My doctor consistently tells me I’m low on the D. Don’t make sexist jokes, I mean Vitamin D. Okay, fine. Make your sexist jokes, because those are occasionally funny but usually get you blocked. My point is: I’ve realized, since sitting in the sun a lot these past few weeks, I actually am feeling less cranky. Less judge-y. Less jump-to-conclusions-y. More able to let things roll off me. I still have a lot of sarcastic thoughts and Are You Flippin’ KIDDING Me??? feelings about what happened March through the beginning of June as well as leading up to that period, the sheer gall of some kinds of men (and women) in the world. The need to deny the truth, to enable certain behaviors and stay in certain patterns, because that is what’s known and it’s not safe but has the illusion of safe, which I’m now learning is more important to many people than freedom, even people who talk a good game about being free and giving and receiving love; they just aren’t really able to walk their talk.
I’ve had a terrible time with some people’s lack of self-reflection and awareness, which are the foundations of hypocrisy, but their ability to do a good job of pretending to have it and having to watch other people high five them for things that are not the truth. I have such a hard time with this.
But other than that…mostly? I’m pretty good, and fairly confident I’ll be able to stay in this lane with maybe only a few slides here and there but no more sharp wrong turns. No matter what happens from here on out. I’ve got a couple of story ideas I’m going to flesh out…one I think is going to be a very very short story, and the other I want to keep short but maybe flesh out later into something longer. And I’ve gotten distracted (by GOOD things, like pool days and time with my family and a day trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains to see someone I think the world of)…so I haven’t gotten around to printing out my fairy tale so I can edit and flesh that out. I will.
My sweet friend Angie (the person I think the world of) was slightly worried about my last blog post. (Please go read Angie’s blog, too…first, because she writes better than me and second, she has far more important thinks about the world to share). I think my uncle’s (natural) death followed on the heels of two high profile suicides just threw me into a really pensive, melancholy state. I apologize if I worried anyone else…I’m not going to lie: I do struggle with dark moments. I take risks with being really open about it, because I know other people do too.
I often wish I were more of a person who just la-dee-dah-ed her way through life, skipping gaily along, pointing out the pretty wildflowers to all the pouty weeds, but I am not wired like that. I see people on social media just posting cutesy, happy things…only positive happy happy. There was a point I just couldn’t look at any of it without sneering. I’m sorry, but I sneered at your stuff if you are one of these people. It didn’t mean I didn’t love you; it was just…the shadows were heavy, and my sneering was strong. I like cute and happy. But I also understand the emo posts. In fact, I feel them a little bit more pointedly. Dancing with Shadows is something I’ve done a lot throughout my life, and the Light portion of my soul automatically reaches out whenever She sees someone else dancing with theirs. The trick, I think, is to dance for a little…then convince the Shadows it’s time for bed. The Light is coming.
There was a woman on Twitter the other day who posted THIS about how important it is, in healing, not to bypass the darkness and shadows; that these are just as essential to spiritual growth as our love and light. I think about the story of Jesus of Nazareth wandering the desert, being confronted by Satan, and there’s such a deep metaphysical truth in that story – it wasn’t until Jesus fought the darkness and the shadows, got to really know and understand their nature, that he was ready for his purpose here. It’s not fun, sitting in the darkness. It’s not fun, the psychic pain the shadows poke us with. But it’s important. It’s important to know and understand yours. To be strong, which grows the empath muscles in our souls.
I hate the word “empath,” because like “narcissist” it’s just thrown around so much…and like narcissists I suspect there may be a spectrum to empath-ness. Everybody is on the narcissism spectrum and everyone is on the empath spectrum…someone like, I don’t know, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.? He’s someone who probably was way low on the narcissism spectrum and way high on the empath one. Then there’s Donald Trump, Dr. King’s polar opposite.
But I’m fine. One of the things I love about Angie is her deep faith and connection to God. I can’t remember if I’ve written about this on this new writing location, but as a child I used to have long, one-sided conversations with God. I can’t remember about what now, but I do remember singing some Christmas carols to God once, just because I felt like God would like those.
I often forget God. I get so wrapped up in whatever stress I’m working through or major WTF?! experience I’m having that I forget: oh yeah…I can go to God and say, “Here, God. This is too much for me. You do it.” And God will.
I once went to a psychic named Marion who knew a lot of stuff about me, and predicted a lot of things about me that came true. She didn’t advertise; you had to know someone who knew her to ask for a reading from her. We taped it, but I’ve lost the tapes now. And the notes she took as she talked to me and gave for me to consider after. Marion told me I’d meet someone from St. Louis one day, a dark-skinned friend I’ve known for longer than I realize, and we’d have so much to talk about. (Miss M’s dad is dark-skinned and from St. Louis.) She knew my first job would be in Arizona, and that I’d end up in Georgia. She knew I’d spend a lot of my life translating for people. All have come true. She said I also have a gift, and that I should write, that one day I would write something that would be very good. That has not come true, except on blogs. And not the very good part.
