Poppy Party

I was sleeping soundly.   

For as long as I can remember, I have been a happy sleeper.    Is there anything more delicious than a peaceful night of slumber?  Well, perhaps a long nap on a rainy winter day.    Sleep in early spring is very different than autumn or winter.  The ambient energies, the vibrations of the earth, lullabies sung in many voices, stir us to wake rather than lull us to sleep when the spring energies are rising.  It was one such time, sleeping naturally and effortlessly, when I suddenly awoke with a start, to realize I'd actually been in my front yard attending a curious party, hosted by covens of California poppies.    Until this happened, I had no knowledge that I was able to do such a thing. 

My cozy surroundings were still rather new to me and awake or asleep, I was in a perpetual state of delight.  And so it was with a heightened sense of awe that I woke up suddenly to realize my consciousness had been in my new front yard while my body was asleep in my bed. 

I looked at the clock.  Midnight.  The full moon bathed my room with a generous quality of intense gentleness -- high frequency gentleness, if you will, through the extra large skylight over my bed.  Now wide awake, all of my senses were aroused as I replayed the magical experience.  I swear this is the God's truth. I'd been the guest of honor at a party of California poppies, a coven of sheathed, pointy-headed beings who wanted a word with me.

I could still hear their high pitched voices, feel their joy, sense the dewdrops on blades of spring grasses sparkling in the milky glow of the radiant moon. I could hear the hymn-quality ballad of stillness that is a peaceful night in the country, accented by the soft rhythms of a hooting owl and a croaking bullfrog.  Yet I had no map for this new experience that suggested so many other possibilities living in a place, a real and true home, I had named, Blessing.

Tomorrow is our blooming day.  We are so happy.  Our destiny, our purpose, our great joy is in blooming.  Tomorrow is the day.  We wanted you to know.

In this brief expression came news of another world, one that seemed perfectly ordered, divinely inspired, and honestly, like a lot of fun.  The poppy beings in my front yard were tiny, but their presence was unforgettably powerful and I knew I totally and completely loved these jubilant munchkins who could not sleep on the eve of their big day. 

An old farmhouse and 6.7 acres in a sweet valley surrounded by reverently undulating hills and a vast sky were my dream come to life.  It would take a lot of hard work, commitment to a big learning curve, and patience for this dream seed of my heart to fully manifest. I craved freedom for my soul, natural beauty for my heart and simple grace of a life in flow with the natural order of things.. I wanted a sanctuary for spiritual communion, a gathering place for kindreds to feel at home.  I wanted wildflowers and gardens, trees, places to meditate, places to play. 

I didn't even have a lawnmower or a proper shovel.  Years of condo life, silk business suits, and more frequent flyer miles than I could use had preceded this new phase of life.  So I arrived on the lookout for anything that seemed promising in the mostly raw, tired and bored pastureland filled with foxtails, wild oats and gangs of blackbirds.  But here and there, poppies appeared, bright golden-orange poofs of magic to my eye, and so, when I acquired my first lawnmower, I mowed around the poppies, and lovingly sent them a smile as I passed by, encouraging them to multiply, unaware that they could feel me doing so.

Perhaps it was this care that earned me the invitation as their guest of honor that night.  I can't say for sure.  I just know it is among my cherished memories of the decade I have passed waking up at Blessing.  And it set the tone for how I learned to love this place, evolving it and me into my earnest, heart-felt contribution to heaven on earth.

"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen."   

Bobby - age 7   

Getting Out of Story

I lived most of my life believing that the story was the thing, the way to find success, meaning and purpose in life. Lately there's been a theme in the prompts I'm getting from the Universe: story is a trap.

We are each born into a story, captives of the context we marinate in, and we are not free as spiritual beings until we have learned how to step out of it. This is a simple way of understanding what it means to wake up. We learn to push back on the dominant story....question, question, question.

Many people identify with aspects of the story so intensely that they can't quite imagine life outside and beyond it. Religions are stories. Ideologies are stories. Political parties are stories. Professional sports teams are stories. Surnames are stories. Histories are stories. Whatever we've identified with is a story. Stories are locked into duality so fiercely that questioning them will trigger fear in others as they react to the need to defend the sacredness of their own beliefs.... their church, their team, their patriotism, their ideals. Threats are read as attacks by the sleeping human. The world at war is a world defending its stories. The world at peace is a world imbued with true freedom, where no story takes itself too seriously and the Love of God is the one true thing out of which life experience flows as joy, wisdom, peace, play, delight.

