves as victims
flee our former stance; attack.

Alarmists engage in paranoia,
see only turbulent skies at
the water’s edge, disbelieve

We must hold fast to ideals,
embrace humanity’s potential
be responders, not reactors

Recover our sanctity, reunite
in a vision of peace, remember
that celebration trumps strife.

(Image: marketplace.secondlife.com)

Day 259 “Tao vs The World”

Everywhere I look: collisions.
Ambition struck down by mindless consumerism
defeating progress;
social networking defying purpose,
mutilating communication,
disrupting movement;
victims splayed, traumatized, numb,
flaying, bloody.
Consciousness obliterated
by blind compliance;
intrinsic motivation / instinct extinct.

Values – not possessions- endure;
understanding eliminates dominance;
integrity ensures power for all.
Mindfulness calms chaos
quenches grasping urgency
restores hope;
direction and purpose
harmonized with communal focus
realizes potential
creates greatness.

The River

There’s a river runs between us,
you and I.
Our thoughts, like tears, are liquid
carried effortlessly by the current.

But you and I,
we stand on the banks, oblivious;
ignoring the connection,
proudly touting our individualism.

Still the river flows,
and all you’ve suffered,
and all I’ve suffered,
or dreamed, or imagined, or hoped,
flows with it.

Step into the water with me,
feel our connection,
do not be afraid.
for it is sacred.

Wade deeper and know
you are not alone
for I am here
in this river
that runs between us.

( Image: ldsmag.com)

The Drive Behind the Quest

I was nine, when I first asked God to let me die: I’d had enough of life. By the time I was fifteen, I was pleading: “Really, God. I am happy with all the experiences I’ve had. You can bring me home now.”

Once I realized that my mortality (suicide aside) was not negotiable, and convinced that God had forsaken me, I was determined to control my own destiny. Intolerance and judgment became my life maps. I went into overdrive to “get there”, wherever “there” was. I worked long hours, partied hard, and grasped at opportunities. I forgot to pack an emergency kit, so when life broke down, I was not prepared.

One thing I did know: my life wasn’t working for me.

That is when my quest began. I hungered for a deeper sense of purpose and an inner peace. I wanted to feel bliss and live from gratitude.

I first encountered the Tao through Tai Chi. “Tao means ‘how'” the instructor told me. “It seeks to explain the Universe.”

“Yes!” I thought. “This is what I need.”

I embraced spirituality with a great hunger, consuming philosophies and teachings with unbridled enthusiasm. My mind thrilled to the challenge of cryptic codes believing that I could find meaning and order in everything, and everyone, I encountered. My compulsive need to fix thrived under the poorly masked guise of “love and light”. I really hadn’t changed; I’d just chosen a different vehicle to drive.

Until it all blew up and those I felt closest to walked away.

I still quest, but now it is for simplicity and contentment. I am tired of complication and drama. I have seen too much. I am focusing now on letting go; and supporting others in their choices, allowing for the beauty of life’s natural order (and disorder) to unfold before me.

Truth is, whatever control we think we think we have is an illusion for the most part. Self-control, maybe, but never where others are concerned. For me, my mishmash spirituality helps me hang up that hat: my chauffeur’s cap. I am not driving anyone anywhere these days. Instead, I hope that others invite me along because I am me, and that me spreads love, acceptance and support.

As I learned long ago, some choices in life our not our own, but how we live is.
I still have a lot to learn. Guess I’ll be around for a while.

(Feature image: thejesuschick.com)(Other: www.inquisitr.com)

Day 194 “Buddha Nature”

The bus I am riding on is actually a small house. The bus driver sits at the front door and collects fares. The front door opens into a dining room, where riders are playing cards. I move back further, into the adjacent sitting area. My friend Sandy is here and she has a young child; a girl. The girl remembers me although I am sure I have not seen her in ages. The bus stops, and panicked I rush to get off, only to discover this is not my stop, so I rush back on the bus. I feel frazzled, but laugh at my error and return to my seat trying to relax. Then I realize I am missing my purse. Thinking I’d left it at the last stop, I holler to the driver to go back, but then see that I’d left it on a table in the front hall. I pick it up and notice that it is lighter than it was. In fact, it is the purse, emptied of its contents. I am outraged, and accuse all the occupants of the bus. As it turns out, I know many of them, and I rifle through their belongings looking to recover mine. Worst of all, my passport was in the purse and losing that is a nightmare. I know the culprit is on board.

Coming to terms with the diagnosis of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is difficult, not unlike being robbed of one’s identification. In the dream, it is my passport I am worried about. My passport, in particular, is the only document that bears my full legal name. More importantly, it allows me to travel.

Replacing a passport is possible, but difficult. Metaphorically, I have lost my passport to come and go freely. Life now needs to be measured or paced, and I do not have credit to draw on. My purse has been emptied.

The bus that I travel on is me: the driver, the same robotic ego that takes me mindlessly through my daily route. The passengers are me also. Sandy is my over-analytical, uptight self, which is balanced by- or, perhaps (if I am more honest) protective of- my little girl innocence. The card players, and readers on board are me too. So is the thief.

Why is my bus a small house? My husband and I bought a small house over a year ago to retire in. We haven’t moved in yet, but it continues to be our promise for the future. Is this a premonition dream then? That the greatest struggle, or lost, will come when we move to our little house? Time alone will tell.

Derek Lin says that we each have a Buddha Self – an enlightened, loving self that lies at our inner core. As in the dream, I am struggling to find my bearings, conscious of the need to register my progress, and be on alert. I have long since moved away from a time when I trusted the process, and I am feeling disconnected from my Buddha Nature.

I can only hope that those who surround me don’t lose sight of it also. Reconnection will be my saving grace.

