Pixie Making Waves

There are few moments that inspire beauty and gratitude as much as the sorrow of a hurting heart. These moments interrupt our daily mechanical operations; force us to look squarely at ourselves in complete honesty and request that we face ourselves, naked, raw and real.

When the heart hurts, its lament summons some of the darkest demons from the corners of our spirit, to be released.

I suspect this is because relationships are mirrors, and in intimate relationships that we care deeply about, the parts that are mirrored are often the most vulnerable parts of ourselves. parts that need healing, that need love and self-care and compassion, and that i reject.

The laws of karma posit that everything we have in our lives are the results of every action, thought and decision in all our life, and all our previous lives and the ultimate goal in this life is not to get what we want, to win something or even to have what our limited human understanding of success and happiness may be.

If this is true, then the focus of this incarnation should be nothing other than to clear karma, to end the endless cycle and transition from duality upwards into the higher frequencies of bliss.

So when our hearts break, we have rare and precious opportunity to explore how to make amends with ourselves, and therefore with the whole universe and all of creation. By making amends with ourselves, we are clearing all our karma and moving into bliss, letting go of needing anything and just being.

The lesson of a broken heart is to focus, i think, on the best way to listen to the universe and make peace with it. It is about making peace with oneself; when we make peace with ourselves, the whole universe makes peace with itself, and learning the art of letting go, and surrendering everything within ourselves that resists that which threatens to loosen our grasp.

The rest belongs to the universe, and we can but be grateful for the slices of time that we are granted the senses with which to glimpse its beauty and wonder.

So, they’re building a highway.

On this night when I drove past the site of the new highway, along the old rural route 105, and along the construction sites there was a new sight, a bright light that illuminated the side of the mountain at night.

If it wasn’t for knowing that this is the highway construction lights glowing I might have appreciated more the showing. The clear-cuts I was bestowing had suddenly a new way about them, not so foreboding.

The textures were divine, on the mountain incline, as the light hit the tree line, a slight alpine moment where light and stone align, albeit supine, the mountain’s spine offered no fault line, it was cloud nine.

Stone ablaze, my heart in a daze, I gaze, this beauty betrays what belays at the end of these land surveys. The malaise, yet stays, my glance strays, it’s not a phase, these displays of contempt, as we praise progress are like decays, on the earth it weighs.

So, they’re building a highway.

Right by old route 105, where now the beauty of the light conflicts with the awful sight of this construction site when I drive there at night. What a plight.

That love will conquer all is probably one of the most common of clichés. However, the resilience of love will overcome any resistance, melting away its force and disolving any obstacles in its way. Its power is to a subtetly which is both insidiously disarming and terrifying when uncovered for what it truly is.

It comes in all forms, unique and universal, tragic and tranversal, deep with dispersal, ripe with reveral, mythic and magic like a force of endless dismissal.

What we scarcely realize until it is too light is the great price at which it comes. Love requests of us complete surrender, acceptance, facing our deepest, darkest corners and a willingness to look at them squarely, see them as they are without dressing them up, sharply slicing costume away, breaking down our illusions and unmasking our splitting realities.

In moments of great clarity, everything that the mind seems normally able to rest on begins to split at the seems. Initially this is an uncomfortable shift, it feels ruthless, brutal, almost violent.  We scream. We resist. But it persists.

I come back with my birthing metaphor, as it is so perfect an analogy for the growth that occurs and how love is the driving force which animates both the drive to expand and alleviates the pain of swelling and shifting into that expansion.

Stepping outside of our comfort zone, taking great risks and moving forward with faith is an essential component of growth. No growth can happen without this. On the flip side, the sacrifice of love is also found in accepting the discomfort of opening ourselves to unplesant experience so that we may transform ourselves, and those around us.

By allowing ourselves to be so open and vulnerable we create space for reconfiguration, reformulation, reiteration and reinterpretations of being and reality that shape newer ways of being into exalted expressions of the essential self, meeting our highest potential.

Below is a poem a beloved friend read to me recently, which emphasizes to me the stronghold love can have on us, the playfulness that can seem so harsh at moments, but in the end provides a threat to grow, ushering us into opening new spaces and flowering into higher forms of being.

To do this we must be prepared to accept our own humanity, greet it with a knowing smile that displays love and humour, occasionally dropping the sweetness of speech in favour of a tougher approach that ruffles our feathers, turns us upside down a bit and shows us the world from a new perspective. If we allow ourselves to be open to these experiences, the world upside down can suddenly awaken us into letting go of what we thought we knew and what we held so dear; reliquinshing the need to escape and stepping instead into a space of gratitude for all our silly human nonsense, where we may infinite joy and limitless love in the liminal space in between the stretch of the imagination.

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Tired of speaking sweetly (quoted “The gift” - Poems by Hafiz)

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us

Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and

Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,

He would just drag you around the room

By your hair,

Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world

That bring you joy

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly

And wants to rip to shreds

All your erroneous notions of truth

That makes you fight within yourself, dear one

And with others,

Causing the world to weep

On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,

Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself

And practice his dropkick.

The Beloved sometimes wants

To do us a great favor:

Hold us upside down

And shake all the nonsense out.

But when we hear

He is such a “playful druken mood”

Most everyone I know

Quickly packs teir bags and hightails it

Out of town