Query, A Star

Query, A Star

Once in time without time a star burst into life. In size it was insignificant and its burst was tiny, barely a blimp in the area of the universe where it appeared. However, the energy that it carried was brilliant for such a little one. Divine Source created the star and its spirit. It named the new creation Query.

Shortly after it came into being the new star was bursting at its gaseous core to be something more, to expand and to learn.

Query kept asking the near by stars questions about the life of a star.

They replied,“A star stays in one place until it burns out; waits to become a star again and then repeats.

“What happens in between”? asked the little one.

“You go back into the Divine Source. Return to the great one’s brilliance,” was always the response.

“What does that mean?”

“We’re not sure. Besides, you ask too many questions. You are here. Be what you are- a star. “

“What if I don’t always want to be a star?”

“Star energy always returns to star energy. That’s the way it is. Stop with the questions!” Most of the stars began to ignore Query.

One old star, one that was close to burning up, spoke for the first time, “No star that I know of has ever been inquisitive like you. When you return to being a star as many times as I have, it can be boring. You have me thinking that It might be fun to be something else.”

The ancient one added, “Only the Divine Creator can answer your questions.”

“But how do I do find it to ask what I want to know?” Query asked.

The old one spoke patiently, “Every one of us is connected to the Divine Source. It’s where we come from and return to. We are part of It and It is us.”

“It’s a huge version of me, of all us put together?” inquired the new star.

“Basically, yes.”

The other stars started mumbling, complaining that the old star was losing its senses and should be quiet.”

The wise and elderly star replied, “At least Query and I are willing to be different. It’s taken me eons and the spirit of a new star to get me to become curious. Things are changing. The Divine Source, in creating Query, is showing us that.

The last time I remember change occurring was when a planet called earth came into being. The spirits who go there have the power of free will. I remember how excited their sunstar was to be part of that system. I don’t know what happened, but it had everyone buzzing with excitement. If you find out anything about earth, let me know before I die again.”

“Old one, how do I communicate with The Divine Source? How do I find it?”

“I told you, you come from the Divine One and are always part of its energy, as are we all. Think your question and ask for an answer.”

“That’s it? Why haven’t I heard anything yet?”

The other star replied, “Patience.You haven’t asked the Divine One directly. You need to quiet yourself or you are going to burn up and have the shortest life span of any star.”

“I’ll try. Thank you for helping me. I know I get excited.”

“It’s okay, Query. I’d like to keep you around as long as I am here.”

Then wise star continued, “First think of your beginning, if you can – that bursting into being of you. It will give you a sense of the energy you come from. Next, think of what you desire to know.”

Query quieted its thoughts and imagined its beginning. Almost immediately a powerful, loving presence made itself part of the star’s awareness.

“Well, well, my newest star, you learn quickly and you are inquisitive, as I had hoped. You are stirring up this part of the universe,” spoke Divine Source.

“I can hear you!”

“Yes indeed, little one. You have my attention. What do you want?” asked the the Creator.

“I’m stuck here in one place with no change.I am grateful for being here, but I want to explore, to learn new and amazing things. I want to move, not just the gases that keep moving and exploding in my body, but the part that isn’t gas, that is the knowing me. Do you understand?”

“I do understand, little one. You are very perceptive.”

Query spoke again, “The old star mentioned a place called earth. Did you create it?”

“Yes, it comes from me. Many of the spirits go there to experience it’s free choice and learn how powerful and wonderful pure love is.”

“Is it possible to move on earth?”

“Yes it is, but not as a star.’

“Being a star is boring. When I finish this life may I return as something different and go somewhere else?.”

The Divine Source responded, “You are a joy! You are one of only a small percentage of my creations to ask to be something different. I am pleased that you have awakened that energy in the ancient star spirit, as well.”

Creator added, “When, in time and space, and all is where it is meant to be, I will send both of you to earth. Until then, you will need to be patient and take in all you can in the form you are now. It is the best way to grow and change and prepare for a new adventure. For now It is time to end our talk. It has been a pleasure to speak with you, Query.”

After those last words, Divine Source left.

For a moment the youngest star was quiet taking in what had it had heard.

The old one spoke before the silence ended, “A new adventure is coming for both of us, little one. I heard the conversation. I am honoured to be chosen to spend time with you in a different form, when the time is right.”

