Exploring the Human Condition: altered states of consciousness

Posts tagged ‘life’

Seeing 63

She asked me if I was scared.  I felt like screaming at her “DUH!  How insensitive and clueless could any one person possibly be?  This one directed statement has nagged at my soul endless hours already, and it must be dealt with.

Fairy tales are great here on Earth, but what about in the ethers?  What about that?  What about the spiritual realms we know little to nothing about.  Like a great garden, shamans the world over know it takes years to develop a strong spiritual practice.  In Christianity and smaller local places of worship, it is always easy for me to discern people who are very experienced in prayer, and those just there for the sermon.

The strangest addiction of western man, in my humble opinion, is the need for stimulation, and that covers all the lesser sub-addictions.  The absolute hardest thing I have ever in my life tried to do, is to strip away all the conditioning, all the pre-conceived notions of how this or that should be, and run past all the fears and the impossibilities like a champion to visualize and accomplish the preferred outcome.  When all the layers are peeled away, when all the masks and costumes, and makeup is removed, when you are finally able to simply turn off the endless dialogue or repeating tapes in your head, it can be an extremely shocking and in my case, actually frightening in itself, kind of experience.

So it is hard to imagine a person who never meditates, who has no spiritual practice, but just bounces through life like a pinball forever magnetized to seek that connection, for the points, for that stimulation that drowns out all the calm.  So when I think of Sagan, Carlin, Irwin, and so many others, and I wonder where they are, and what they are doing, I am pause to think better, and just know they are once again doing what they loved, what they did best, and for what they gave to us all.

What makes a man extraordinary?  What causes a living person to remember the likes of someone already passed?  Why do we grieve and mourn the loss of the people we loved?  What is it about this connection of the human heart we have all forgotten?  It is a pure pathway straight to the Divine, an open road, accessible to anyone who has a heart.  I used to have a little terrier, and in the early mornings when I would sit with her on the couch and wake up, I was convinced she was able to meditate, and dream, just like me.  Her face was so serene, eyes shut, smiling…  heart rate very slow…

Being so very intelligent and stimulating in life, I imagine the many aspects of Carlin are now fully integrated into every interesting nook and cranny of the universe.  We loved Carlin because he could stimulate our minds!  He could challenge our conditioned thinking and shock us into thinking for ourselves, as if that was something trained out of us.  Sure, he was getting older, but he didn’t appear ready to die, at least what I saw of him at the last.  But unless he turns out like Mandela, we were told that he’s gone.

So scared?  Come on.  Death is ALL things, the ultimate peak experience!  It surely must be home, or the way there…  For this place seems finite in every sense, every nano-second in flux.  Whatever was before, is no longer now.  And it would seem the only solace is to sit in silence and give over to this fear.  Listen to the birds, breathe, grieve, plead, and do whatever you must.  I think that is where the fear is born.  We fear total loss of connection.  We know the feelings, the constant stimulation of being in love, of having children around to look after, of running a business, or managing a house, or building a holistic farm, or how we feel when we do the things we love.  What we don’t know is how to listen, to be quiet and just breathe.  We simply cannot sit still and that is a shame.

This morning, the beautiful birds are my connection to you.  I miss you so greatly that I am willing to follow you, and go blindly where there is no going back.  Please be there waiting for me.  If angels still have arms, I want to hold you in mine.  Just be there.  All of you!  There can be no fear in that.

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Understanding Mother

Today is May 28th. It is my mother’s birthday, although she passed in 2001. Today, had she lived, she would have been 82 years old. Of course, a child as they age, will always look back to the choices made by a parent, and I was especially close to my mother, just never knew it, or understood her.

Had she given up the cigarettes, and the non-stop black coffee from dawn till dusk, she might have lived longer. Had she tried to eat more vegies, and less processed meats, maybe. White bread, of course, was the only bread. She came from the time of the Great Depression, and I heard many stories about living during that time. I suppose that coming from a place of “doing without,” caused her to continue to live like that throughout her aging years. I have long ago decided that it may well be impossible to understand what she thought, or why she said the things she did. Much less, I have tried and tried to grapple with the increasing likelihood that she had a violent nature that came out against our animals. I cannot begin to tell you how deeply sick and disturbed it makes “me” feel to look at that. But as the images continue to haunt me, there seems to be no other explanation.

How do I forgive that? My whole life has been spent in trying to save them, the animals, every one. They are even present in my dreams, which I call obstacle dreams, where there are things I must face and overcome, and at the same time there are always little animals, just sitting in odd places, waiting for me to save them. It is a very upsetting type of dream to be plagued with. I can only think that it is my way of balancing out the bad that was in my mother.

But this is not a time to complain or delve into the dark side of my mother. A friend recently tried to “push” me into a place of forgiving by pointing out that until I do that, I will never have peace. I am almost dawning upon my sixth decade of this life, and still I find it almost unbearable to think of the bad things, and to forgive them in her, if they are indeed true, seems so contrary to anything that is in me.