Questioning

Every Sunday, dressed in our church clothes (matching dresses that mom had sewn herself) we girls were ushered off to service. Dad rushed us so that he could get a decent parking spot – one that would permit a hasty exit when it was all over. He didn’t want to waste his day hanging around that place any longer than he had to.

At eight years of age, I marvelled at how different everyone was on this day. The crabby old lady from next door, who spent all week terrorizing the children of the neighbourhood, arrived in formal attire, with her little pillbox hat and matching gloves, and sweetness plastered across her face. Another neighbour, who everyone knew drank too much and beat his children, was greeted as if he himself was free of sin. On Sundays, I observed, we all became new people.

I chose to sit in the main church for the sermon as I never quite got the concept of Sunday School. Seemed to me we never learned anything, and most days we just coloured pictures related to some story that made no sense. That’s not to say I understood the sermon either. The minister kept referring to God as He, which would set my mind to wondering. My experience of God existed right back to my earliest memories, and that being was more feminine than masculine. I could not relate to the He the minister kept talking about. Could I have been so wrong? Is it possible that the minister had it wrong?

“What is the point of church, anyway?” I asked my parents one day. “Seems to me it is hypocritical.”

“Sunday is the day that we worship our Lord,” my mother said. “We dress up and show respect in His name.”

“Well, what about the rest of the week? Is it okay to be nasty the rest of the week? Doesn’t God watch us then? Shouldn’t we be living in respect of God all week long?” I didn’t mention the gender thing.

“She makes a good point,” my father added.

“That’s the way it’s always been done,” my mother shrugged.

We stopped going to church, but my quest for spiritual understanding didn’t stop there. I invited myself to my friend’s churches, and discovered stricter creeds, and attitudes of superiority and exclusiveness.

Organized religion, from my perspective, tells one what to believe, rather than encouraging one’s own relationship with the divine. As a child, I had a deep and very real connection with something that was beyond the ordinary – a loving, yet omnipotent power.

Now, I seek a return to the sense of wonder of life, to the simplicity of knowing that there is a presence or meaning that transcends the mundane, and the security of believing in that force. I crave goodness, and a harmonious state of being. I want to know inner peace.

Saying Goodbye To Father

My father fought against death at the end, even though he was wracked with pain, had difficulty breathing, and spent many of his nights in hospital.

“At what point do we stop all this intervention, Dad, and talk about keeping you comfortable?”

It was the early hours of the morning after another night spent in emergency.

“Now,” his voice cracked as he spoke. Dad was so clearly in distress it was alarming. Involuntary spasms of pain kept him from resting, and the strain was telling on his ashen face.

I took his hand in mine. “Dad, all I want for you is peace,” I hesitated. “To be honest with you, Dad, I have never known you to have peace in your life.”

He squeezed my hand. “Not a lot.”

“Do you believe that there is something for you on the other side, Dad?”

“I don’t know, Honey. I don’t have the faith that you do. I don’t know what to believe.”

“Some say that our feeling about God is related to our relationship with our own father.”

“How so?”

“When you were a boy, huddled in the coat closet, hiding from your father, what were your thoughts? Did you ever think about God in those moments?”

“All the time.” My father closed his eyes and laid back. “I remember asking God over and over, what I did wrong to deserve the beatings. I thought God was punishing me.”

“Exactly, Dad. Maybe your fear of death is because the little boy in you thinks God will reject you, or inflict more pain.”

He opened his eyes and looked at me. “You could be right. I know I’m afraid.”

“God didn’t punish you, Dad. Your father did. I have to believe there is something better awaiting you.”

He closed his eyes again, processing what I suggested. “You were a child, Dad. It wasn’t your fault. You need to forgive yourself.” A tear trickled down his cheek.

We didn’t talk about it further, but we did speak to the doctor on duty about changing Dad’s care. Plans were made to transfer my father to palliative care. The day he was to be moved, my father announced that he didn’t want any visitors. He said he needed time to settle in. They moved him mid-morning. He died within hours. I rushed to his side, but it was too late.

“Good for you, Dad,” I cried. “You finally made it.”

Calming Breath

Imagine being able to clear the clutter of your mind; to set aside all your thoughts, worries, obsessions, and just breathe. Imagine letting go of all the tension in your body; setting aside pain, and discomfort in favour of just being. Imagine the noise and distractions of everyday life just floating through you without sticking; your awareness not blocked, but heightened.

Through the practice of meditation, I have experienced this feeling of being suspended, at peace, in a state of harmony. It is calming, reassuring, refreshing. Reaching this place offers renewal, and at times, a sensation of bliss. It is amazing how, no matter how stressed, this state of being offers such relaxation, that it shifts perception.

Breathe deeply, slowly, and let your exhale carry the tension out of your body and mind. Take your time. Let thoughts flow in and out. Perceive them, and let them go. Everything that is important will be there later. Affirm it. It’s safe to set all thoughts aside.

Let your in breath fill you with clear, calming energy, washing over you, helping the out breath carry away the tension. Give your self permission to relax. Empty yourself, body, mind, and spirit. Surrender to the nothingness. Suspend your grasp on reality.

Just be.

Hints for success: Practice the same time each day. Create the opening. It doesn’t take long, it takes discipline. Practice in the same place, establishing a routine. One of my teachers suggested taking 2-3 minute intervals throughout the day where you stop and breath consciously. She said she would find a tree, and focus on that tree, imagining what it would be like to have roots that run deep into the earth, and branches that reach high into the sky, and bend with the breezes. She described it as strong, but calm, centered in peace.

Aside: I learned to meditate when my children were babies, which meant that the only place I could get any alone time was the bathroom. Meditating in the bathroom established a correlation that still exists today. Some of my best inspirations happen when I visit the bathroom.

(Image: quotesgram.com)