The two spirits lived their star journeys until the Divine Creator knew that all things were ready to send them to their new adventure.

 

Choices I’ve Made

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Cruel To Be Kind (Songwriters: GOMM, IAN ROBERT / LOWE, NICHOLAS ORAIN Cruel To Be Kind lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, ANGLO-ROCK, INC.)was playing on the radio as I drove to visit a friend the other weekend. I remember it from 1979- humming along to the catchy tune; dancing to its beat and singing the chorus. Never really hearing the words to any of it. This time, in the car, I paid attention to the words. They jarred me. A man talking about a friend who kept knocking him down and the friend excusing the behaviour be saying it’s okay to be “cruel to be kind.”

The song triggered thoughts that being cruel can come from a person (me) who believed that she was all about kindness and could not be cruel. Somewhat different from the words of the song. yet a trigger for me.

Memories of the caged lioness, who kept her emotions locked deep inside a simmering volcano of her being. Finally the depressed, swallowed down feelings erupted; the cage door sprang open; anger exploding as I burst forth from the emotional prison.

The sweet gentle woman I tried to be could no longer contain the anger I had swallowed for so many years. The formerly caged lioness began to attack the the perceived jailor. The lioness begins to stalk, biting with verbal anger, attacking the “others” ,who I felt had locked me in the cage. In actual fact, I was my own captor; the bars of the cage were of my own creating; my own fears holding me in.

In time, a voice whispered in my head, “You have become the person you loathe; the one who spews out all the hard emotions with a viper’s tongue.”

I, the wounded lioness, stopped in my tracks, and wept for the explosive, weak and tired woman I had become. It takes copious energy to be angry at the world, almost as draining as imploding with depression. I know. I have experienced both. Out of this realization I began to search for the real me.

Who was I? Was I the rogue lioness on the rampage, angry at the world, because I believed that world was a jail that others around me had imprisoned me within? When I stopped and asked myself those questions, I wanted to bolt rather than acknowledge the answer – that if I were to place blame any where, it had to be on myself. I was scared beyond my darkest imaginings to peer into the inner workings of the emotions I had propelled outward. It meant I had to look at me and not the outside world for answers. I had to begin taking responsibility for myself.

Knowing this, I made a decision to try to be brave, to stop being who I didn’t want to be and delve within the workings of the real me; into the woman I did not know.

Many times in this process I have been overwhelmed by fear and would stall for a time in my inner growth. I am continuing to learn, gradually, to accept me exactly as I was and am; to forgive myself and to love me, warts and all, as the saying goes. One of the hardest parts- acknowledging that I had the ability to hurt and did hurt others by my words and actions. The total owning of me. The dirty laundry as well as the clean.

If we don’t like ourselves, it is difficult to like others. Unfortunately it is easier to be cruel or mean to others, to blame them for our predicaments. for the cages that we create ourselves, than to accept that our confinement is due to fear to make different choices. That fear can rule a life, as it did many parts of mine, until I could not live with how I was. I would have loved to have been free of all fear the moment I recognized my responsibility for my life choices. I am reminded that it is, “like slowly peeling back the layers of an onion” with the accompanying tears. It is a healing process, a journey.

I think of the people, like I was, caught in their lives by their choices, blaming their unhappiness on circumstances outside of themselves; not yet ready, maybe never ready to see the keys dangling in the locks inside the cages. May they find the courage to take the keys; open the doors and begin to find their way to freedom.

In Between

I haven’t posted anything here in a long time. My life, like this blog ,seems to go in waves.

Today I read an inspiring blog by a friend. She spoke about her life’s journey and how it has brought her to where she is. A brave woman who is listening to her heart and soul.

As well, I am blessed to know other women,whose journeys are inspiring. What inspires me the most is the cord that is common to them and me- the willingness to explore who we are on the inside.

I can tell you, based on my own experiences, going inward to find out who you are and begin to make the changes, requires perseverance and determination.

For me, it also means, not getting stuck in focusing on the lives that others created for themselves.Many times I have concentrated on trying to imprint others’ lives into my own. That did not work well for me.