At any rate. Marion was of God. She said we all have the ability to connect to God, but we don’t. And we have angels. (I have two who stick with me – a young man and an older woman – both, she told me, were in God’s family…the young man is especially protective of me.)
I think there are people with gifts like Marion’s (not me, and if she’s correct and I do have it? I don’t want it, thanks). We use only so much of our brains; what if portions of it are able to tap into physical aspects of the world we aren’t aware of? I think 99% of people who claim they have some sort of ability are charlatans and/or crazy – I was once friends with one, is why. But you occasionally may run into the real deal. Or even have a brief moment of tapping into some portion of your brain you aren’t familiar with, and have an experience yourself.
Therein lies God, I think. Or the Universe, if you prefer that. Or the Great Maw. Whatever.
I don’t have a problem with atheists in general, as long as they’re not gigantic twats. I’ve met very very religious twats and very very non-religious twats. Think and decide for yourself, whatever you want. Just don’t be a twat. Is my motto. I’m not going to tell an atheist they’re wrong about what they have to say, because most of them are quite logical (which I appreciate) and very funny (which I also appreciate). But please don’t laugh off my experiences and feelings with a big “whatevs.” That’s not how we connect. Ditto all you fundamentalist whatevers out there – just because that’s how YOU see God doesn’t make it true. Arrogance bothers me. A lot.
I think what’s mostly true is that we all have problems. We all have fears, longings, wants, needs we can’t meet for whatever reason, disappointments, hurts, bad experiences, mistakes we’re still beating ourselves up about. And we all have things that make us laugh and people who remind us the world is okay, we are loved despite ourselves. At least I hope everybody has people like that. At least one.
Therein lies The Universe. In those things.
So. I’m thinking about God today, and what happens to us after…this. Not because I want to find out, but because I miss my dad. And I’m feeling nostalgia for what could have been but was never meant to be. I’m reflecting on some of crappy choices and how I handled it, and wishing I’d said some things I didn’t and not said some things I did. I’d ask, at this point, for a big gigantic eraser for it all, but then I think that’s missing the point.
It’s been a long journey, since I packed up and moved to this apartment I’m typing from. Three years as of Friday, and I just signed another 13 month lease here, so that’s one more year in this small home, one more year I’m going to figure it out some more. This year will be good, because I **think** I’ve extracted the bad influences, finally. But wow. Three years..Miss M was 6 years old when we moved here, she’ll celebrate her 10th year on Earth here. I’ve changed jobs, for the better. I’ve had some really happy, fun times here – lovely, good people with positive energy in my home…and I’ve had some really touch-and-go moments, some nights on my living room floor in the fetal position, moaning for psychic relief. Three years. I’ve kicked three people out of my life for good. I’ve been taken advantage of, lied to, but also…learned quite a lot about myself, the nature of people (particularly men), and just generally been woke. To life, and what matters. Three years. (Three is a mystical number – Pythagoreans believed it was the first true number. It represents past, present, future…birth, life, death…beginning, middle, end…father, son, holy ghost…Jesus rose from the dead on the 3rd day…in mystic Kabbalah, the soul has 3 parts…there are 3 paths to salvation in Hinduism…ancient druids believed the Goddess had 3 forms: Maiden, Mature Woman, Crone…across all human religions, 3 is the number of the Divine, in other words. FINGERS CROSSED. I wish I had the ability to cross three fingers.)
Even the most painful, rage-filled moments can be blessings. (This does not make me less sarcastic about them, or make me not regret my choices when it comes to certain people I’ve tossed out. I don’t throw away people…until they show me they’re rotting.)
Does this post feel like it’s all over the place? I feel like it is. Love, love, love…then: it’s okay to throw out human garbage. Dance with the shadows…oh but choose Light. Mystical, divine…but crap some people suck. Listen: I’m a work in progress, not God. But I think I’m going to start having some more talks to God. Note I wrote “to,” because God never answers me. Which is good! Because then I might be schizophrenic. But I also think I’m going to meditate. This is easier, as everything is, when Miss M is at her dad’s for a few days.
Speaking of dads, Happy Fathers Day. There are really, really good men out there. We’ve been blessed with several…imperfect, flawed men. But men who tell the truth, don’t take advantage of other people, are who and what they say they are publicly and privately…all things that are integral to having integrity and living a good life as gently as possible, without too many horrible things befalling it. Which is the best way to live, I’m finding. Knowing famous people or being one isn’t it. Having a lot of money would certainly be nice in terms of less stress, but knowing you’re truly loved and wanted is better.
I don’t know. Maybe it just comes down to how much Vitamin D you have in your system. God is in sunshine, and sunshine has Vitamin D, and so maybe just get as much sun as you can, and make sure you’ve got plenty of vitamin D in you. God is a vitamin. Maybe.