I do NOT want knowledge line upon line and precept upon precept!
I WANT IT NOW!
Hello. I am Veruca Salt. I want a feast. I want a bean feast!
GIVE IT TO ME NOW!
I meditate and pray.
WHO AM I?
I know what I am told but...
WHO AM I?
In Zen, they say that such an intense yearning for truth is like a red-hot iron ball lodged in the pit of your stomach; you can't digest it and you can't spit it out, you can only transform it through the power of meditation ~Stephan Bodian
I know who I think I am. But I sense I am not she.
WHO AM I?
A daughter of God. I know. But what does that mean EXACTLY?
Who was I before I came to this body?
Not a vague Sunday school answer. But a true remembering.
I have always been.
What did my face look like before my parents were born? Ancient sages have used this riddle for centuries.
What did YOUR face look like before your parents were born?
I get frustrated in my Seeking.
I want to SEE. There is so much I cannot. In the light of day. In the lesser light of night. Can you sense what I do? The More? The Divine Connection between you and me?
Sometimes I stare out at the mountains before me and desire to scream. I DON'T BELONG HERE!
SHOW ME WHAT I CANNOT SEE BUT FEEL!
I must remind myself to find joy in the journey.
Awareness is key.
I had a dream yesterday.
I was led into a room.
My eyes were closed. A guide at my side spoke with love and impatience,
"Open your eyes!"
I tried. My eyes attempted to open a slit.
Light brighter than any I can describe burned my sight to the soul.
"I CAN'T! THE LIGHT IS TOO BRIGHT!" I cried.
"You wanted this. OPEN YOUR EYES," said the familiar yet un- guardian at my side.
I could not. I tried and tried.
The light emanating from the room was too bright for my undeveloped eyes. The light burned my mortal eyes.
I wanted to see with all my heart I was not yet capable of doing so.
A newborn baby in arms has no idea she is not capable of understanding her own needs.
She does not know a bottle will cure the pain in her naval.
She does not know she is a daughter or a sister. She sticks her own finger in her eye and cries.
I resign myself to understand I am that baby.
Line upon line we learn.
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My sister, Michelle, wrote a lovely blog about a ghost story in our family history. I highly recommend. :)
