Monday, May 28, 2012

I Get Paid in Tears

Spent Sunday in religious services, bathed in spiritual intention and ancient wisdom.  The musician-in-residence, following this extraordinary service on Sunday morning, said to me "you are a cryer."  And I denied this, telling him that anyone who knows me would say otherwise.  He pointed to the many wet Kleenex in my purse as proof that he was right.  And then very sweetly said he gets paid in tears and would consider the service a success.

I don't know what happened this weekend, what brought the tears.  This magical musician carries G*d's sweetness and compassion in every prayer he sings, and that's not a small thing.  It might be the biggest thing actually.  Because I usually feel so alone in my relationship with G*d, so uncertain if others also perceive His sweet and loving presence, His warmth and personal attention.

During this particular service, in remembrance of those who have passed, I felt G*d's presence before all of us, His huge embrace, His watching over each one of us with so much hopeful encouragement that we could slow down our lives and our minds and our thoughts at least long enough to feel His presence.  I could feel the glow of His purity and love surrounding us as a community and individually.

And I could feel His compassion for each one of our loved ones who left this world unclear, uncertain, unknowing of what was to come, and concerned for those left behind.  And that He greets each one with such tenderness, guiding them back to the home of His heart, and then on to the rest of their journey.  I could see it - every touch of gentle kindness, a loving-kindness that we are so rarely capable of, a kind of total love and acceptance that says 'you belong to Me, I am yours and you are Mine...welcome home."

I could see all of that.  And then to hear it reflected in the prayers, in the community, in the comforting touch and companionship of others was overwhelming.  I'm not sure I've ever felt comforted before by human beings, but in this moment, with G*d's presence so strong, it was their hearts and hands and words through which He worked.

This is a miracle.  When the limitations of human beings are no limit at all.  When the divisions and differences fall away, and all that's left are open hearts and G*d can move freely in each one of us, His light and love spilling all over the place...this is a miracle.

Giving Up the Struggle

I do not know if this is so for everyone, but it seems quite clear to me at this moment, that the thing that has been my greatest fear contains within the key to my greatest liberation.  Not by throwing it off or overcoming it, but simply accepting it.  Just the simple act of acceptance, of giving up the struggle.  We are told of all the ways we must overcome, surpass, dominate, extinguish and otherwise subdue our inner lives.  I'm going with acceptance on this one - sweet, simple and pure.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012


I've been watching this show, Long Island Medium, about a woman who connects with spirit.  And because she is able to hear the voices of the dead, they employ her pretty unrelentingly to communicate.  Not because she's some angelic, spiritually enlightened being - but because she can hear them.  All it takes for her to use the gift is to simply accept it.  And the gift is simply that she can hear what others cannot.

When my father died, I felt sure his tortured soul had left the body and left my life and moved on the settling his own complicated karma.  I was glad for an end to the constant chaos that swirled around him, but shocked at the sudden end to our complicated relationship.  Not regrets exactly, but a lot of unfinished business and questions that can never be answered.

I was with a friend, a medium, once, when my father came through.  And she said he was very funny, and said everything was really just an accident, and nothing that happened was intended, and he was sorry.   And, except for him showing up in my dreams, sort of familiar but not someone I really know, I let it go at that.  This unknowable man left surrounded in mystery, just gone suddenly.

But I watch Long Island Medium and I wonder where he is, that poor, confused, lost soul.  What happened when he left us, and to what degree he would like to send a message but no one can hear his voice?  What if someone could hear him, could tell me what he has to say?  Would it change things?  Would it make a difference?  Do the departed really watch over us?  Has he been trying to help, but he couldn't?

I've never believed in my loved ones watching over me, but maybe they all are, keeping me company, silently supporting me, proud and happy at who I am?  How comforting.  For me and for them.


I was eager to explore when I was younger, always excited at the horizon rising up to greet me, revealing hidden worlds.

And then I shrouded myself in certainty, content with absolute Truth, comforted that I finally knew and understood, and more than willing to put away whatever didn't conform.  The Truth contained within it intimacy and ecstasy and I knew I needed nothing beyond that.

But more and more as time wore on, the shroud that had been a comfort, felt like a death wrap, like protection between the world and me, but also like the clothing of death.  And in a way it was.  The clothing of spiritual death, of dying alive.

These days, I don't want death, not even symbolic death.  I want life.  Not safe.  Not secure.  Not shrouded.  Not certain.  Not easy.  Not detached.  Not always perfect.  Just life.