I fell down the stairs this summer. Actually, it was more like a carpeted ladder, and I more flew than fell. I was just waking up from a powerful dream where I was pulled into the time of Julius Ceasar. I wanted to creep downstairs (downladder) and steal a few morning moments of writing in peace before my son and husband woke up. Before all the bustle and holidaying would sweep me away from the memory of this powerful dream.
I love little independent cafés. They are geared down sanctuaries for our city-life. Little eddies of time in the fast flowing pace of modern, twitchy life.
These little shops have a personality. They have character. The feel like a cozy tea and good book. They allow us the rare opportunity to connect. Not plugged in connection, but actually connect with human faces, connect with ourselves, connect with the present moment, connect with the physical space.
This process of connecting is a vital need. Just like drinking water. Without it we dry up inside and become brittle, jaded, and stagnant.
Just a few moments is all it takes to nourish this need. Taking a tiny bit of time to do things slowly. To focus on what is precious. To nurture our connection.
I invite you. Right now. To connect more deeply to the space and the people you are with right now. If you are by yourself, you are with the most important person in the world.
Take your time.
Everything that you have, accomplish, own, or do, begins with an intention. Whether it is aloud, or not, whether it is known or not, whether it is a conscious choice or a subconscious one, intention is the force that moves energy.
The goal of most self development work, and Reiki is no exception, is to begin to make deliberate conscious choices in every aspect of our lives. To choose what we focus our thoughts and feelings on is our true power. Much of our day to day lives are driven by instinctual behaviour and habitual thoughts. We respond without thinking and think without reason, we reason without intuition, and we cloud our deep intuitive impulses with numbing behaviours that drown out the very loud, very persistent calling of our souls.
Or, at least, that is what can happen if we do not spend the time to turn inward toward your Inner Being or Higher Self, your soul, if you will. Turning inward can be as simple as taking a deep breath; a few moments of meditation in a busy day; a stroll in nature; a gaze and the moon and stars in wonder of the mystery.
Quiet times like these are when your deep intuitive voice, your soul’s voice, can be heard the clearest. That wise voice gives you insight, understanding and context to your current life situation. It can provide the wise guidance you need to set an intention that is in your highest and best good.
Reiki can help this process of turning inward and focusing on your soul’s voice. As soon as you set your intention, the energy begins.
Rest in peace is a blessing we say for our dearly departed, but I have begun to ponder its deeper meaning. I have weathered my share of grieving in the past few years and I will be on my way to another funeral for a family member in the next few days. We wish them peace. But I often wonder if we are really the ones in need of peace. Nothing brings you face to face with your mortality faster than a funeral. The person that has passed is on the other side, in the world of Spirit, so they have already got what we are yearning for, peace in the heart.
I often say to my students to take their own good advice they offer to another. So, as I stand here in my physical world, I reach toward a place of stillness within my own heart and mind. In the very centre, there is a deep and vast well of peace. It is spacious and expansive, nurturing and healing.
Death teaches us how to live. I think the sole goal of a successful life is to have a huge funeral with standing room only. In the end, it is not our accomplishments, titles, or possessions that matter, it is the number of hearts we have uplifted and lives we have touched. So today I choose to think a thought of peace and listen to the still voice of wisdom that lives in my heart.
A funny thing happened on the way home from writing class…
I witnessed a motorcyclist crash, get up, and run away from the scene. I found myself writing a witness statement for the police who later informed me that the man I had tried to help was running from the law, with several outstanding warrants. I’m a type that always looks to my life experiences to decode the symbology and the deeper meaning. The search for meaning in random events always gives me greater insight and clarity into the deeper mystery of my life.
So here I am in my role as a witness, a symbol that is also discussed in meditation. The observer, the witness. To witness your thoughts, or anything, is to be apart from the action rather than being a part of the action. In meditation, there is power in the role of the witness, because the witness is the aspect of the Divine within.
Motorcycles are powerful, potent symbols, recalling freedom, masculinity, and excitement. There is always something just a little bit dangerous and forbidden about a motorcycle. That is probably why they are so alluring. The relationship of the rider with the bike is also mythic in proportions. This is not just an object, this is a subject. This is something that someone loves. The bike and rider are one. When they are parted, there is something shattering in the experience. The separation of ‘the one’ into ‘the two’, leaves an indelible image in the mind.
The wildness and disorientation of the event caused the man to run in the opposite direction, away from his bike and his escape route. He was already trapped by his cage of fear. It is only a matter of time until the police catch him, as the determined, yet kind, officer assured me that they would. The rider was already caught before he was even found.
So what does this mean for me, a non-motorcycle driving, law-abiding woman? Maybe that the chaos I feel around me is not mine, I just happen to be in a good place to see it for what it is. To know that the wild dash in the opposite direction is a symptom of a deeper problem. To know that there is strength in my role of observer as I am removed from the action even though it appears as though it is happening to me. To know that my instincts are right, to be cautious when getting out of the car and cautious with injured people. To know that some injuries are hidden, locked away by years of trauma. The wild, wide-eyed, look is a sure sign of stress and trauma even in those who appear fine externally.
And to acknowledge that I do not do what other people do. I do not follow the crowd. I got out. I offered help. I stayed. I helped again. I was the only one. I was the only witness, of at least 8 to 10 people to stay at the scene until the police could arrive.
So perhaps, more than anything, I am proud of myself. I am proud of my instinct to help, even though it was an inconvenience. I am proud of my ability to keep a cool head, protect myself, and give instructions to others to call 911. I am proud that I could help the police, in a small way, do their job. I am proud that I stayed. I am proud that I was a friendly face in a sea of chaos.
I am different. That is good.