The theme of my life: I wanted to be someone other than me. Fiction was a way to do that. Reading self-help books based on other people’s lives is a way to take on their lives. Yes, many of them had information to help me on my journey. I thought I had to apply all their information to my own life,  BUT their lives were not and are not mine. Each one of us has our own journey and because we are all different, how we live will be different.

I was mired in not owning my life. I was also scared shitless to change it. I spent most of my life sinking into the quick sand of fear. I am now pulling myself out.

As I focus on my acceptance of all of me and thus, loving all of me, these are my revelations, my truths as I am able to decipher and know them:

So many words and so many voices in my head. None of them my own. I did not know how to listen clearly to my own inner voice. How could I? I had no idea who I was. I only knew myself in terms of those outside me. Afraid to know me, because I probably wasn’t someone who being me, was anyone others could/would or even want to know and like.

So many layers over so many years to get to the real me. And that is enough about me for now.

I will finish with one of my micro stories.

A Manure Pile

Sitting across from each other on top of a manure pile were a little girl and an old woman. They stared at each other. A tear began to fall from the child’s left eye; then one fell from her right eye. Soon a steady stream of tears flowed down her cheeks. Her body began to heave with the sobs that burst forth.

The old one pulled herself onto all fours. Slowly she made her way through the muck, reaching the girl and pulling her close. A tune began to form from deep within the woman’s heart humming its way out between her weathered lips. They sat rocking back and forth.

Gradually the sobbing slowed and stopped; only the humming was heard. Untucking her head from the comforting shoulder, the child peeked out at the lined face so close to hers. A little hand tentatively touched the woman’s face. The old one smiled. The tiny hand traced the edges of the smile. The girl then snuggled back in to the comforting embrace.

Love radiated between them and out around them. Black clouds that had previously filled the sky floated away. A rich blue sky appeared, as the sun shone its warmth and light on all below. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice.

The manure pile began to transform. Green sprouts appeared; stems of flowers rose from the depths of the rich fertilizer. Buds formed and then opened. Fragrances ticked the noses of the young and the old. They reluctantly released their loving hold, smiling as they took in the scene around them – a colourful garden of delicious herbs and flowering plants.

They helped each other stand. Hand in hand, making their way to the edge of the garden, they stopped for a hug. The child raised her arms. The old woman slowly knelt. They embraced.

Something magical happened. The two became one. A healthy vibrant woman stood, smiled, and stretched out her arms for the pure joy of being. She kept her eyes alert for unicorn sightings, as she walked away from the garden into the surrounding field.

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Clarisa’s Gardens

There. That was the perfect place for the stone, amidst the grass and the rocks, on the edge of our flower garden. My wife had the stone carved for me before she died last winter. Clarisa had often commented that the rocks and crystals were her flowers. The woods, the yard and the house were filled with her collections; her gardens. She”d smile and laugh that silvery laugh of hers, when I prepared to clear the weeds from my flower and vegetable beds.

My work is so easy, she’d tell me, “I listen to a rock or crystal and place it where it wishes to go.”

Sometimes she’d go traipsing off into the woods across the road on a hot, summer day to place a stone beneath a tree and sit with it awhile enjoying the coolness supplied by the leaves. I’d be sweating and muttering in the garden. When Clarisa returned, refreshed, she’d say not a word, but skip into the house and return shortly with two cold beers.

She’d say to me, “Edgar, come sit among my rocks, beneath the maple tree, and cool off for a bit.”

The frosty glass of beer looked so inviting that I would immediately join her. As soon as I began to complain about all the hard work I was doing, she’d put a finger to my lips and whisper, “Shush. You do it because you love the results, so sit with me now and take in the beauty you help nature create.”

I have to admit that I could not understand her dedication to those lifeless, hard rocks, even when Clarissa became sick. She was having a particularly difficult day last summer, so I helped her to a lounge chair under the maple tree, while I stepped into my role of weeder.

I heard her weakly call my name, “Edgar, would you mind very much placing one or two of my stones and crystals in your gardens?”

I looked up, startled and surprised, until I realized she no longer had the strength to take her “flowers” and plant them as they requested.

“I would be honoured, “ I replied, keeping my voice strong, The flowers and vegetables would be honoured, as well.”

So it began. Clarisa’s gardens and mine became one. I swear that as I moved her precious pieces, amidst my plants that I could almost hear them whisper a thank you to me. When autumn arrived I placed them among the house plants, as well.