Until we begin to feel the stirring of higher awareness, we don't know why we are ill at ease, don't know why we are uncomfortable within the stories we have identified with. We defend them because we sense an uneasiness that the ground on which we stand may give way if we don't. If what we've believed our entire lives isn't true, then what, in the name of God, is?

Others are born knowing that the story isn't real, and chart their own course learning to dance with the Divine. Yet even this early state of enlightenment does not guarantee a smooth course through life, for whatever stage our awareness embodies, there are more levels, more discoveries, tests and challenges..... nesting dolls within nesting dolls. In our evolutionary experience as sparks of the Divine, we are destined to get it eventually, guaranteed to wake up. Knowing this can be a comfort when the going is especially difficult, and can invoke the necessary courage, support, and deep insight.

It seems to me that the Love that created the Universe never meant us to become trapped by the stories we tell ourselves, but only entertained and lifted up by them to realize we are eternal beings who come from the Source of Love. For this awareness, we must realize we are sleeping. This is nothing the mind can understand. Stepping out of the story can be dangerous, depending upon how entangled we have become. Layer by layer we cast off every not-true and not-me belief and assumption as we patiently, courageously work on waking up.

A friend recently wisely reminded me: humans are feeling beings who also think, and not thinking beings who also feel. This is a major clue to waking up. If we place too much value on our thoughts, the thoughts that weave the story, we miss the signals coming to us from the loving Universe -- feelings, not thoughts, are to be placed first. Feeling gets us to the holy now. Feelings involve our spiritual, intuitive senses. Some feelings are personal telegrams from God, others are felt collectively. Discerning feeling often involves leaps of faith. This is why a loving premise is essential.

"What is the difference between a feeling and emotion?" another friend asked the other day. I later journaled these insights: emotions are stuck feelings, unregistered, unacknowledged, or suppressed; feelings arise in the moment, emotions arise in time, connected to a thought or belief in the subconscious. When feelings arise in the moment and are perceived as negative, the judgement (mind) blocks the flow of truth, and the body holds onto it until consciously released. As life organizes from the inside out, when the body is in illness, one looks for root causes in suppressed feelings and incorrectly held beliefs. Most of this is buried deep within, and we must set out on a search to clear and heal.

Discernment of feelings is therefore, the important role of awareness.

This past summer, I visited a friend who is a shamanic practitioner. I was seeking deeper clues about a health crisis that appeared out of nowhere and has temporarily yet completely upended me and my beautiful life. During my journey I encountered a Fox who had one message for me: "Get out of Story altogether, and come and play with us along the creekbed where there is only the adventure of joy in the radiance of Reality." Love to. That's one smart fox. My awareness of story has been evolving ever since.

I've never had a stitch, a broken bone, or a serious illness to contend with. It is an enormous challenge, this healing I am embracing. I have wondered many times in recent weeks, why we don't have a national/world registry for those who have healed and recovered from physical challenge outside of the mainstream medical worldview that treats physical symptoms. Such a registry would challenge the status quo on way too many levels -- question the stories we tell ourselves about the causes of dis-ease. As I Googled and read, researched and discussed my options, it became clear to me that many, many people have managed to heal using natural means. Yet, unless they are inclined to public speech and writing their story, the value of their experience is not shared, and we don't move forward in our understanding of sickness, health, and healing in body, mind, and spirit. For every story told, we can safely assume there are many more untold.

In this stage of challenge, I search for the stories I am caught in. I pray for guidance. I am learning to push back, learning the power of commanding all false ideas to melt and dissolve into the cosmic soup and release my divine spark from entanglement in duality. I am learning that my natural optimism has woven too many stories.

One of my least favorite stories is the one called the Big Bang. Stories, when true, help us reach an ability to sense, perceive, receive, gifts of spirit and essence, not fixed ideas. Stories, when not true, may inspire fear and false understanding. They can make it difficult to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. They keep us trapped in limitations. After ten years of loving Mother Nature, I no longer believe in the story of the Big Bang. I am confident that we are participants in a Big Bloom... as flowers in God's garden of the miraculous becoming, the inhale and the exhale of eternal galaxies seeded by divine intent. I can feel it.

What we need to know is written in our hearts.