Keeping My Promises

After a day spent in awe of God’s creation and Gaia’s beauty as we drove through Nevada, Utah and into Wyoming, an old song from my musical days burrows its way into my head,

“To you, Yahweh, I lift up my soul, Oh, my god.” Psalm 25

I first learned this refrain during my college days when I was part of my church’s Melodic Prayer group. In those days, the songs we played meant a lot to me. Those were the days before jobs and responsibilities and expectations weighed down my perceptions of life.

Those words, uttered by the prophet David speaking of his love for God, took root in my eager, 20-something soul. I meant it to the depths of my heart.

Then my human life took over, and God got pushed back. I kept telling myself I was doing God’s work by raising two wonderful young men and by teaching hundreds of young adults as a high school English teacher. This is very true. I know it.

Sometimes, though, God comes calling when you least expect it. Some of you may understand what I’m saying. Many of you won’t.

Spirit talks to me. (I’m not going all out to say God talks to me, although we are all a piece of God Source.) What I’m saying is that after years of reading bible stories and doing my own meditations where I go inward to access the truth within my soul, I have allowed myself to welcome direction from above.

This summer, I met someone who is also following direction from above. We’ve left our former lives and spent the summer criss-crossing the country in a spider web of music and spiritual discovery. We’ve left a trail of rain on parched desert and we’ve met hitchhikers and Facebook friends and new friends who remembered us from visits we never paid to their hometowns.

I’ve learned something. Many of us are looking for something we can’t identify. I know what it is, though.

What we hunger for is that little part of us that makes us feel welcome, that tells us we are important and are on this world for a reason. We’re looking for acceptance.

Some people find that something in church, in the voice of God, but what I’ve noticed this summer is that sometimes, even those who search to fill that void in church haven’t found it.

Where did I first find my answer? Ah, that’s a difficult question because I’ve always felt the messages from what I used to call my gut.

The truth – that nudge that tugs at your gut or that little voice in your head telling you what to do, that’s God, or Spirit, or you Higher Self pointing you toward what the channeled being known as Abraham-Hicks calls “Our Vortex” or what my teacher, El Juglador, calls being in alignment with your higher self.

I was going to say that it’s not difficult to connect with that voice within us all, after all, we are all equals made in the image of God, and we are all loved by the Creator of us all equally, like a mother loves all of her children. I was going to say it’s easy, but it’s not always easy. In fact, even on this spiritual quest I have found moments when I’m out of alignment and angry voices or frigid mornings make me wonder why I started on this journey.

For me, peace can be found on a long walk through the woods or a quiet moment listening to the rushing river. Sometimes, though, I need binaural beats or YouTube meditation videos or episodes of channeled beings like Bashar or Abraham-Hicks.

Really, it’s easy, but it’s not. It’s easy if you finally realize that your life will not mean anything to you if you are not answering the call. If you are not in alignment with your true self you will always feel like something is missing.

That’s what I’ve learned this summer.

One day, over twenty years ago, I sang in church and the words meant my life.

“To you, Lord, I lift up my eyes oh my God.”

In those words, and in so many other songs, I was saying that I promised to be a servant to God. I asked for guidance and to be allowed to be His hands on Earth. He’s given me guidance along the way, never wavering.

This year, he took me up on my promise.

Namaste, my friends.

The Dragonfly’s Student

There is life all around us

“Our mother is alive.” The Juggler wanders deeper into the trees, his lesson trailing him like a word-bubble in a comic strip. I follow so as not to not miss a beat, but he moves faster. Behind him, the dark closes in and I am forced to use my senses.

Silence. Not even his musical phrasing can be heard. I try to listen closer, but he’s no longer talking.

“Listen to the still silence of the night,” a voice says in the quiet of my mind. And so, I listen. At first, I hear nothing. The darkness closes in … nothing. Nothing except the quickening of my breathing.

Sunrise Santa Ynez

Then there’s a rustle. A breeze through the leaves. A sigh.

I’m still not sure where my teacher went, so I stand near the place where I last saw him. My hand rests on the rough bark of a tree and I listen with my heart.

A click, soft yet sharp, says a quick Hi.

“Hello, you,” I answer back.

Soon, the creature who had clicked starts to sing, then the forest answers back. One click becomes a hum. It is joined by a croak, then a knock, then a smooth buzz and more clicks on a slightly lower octave.

A rumble then, lower than the clicks and hums and singing, alerts me that other animals may be hiding behind the trees. Maybe a wild dog or a momma bear. Maybe just my imagination.

Returning to the campsite, I stoke the fire again and get near the flapping warmth.

“Hooo,” comes the owl’s call from the Joshua Tree at the other side of the small hill. Soon, it is joined by a gobble from a family of wild turkeys. And, as the fire catches in the fire pit, the music of the dancing flames and the burning wood join the symphony of Gaia.

By the time the Juggler returns, I am immersed in a world of nature’s music. I feel like August Rush composing a sonata.

“She is marvelous, isn’t she?” The Juggler gloats as if this interlude was created only for him. “She tells me that she is very happy to be awake and alive again.”

“I didn’t know she was ever asleep or not alive.” My questions leaps out faster than my mind could form the words.

He sits in front of the fire. “You’re not alone –” then he interrupts himself. “No, you are. A lot of people think she’s just a rock.”

“Of course she’s alive,” I say, caressing the smooth red trunk of the young tree nearby. “But you say she was asleep. How could that be?

“Just like other animals sleep. She’s no different. She is sentient, aware of herself,” he says, then he stares off toward what seems like nothing but is probably something vibrant and alive.

I remember the day recently when an overjoyed Juggler dragged me into the desert to show me a quartz rock buried in the ground. “Gaia’s giving birth!” he’d nearly giggled, and I felt his joy at the glimpse of life.

I get it, though. The truth is most people don’t hear her and see her like we do. Most people don’t feel her take a deep, grateful sigh when a wild horse snorts as it inspects its visitor. Most people think a sudden burst of flight is simply a coincidence, not thinking it may be Gaia’s glee.

Okay, I know this may sound a little bit far-fetched to most of you city-folk, but I’d like for you to consider it for a second.

What if those sounds were actually answers to the question you posed the minute before?

What if that random breeze was a kiss from a happy Mother Nature?

What if that light rainfall were tears of joy?

What if that puppy found its way to you as a well-deserved gift?

See, that’s the world I live in now, and it’s a marvelous, joyful world, indeed. Maybe living in my world isn’t that bad, after all.

Namaste, my friends.

The Dragonfly’s Student