Her given name was Janelle. And they called her Missy. She was born with beautiful blonde curls that turned brunette as she became a woman. She came from the most affluent family of her very small east Texas town, and even with that, she had only two pairs of shoes, one for school, and one for church, and she was very blessed indeed. For many of the children of the town, had only one pair for all occasions, sometimes they were hand-me-downs, and did not fit properly. But kids make do. They do not know the stress and the worry adults entertain. But the problems my grandparents faced during the 1930’s and 40’s surely trickled down to their kids, as my mother was a child of the Depression. And it would forever mark her.

My grandmother taught the first grade in my mother’s school. And Missy was very bright indeed. In high school, she was on almost every page of the yearbook, until Senior year, where she virtually dropped off the earth. It is interesting to me, because my father first appears in this Senior yearbook, and is surrounded by girls, every time, as he was very good looking and very charismatic. But no Missy. In my heart of hearts, I truly believe that my mother got pregnant, and she had a baby. And I believe that because she was not married to my father at that time, my grandfather insisted that she give up the child. I can find no other explanation. Somewhere in this United States is very likely a sibling to me, that I have no idea about. It is very sad.

Later when she was nineteen, Missy married my father, Harold. I was born when she was 23. And then three years later, they had my brother Jon. They moved to a “city” named Kilgore where Dad worked in a printing shop. Dad was a good father then, as I remember, every nite he came home to us, and his friends also visited with their children. I still remember so much about that first house, the sunlight, my bedroom, the backyard, our pets. Even my toys, I remember them well. The thing I hated most was the torture that seemed impossible to avoid, the constant fussing and messing with my hair. From permanents which were “super horrible” to the curlers at night and the cutting of the bangs. My dad won a $50 prize for a photography contest when he entered a picture of my mother holding my chin and trying to cut my bangs, and I was giving her the “look from hell.” I have this one even now…

I do not know what happened to people. The food they were buying was not food at all. And the life they were trying to lead was so far from what they knew as children. It must have been very hard. My mother was an introvert, and she did everything she could to avoid close friends, and it was only in her later years that she learned to love people, and accept the good with the bad. And many people loved her as well. I have always been thankful for that.

Today I remember my mother. I feel sort of sad, sort of indifferent. I love her truly. If I could see her again, I would let her know that. When I pray, and I speak to God, sometimes I shift, and speak to her, as if she might be able to hear me. I am so sorry I didn’t understand her when I was younger. I was just trying to go to high school and later be a music student at the University. Those were such difficult times where I had to really hustle and having time to understand my mother who was 4 1/2 hours away, was not in the plan.

Today, on her birthday, I imagine beautiful irises. She always grew them as did my grandmother. In spring at this time, my grandmother would also have Spider Lillies in her front yard. Me and Mom would walk around the yard with her, on our Sunday visits, and they would teach me the names of the flowers and plants. These are some of my best memories. Now my brother owns their home, the old family homestead, and he doesn’t allow me to even go there. I cannot even find him, truth be told, as he doesn’t want to communicate.

How can one person in a family, always the “black sheep” still have so much love and caring inside, when the rest of the clan does not. Missy still has a little sister who is 72 now, living in Houston, and I wrote her a couple of months ago. But no answer back as yet. I will try again, as I am just that way. Momma always told me that being alone was not that bad. I guess she had to learn after she finally divorced with my father. They were just too different, and should have done it years ago, but because they had children, and because of the strict religious understanding of my grandfather, it was not to be. Not until my brother and I were grown.

So now I find myself alone. When the knees are giving out, and the back is all twisted like hers was. She never told me that until that last time I saw her alive. Then I could clearly see it in her back. The good news is that I also inherited her good traits. Like reading for one. I cannot get enough of books and the amazing people who write them. Amazon is my good friend! And I am smart, I have good intelligence. It was said by the preacher at her funeral that Missy was a brilliant woman, and could have been a surgeon if she had chosen that. How they could have known that is beyond me, but it was pretty cool.

My father died the next year. He wouldn’t talk to me either or see me. I wonder if he is sorry for that now. His own brother drove to Tyler from Houston to see my Dad and he was only there to help him, with money or whatever. But my Dad wouldn’t even go to the door. So I don’t take all these things too personally, really. It hurts, no doubt. But there are clearly reasons why that I will never know. All I can do now is try to temper the good with the bad. I can’t make up for their wrongs. But I can live my life as best I can, being true to the things that matter most to me. If other people don’t understand, that’s okay. We are all different. I don’t like being alone, no, not one bit. But it is far better at this age than being with the “wrong” person. Maybe someday, my age and my looks, my limitations physically, won’t matter to somebody. Maybe they will see the beauty I have inside and I will no longer have to be the “sheep.” Today, I can only wish the world Peace! We can have it. We really can. But first we must feed the babies. All of them. No child should ever go hungry in this world. No matter his race or his religion. And having Monsanto and Gates selling their vaccines and their franken-food to Africa and other undeveloped nations is NOT the answer. It is all about love, people. It is all about sharing and caring. And that, I can do. Thank you for reading. And Happy Birthday Momma! I love you!

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