“There That’s the last one,” my love spoke as I planted her favourite crystal in the soil of the Boston fern. “They have all found a place they wish to be, for now” She looked at me, pointedly.

I thought to myself, “They will stay put where they are forever.”

Then I curled up beside my wife, holding her close, and listening to her breathe. Two days later she left her physical body.

Clarisa lives in the plants and gardens. I am always surrounded by her presence. I have begun to move a few of the crystals to different places. When I do, I hear her voice in my ear, laughing, “I knew that you would hear them.”

I am dragon

I am dragon, black as night. My wings glide silently, dancing with clouds; skimming treetops. My breath, burning embers, releases red-hot steam, as I sniff to solve the mystery of my pain. My scarred heart aches for an absence of love, pulsing with each beat.

I forcefully search to know the answer to the wrenching pain of loneliness within my heart. The heart knows not its lover. The answer lies within. I seek without. Afraid to go within; afraid of deeper pain. Let me die. Yet I can not, as a compelling force begs me find the answer. As I seek through the night, a fruitless search, I realize, that soon I must delve within.

I leave the darkness behind. I would stay hidden there, but the sun prepares to rise. My cell, crystals of stormy blue, ochre red and sun-fire yellow, hurt my eyes, as I enter.  The stones torment me with their haunting beauty. i believe they know what I do not. My mind screams destroy them. My heart knows better.

The  soothing hum of the stones’ vibrations ease my heart’s pain. I sleep, for now.

..

Two Stories Shared

1. A Story Remembered

The well beckoned me. I stood over the opening, and starred into its watery depths.

I was thirty-five, pregnant, and exhausted- mentally, emotionally and physically. Morning sickness overtook my body as soon as I woke. It barely diminished throughout the day. I felt void of joy. Birds cheerfully called out to each other, but I was oblivious to their singing. My awareness was focused entirely on the bleakness of my life. I saw no colour; only darkness surrounded and filled me.

I had continually swallowed my despair and the feeling of being totally isolated in a family that demonstrated little emotion. Physical touch seemed to be reserved for the marriage bed only. My mother-in-law, who lived with us, was unapproachable. It was perhaps her way of coping in a family where women did their chores and were expected to be grateful that they had men to take care of them.

I no longer knew how to cope. This eleventh pregnancy became the final wave of crushing responsibility that drove me into a black hole from which I believed I could not escape.

My only relief from this emotional pain had come each morning, before daybreak, when I rose and hurried to the lake. I sat on the water’s edge, reminiscing about happier times. However, as soon as I rose to leave that sweet sanctuary, the shroud of desolation once more encompassed me.

This morning, instead of the lake, I quietly made my way to the well, hidden from the house by a small grove of trees. I unlaced and removed my shoes, placing them neatly by the stone casement. I knelt and peered into the well’s deep hole. I let my mind go blank, focusing on the shimmering image gazing back at me.

Her voice whispered, “Come join me. Here there is no pain.”

I did not hesitate. I toppled forward, seeking relief from my emotional bondage. I would finally be free.

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2. A Happier Ending

The above story is based on the remnants of information I know about my great-grandmother’s death. I know she drowned in a well and that she was pregnant. My maternal grandmother was one of her surviving children. I hear my ancestor’s voice in the lives of her daughters who died in similar ways. I hear it also in the lives of people who are afraid to speak up for themselves. I use to be one of those people.

I speak now for my journey and my lessons learned. I make no comparison to anyone else’s experiences. I gradually learned how to heal and move past the depressing thoughts and feeling of anxiety.

I once read that depression is connected to living in the fears of the past and anxiety is one’s fear of the future. Therefore, it made sense to me to begin finding ways to live in the present.

By practising present living, I am happy more and more of the time. When anxiety and/or depression sneak in, I am much less likely to hold on to those feelings. Overall, it is a joy and a privilege to live my life. I love who I am and I honour the path I trod to get here. I also honour my great-grandmother and all who have died because living was too overwhelming. I am proud to be one of her descendants.

It would have been a privilege to be the person with whom my great-grandmother could have shared her fears and darkness. I don’t know if that would have made a difference, but it might have helped. We all do better when we have at least one person who understands us and is willing to listen to our stories without judgement.