183 Retreating into Trust

Trusting in the Divine is like shifting perception, seeing that the journey is not meant to be “pleasant”. There is a roller coaster effect. We can trust. We can trust that there will be pauses.

I am looking at my journal page from the fifth day of the retreat.  It has a large brown owl drawn in the center.  Owls have been coming up a lot. Amber’s mug had owl eyes and a beak.  It might be the sixth time an owl arrived in my awareness in the last couple of weeks.  Listening.

Emergence.  Grace.  Release.  Forgive.  The bold words frame the page.  Trust.  Trust is the theme.  Trust is in thick capital letters.

Kwami and Michele watching a glorious sunset at Pacific Beach, WA, Oct 2020

Trust feels hard.  Trust feels like ignoring the obvious.  Trust requires a form of navigating the physical world and circumventing the obvious.  My brother’s MS.  Several people around me with Fibromyalgia.  DeeDee’s foot pain.  A few of my friends in mental chemistry imbalances. The woman for whom I held the elevator at the doctor’s office, thanking me between gasps of pain.  Trust.

Trust that these things are right.  Divorce.  Hurricanes.  Civil unrest.  Trust.

We were asked to journal the reasons that we know that we can trust, where we have seen God unfold.  I think of the miraculous display of love that came from Mom’s death.  I notice how the timing of my divorce created magnificent gifts for the young people around me, and the play out of Nyasha and Shante’s college journeys hinged on it.

I see the babies born to the young ones around me.  I see the cycles of nature, the yard, the forest, the creek at McCollum park drying and filling in the seasons.

I am so aware of the timing of my journey with cancer secretly aligning with the sale of the Granite Falls house.  My move to Dad’s was a move to being nurtured. Cared for.  Surrounded.  I am not isolated in illness.  Trust.

Trusting in the Divine is like shifting perception, seeing that the journey is not meant to be “pleasant”.  There is a roller coaster effect.  We can trust.  We can trust that there will be pauses.  Up at the top, the coaster car pauses, and we catch our breath and look at the beauty of the landscape, feel the sun on our skin.  Then we start down another killer hill, screaming the whole way.  But we can trust that there will be another lull.  Another chance to catch our breath.

Chemotherapy is another screaming, down hill rush.  I trust in the human cycle, the ebb and flow.  And I trust in the Eternal cycle.  Eventually the ride ends in great glory.  I trust that what may appear as death actually divulges that I am off the ride, at home with grace and emergence.  Human trust shifts perception.  Spiritual trust lands us in Eternal rapture.

15. Insights

A couple of months ago, I accepted death.  And then, I have been told to accept life.  Both.  Here and now.  I’m gonna die, eventually, some day.  It might be a surprise a couple of weeks from now.  It might be a miraculous decade or more away.  But it will be right, on God’s terms, on Universal principle… not in my time, not my decision.  And I will always be one with the earth, one with you, Divinely available forever.

This week, a vision keeps popping up.  I am inside of a mountain, looking out.  There have been a lot of earthy pictures in my head. 

But spiritually, I have loved deserting this world for higher planes.  Friends used to say that “I need to ground”.  What that means is that it isn’t good to fully leave this world for the God realm (like where meditation can take a person, becoming an addiction to God focus) without bringing it back into this one.  Over a decade ago, it was difficult for me to pick the human world over the space of realization.  I preferred to be in that fuzzy, soft, unconditional love space that I had found within myself.

There was kick back!  My feet slammed to the earth with a divorce and all that came with it.  My balance was forced, and then tipped back to earth based reality.  But you can’t really remove awareness and realization.  What has been seen cannot be unseen.  I would say that it can feel like God deserted you, or that you are starting back at the beginning on that seeking quest.

The cancer has been a gift, like it took the earth base away, and opened my eyes.  And this week has brought the rock, the inside of the mountain, me looking out of the mountain, an integral part of the earth itself.  Balance.  

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