Amma's blog: "I Am"

I wish Kurt Cobain could have had a happy marriage, never given up finding his odd little treasures, and of course I do not think that vandalism is beautiful, nor is a rock in any face - unless its a piercing of your own choice.

MAKE TIME FOR quiet momets

as God

WHISPERS

and the world is loud

Yes, the world is loud, and so am I - at times. It makes me happy to sing and chortle and pfffft and rhyme in all sorts of various ranges and pitches. But I can be quiet, very quiet indeed - especially if I am aware that the people around me are acting in ways to guide me to a quiet place. I am always aware of unusual behaviors, and I try to reward those efforts, so long as no harm is done to me or others - but I do what I think is best as I give the gift to them.

Recently it seemed to me that others wished for me to sleep, at least for 15 minutes. But while I was in that quiet moment of their desire, I did what I desired. I prayed for the pain that was evident in the sounds of an old woman who was next to me, being manipulated towards health. I prayed for another woman who had the unfortunate job of being an Angel of Death in the eyes of those whose jobs she came to take away due to the poor economy. How difficult it must be for those people. I prayed that the entire room of healers be blessed, though why they would act oddly is not for me to know.

I act oddly myself, at times. Oddly in the eyes of a cold and politically correct world. Political correctness does not just mean not engaging in behaviors that would offend somebody for the most trivial of utterances. It also means not acting in a way that is apparently overly good. I surely do not understand the world, but I do not need to understand it, in order to try to help, one person at a time.

Once upon a time I was put in a new job, with new duties, and new demands. New rules, new ideologies. My least favorite was the denial of resources to others. I fully understand that they, in part, were responsible for my job bound reaction. But some people just do not have the mental capacity, the sense of linear thinking, to recreate the plodding steps that will guide them to their resource. In this case the resource was money. A check. In fact I was not the one to withhold the money from the poor woman, but I witnessed it being done by one who was not as fresh and soft as I. I could not stand by and not help somebody who had a situation that I could relate to, so very much.

I recall the panic in my heart when, as a lone mother of two toddlers, with the wolves of business knocking on my door for payment - my workplace forgot to put postage on my paycheck. Five hungry days later a representative arrived from the temporary service I worked for. She was all apologies. I was grateful to finally have received what I had earned. My children and the wolves at the door were fed.

So as I witnessed this woman being denied the resource of a check, all my remembered helplessness and panic returned. This time, though, I could help somebody. With my own hat of humanity on - not that of the job I did - I gifted her with one hundred dollars of my money, the money of my husband, the resources of my children. I freely gave it with absolutely no expectation, nor demand, nor desire that it be returned to me. That is what a gift is - something freely given. Perhaps it seemed odd to her, maybe it was twisted into some dark ideal from those with labyrinths for minds. I got my wings and I flew high from the darkness of those dank passages. Now I try to give back to those who are still trapped.

Yesterday I took my dog for a walk. I put him off his leash in a place and space designed for his freedom, and I let him lead me. I am his only pack member, and he tries to keep me safe, and so every once in awhile I will reward him by giving the feeling of being the alpha. He seems to enjoy it, most times it appears to be more stress than worth the reward. Somebody has to do it, however. During this walk I was visited by my angel, or whatever it may be, some being who walks in a spectrum of light I cannot see.

The first time my angel came to me my aching feet were comforted into a blissful, pain free moment. The second time, amusingly enough, I was left with two small marks on my shoulder, just a reminder to be careful, be sensible, be aware - it was done with droplets of hot wax that landed everywhere, but only left the barest of reminders that I should mind which large wooden pillar I was shoving - especially when it was topped with a small bowl of hot scented wax. This third time, my angel was playing with me. Urging me to return to my usual place of childish glee. I had been following my dog, crying, crying in the rain because of a world I cannot understand. Usually I would pick up odd bits of what others would probably consider worthless, because it is not in a standardized currency. How much can you buy with a common, though colorful pebble. How much can you get with a pretty colored string. But yesterday I walked passed all obviously ME LIKE items in the woods. But when I got to a piece of wood that covered three rocks and walked right passed it, on my way out - I was strongly tugged on my left shoulder - by absolutely nothing visible. My angel. My friend. My whatever it wants to be, it is not for me to deny interaction with a being just because I cannot place it in some nice mundane mind file. I went back and walked over the wood, crying still. Asking Is this what you want! Silly though it may have seemed.

Right now a pleasant chill is surrounding me, to me it means my friend is here. I am happy to share my warmth. Three times the tugging on my left shoulder came. And so I walked over that wood hiding three stones. Then outside of the dog sanctuary I cried on, rain mixing with my boo hooing. I felt the tugging again, again I turned back and said WHAT NOW!, to my friend. I walked until I felt it was right, and took a silly piece of red and white tape from under a picnic table. I turned and walked on. I felt the tugging again. I turned and walked back. I could see nothing to pick up, just a hill to climb. I turned and walked towards my car - the insistent tugging on my left shoulder - just where my hot wax reminders were left, came again. I turned and walked back. This time I found a bit of blue plastic. I picked it up and walked on. Back to my car, with my wet - but happy - leader for a moment dog on my lap. Then I went to my child to take her out of the rain. Of course she preferred to walk in it. I suppose it is part of her heritage.

All these things are true. I feel no trepidation from my behaviors - whether it be from being oddly generous, or having invisible friends. I do what feels right. I am quite normal - for me. 

Blessings to all.