Lullabies and doggies

It’s been a strange and hard few days. I just got to the house yesterday, this incredible, beautiful house in the hills of San Rafael, California. It is not my house. It is a housesitting gig I happened upon a year ago, seven minutes from where I live. This is the fourth time where I get to bask in the relaxation and peace of what it must be like to be rich, or how rich is defined to me. If I was rich, I’d have a house like this. It has a lot of light and is surrounded by trees and hiking trails and the brilliant silence of the sound symphony that is nature.

A couple years ago, in the midst of the break up of a long term love relationship, struggling with inner turmoil while also being guided out and into a whole new world of myself, my first housesitting gig was presented to me. That was a different house; in the hills of Mill Valley, California, in an even more exquisite setting. I only live 15 minutes away from there, but I may as well have been in a different, albeit ideal, country. I had stepped into a parallel life. The view there, from the kitchen, and from the bedroom, was the very vision I’d had in my then recent dreams. I’d been imagining this exact view, it just kept coming to me, before I even knew a break up was underway. Then, in the depths of pain and fear of extricating myself out of a partnership with someone I loved, while also knowing it had to end, came the invitation from an acquaintance. A perfectly materialized replica of what I’d been seeing leading up to the pain. It was a gift out of nowhere, a haven of escape, and a glimpse of what was waiting for me on the other side of that necessary darkness. On the other side of doubt. And the best part, the house had two beings of Pure Love for me to have the privilege to care for; in the bodies of doggies.

And yet, these places are not mine. I am a borrower of someone else’s wonderful life. Of course, that is a fallacy. I know nothing of the inner worlds of the people who live in them and don’t presume that they are any happier than anyone else. But now that I am here in this latest house, that is the feeling I’m reminded of. I’m being forced to see, and ponder, what I don’t have. Depending on my mood, my occasional vulnerability to old ways of thinking, that ridiculously destructive mindset can lead down a path where, this time, I refuse to go. That is one perspective. That is the perspective of lack. Lack is what lives in all of us, if we allow it to wake itself, as the beast of illusion. “I don’t have that, I can’t be that, I’m not worthy of being or having or doing” this, that or the other.

And there is also the Light. It knows that being here now, in this house, with this lone beautiful dog Lulu as my guide, is the most glorious gift that my soul could have conjured up. And Light always and only knows gratitude. I am so thankful for my hard, panting, isolated, shot through with miracles life, I could cry. And do, fairly regularly. Lulu knows who she is, and she reminds me that I Am That too. This house and this dog, yet another signal that whatever shifts that are happening in me, however uncomfortable and discombobulating the cauldron is right now, they are exactly perfect, pushing me into something that I am being prepared for.

I had been struggling with feelings of not knowing what to do next and how to handle all the newness, and the people I’ve been “connecting” with, in an online group of creatives. I’m going to LA later this week for a “transformational” workshop. I’ve been called to do this and I will be meeting many of these new people. But more to the point, all the excitement of getting in touch with and drawing out who I am and what I want, has inevitably caused a thrashing side-to-side mind. From wall to wall it runs, from the enormity of what it could all mean. This has been happening almost every day now for a week, a back and forth, up and down, tidal crashing of both seeing the horizon from the top of the wave, to feeling the impact of the steep and violent hit to the bottom of the shore.

So last night, after another day of chaotic shape-shifting between the old me and the new me, in meditation, I felt the presence. I heard the voice. It was above me. Then it was behind me. Then it was in me. It simply began, and kept reciting, The Lullaby of God, “I Love You.” I let it penetrate me. It merged with Little Me. It became me. As I made my dinner, it was there. And then, as it does, it began to fade. The Little Me thoughts of doubt and fear, a familiar default setting, gradually began drowning the lullaby out. And yet, the schizophrenia of space was also there. I was aware of the space, split second glimpses into all the infinite aspects of me. The space was a nudging “see, we’re all listening, we can hear it too”. Though I was still falling back into the suffering of being inside my thoughts, there was also the awareness that I was outside them. Little Me was in pain. “I was feeling so much better just then, why am I feeling off again now? Why do I do this to myself? Why do I have to keep falling back?”

But the space that contained all of me was there too, noticing those thoughts and, simply continuing the lullaby. It was speaking myself to Rest, soothing the child to sleep. If we can cause our suffering, but we can also cause our awakening, how incredibly powerful must we all be?

As I look over at the innocence and beauty that is Lulu, I am reminded that every single thought and feeling with the slightest “offness”, any kind of negativity, is pain. Underneath pain, lies fear, disguised as doubt, disguised as Separate. And it’s incessant wail is crying out for love. There is a space between all of that. It is always there and, for the most part, we don’t know it. It gets wider, it gets narrower, but it is always there. It holds the antidote to the closed window of fear, and right now it is singing the lullaby of You into eternity. Don’t just listen for it, hear it. Take it in. Be it.

 

Confusion’s latest incarnation

What to say, when to say, and how to say it? What to do, how to do it, and why again? These questions have been running around in my mind lately like little oompaloompas. Instead of being the little demons they were before, their normal everyday costumes, they’ve morphed into somewhat benign little disturbances who are actually having fun teasing me, while dancing around inside me and squealing.
I’ve become aware that they’re there, and they are annoying, but I’m letting them do their thing. That’s who they are after all. And they are part of me. And because I’m expanding my ability to, on occasion, actually accept and, rarely, even enjoy their incessant chatter, they’ve taken up residence in the factory of my candyland brain. Their home is no longer a swamp of darkness that’s hiding hideous monsters underwater. Now they can come up for air, breathe and look around. They’ve taken on land, to form a whole other species, a whole new identity. Their master, the personality known as the me that is Lia, has given them permission to exist.
She now acknowledges them for the simple confusion that they are. They are her questions, they are her ambivalence, they are her uncertainty about who she is and what she wants. She can now just watch them and love her creation. She has decided to not label them or judge them or demean their foggyness as bad, their all over-the-placeness as wrong, their seeming crazyness as something to stay secret in the swamp.
She is simply seeing them for what they are to her now; confusion, wonder, little fools who don’t know any better and don’t feel the need to either. She can relax, she can simply be confused. She knows that this fog, masquerading as a mass of costumed and harmless tasmanian devils who don’t know which way is up, but are having a blast creating such a duststorm, will settle. They will need to rest eventually, the fog will lift. A new creation, a new species to inhabit, will emerge from out of the swamp, glide over the land and start to lift off, telling her what to do and who to be next.