I always try to remember that pain is a necessary part of our spiritual growth
And that the Universe is unfolding as it should.
Lately, keeping my Zen-ism in check is proving to be challenging as life tosses obstacles at me like oversized donkey kong barrels.
I’ll just keep jumping.
Never let go of hope. It’s the one seed that will keep you deeply grounded.
Over the weekend I caught a glimpse of that hope, disguised as a beautiful silver lining in the sky.
Occasionally I like to escape my pen and quietly hover behind the clouds, watching the world go by.
It seems I hovered up there for six long months.
A few days ago the clouds were clearing in the sky.
I sat on a park bench and captured their beauty.
Cloud cover broken.
Blue skies ahead.
Such is life. A fleeting frenzy of a million mixed moments. There are shadows and there is light.
Everything is probably not as you might wish it to be in your life.
Monday’s slowly creeping up. Your overbearing parents might be driving you slowly insane. Your lover might be nagging you into madness. As I type, your dog might be barfing on your favourite persian carpet. Your dreams may not yet be fulfilled, the bills might not be payed, but only you have the choice to look at your day and acknowledge what IS wonderful.
Grateful is only a word until you decide to put it into action.
The sunset on the way home tonight made my list.
I was grateful for its beauty.
Fleeting, and fabulous. Just like life.
http://luzialight.wordpress.com– thanks for the wise post
#6 is of particular importance for me these days…
For anyone reading who feels like they are drowning in a sea of pure energetic chaos at the moment,
have faith in something far greater than yourself,
never give up hope.
Just when you want to pack it in and give up,
stand strong,
stronger than you were before,
and just keep trekking…
Never give up on your dreams.
Life is a tough ride but #12 will see you through.
I was definitely a brat in elementary school. I was such an instigator.
Laughter was my cure for the private school blues.
I was the goofball distracting anyone who would pay attention to my random Jim Carrey-inspired comedy routines. Of course I had no idea who Jim Carrey was at that point in my life, but in similar fashion I mimicked facial expressions and zoned in on those little things society found important and poked huge holes in them. I’m no Jim Carrey but I sure do like his style. Always have. He’s genuine, humble, and his antics make me laugh, all admirable qualities. Let’s do dins Jim. I could use a good laugh these days. His sister actually lived a few blocks from where I do now a couple of years ago, but rumour had it she moved and so I fear my chances of running into Ace at Target are slim, but never say never…
Like Jim, I realized at a very early age that I could help other people feel good. I loved to make people laugh. I’ve toned it down over the years, because being the centre of attention was never my focus, it was really the laughter that I craved. I had this male alter-ego, a Tasmanian devil character, a whirling dirvish with a raspy voice, and I’d line up my friends in a row and put on a show for them. Kids can be so weird. So many people seem to lose that freedom as their life progresses. Never let your imagination wander too far away. It’s a precious commodity. Keep it safe.
I was a hyper kid, although you’d never guess that now.
I’ve mellowed with age.
I was contradicting the norm, observing, and searching for the truth even at a very young age. Retrospectively, a lot makes sense now. I guess that’s what life does. At its core it’s a grand teacher, and if we are swift enough, we can often catch a little whiff of truth.
One teacher in particular had an extreme distaste for my antics. Truth was, her grade 6 English classes were painfully boring. She was Scottish and no-nonsense. Stiff pleated eighties clothing and an equally stiff upper lip to match. She didn’t appreciate my tomfoolery. We butted heads on a daily basis, usually ending up with me banished to the hallway for half the class. What kind of punishment was that supposed to be exactly, wandering around aimlessly in a hallway?! I guess one did feel like a major tool standing there trying desperately to look busy while doing absolutely nothing, as numerous teachers passed by with that, “what have you done now?” look on their face. Point made: it was humiliating. Whatever the strategy behind the ever-so-popular hall punishment movement of the time, it clearly never had much effect, I was up to my old tricks again within minutes of doing my hard time in the hall. I hated established conformity. I didn’t want to fit in there. I was a free spirit.
Solution: rebel against the authority. So I did, and so I always will.
I don’t like being silenced by authority
Truth is I didn’t find my way in the education system until much later on in life, first in College and then at University. College as an adult was actually an enjoyable experience, making some fun buddies along the way. I had a great group of friends who liked to laugh right along with me. It was such a nice relief compared to my prior educational experiences. University was more solitary but an equally comfortable space where I soaked in knowledge, worked hard to make the Dean’s List, and I was actually sad when the experience came to an end. In complete opposition to my prior childhood experiences in private school, I came to understand that I did in fact appreciate education. Never thought I’d hear myself saying that. Turns out I’m a knowledge seeker, and at my happiest when I’m absorbing wisdom and expanding my horizon. The best part about wisdom is that it can come from the strangest of places.
Funny how you can come to certain conclusions as your life unfolds. I always thought I hated that teacher for stifling my imagination. She had a big grudge where I was concerned, and once that happened I was doomed. The hallway and I were good buddies. We knew each other intimately. After so many hall visits the principal and I also became regular pals. Well, a pal who gave me crap for expressing my individual creativity and sent me back to my class. Not much of a friend there. Can’t say I’m broken inside over that loss.
All these years later I recently stumbled on a familiar poem. For the second time in my life. Everything is connected. Quantum connectivity.
The latin translation of the poem is “ Desired Things”, written in 1927 by American writer Max Ehrmann. That Scottish teacher with a grudge had forced us to memorize it in grade 6. It was difficult and long. Not something that screamed fun. We were too young to understand its importance then. I get it now.
Reading it today I suddenly saw that Scottish curmudgeon in a completely different light. She didn’t really have a grudge. She was doing the best she could at that time in her life, and just wanted me to listen, which didn’t include distracting everyone else from what they should be doing at the time. She was trying to impart some wisdom by getting us to memorize that long and difficult prose. I didn’t see it then but I do now. She was just a soul navigating her path, trying to pass along a valuable message. At the end of the day, we’re all in the same boat. Trying to make a difference, trying be heard, and trying to do the best we can to keep our heads above water.
Never stop swimming. Never give up.
We hope that beyond the pain of loss there’s a time of peace and love that comes for the victims of violent crime and their families and friends.
I feel this time is coming for Tim Bosma and all those who cherished him.
Truth is much stronger than evil. Evil can only hide for so long. The blue sky is breaking through the clouds.
Work has to be done. Factors have to be considered. Evidence has to be scrutinized. Minds have to merge in mysterious ways to highlight important information and bring the highest truth into the light.
The Globe and Mail released the following information on October 4th, 2013,
“Detectives have found “linkages” in three cases tied to Dellen Millard and have combined the investigations into a multi-jurisdictional probe headed by a senior Ontario Provincial Police officer. The cases – the murder of Tim Bosma, the disappearance of Mr. Millard’s friend Laura Babcock and the death of his father Wayne Millard – are being overseen by Detective Inspector Dave Hillman under the province’s major case management system.”
Millard and Smich are due back in court for a pretrial on Tuesday. If you read my previous blogs and my “Pandora’s Box” post you’ll understand a little more about how quantum entanglement fits in to this story. I have been connected to Tim’s story since May 6, 2013, when Tim first dissapeared. Tim’s energy has been with me ever since. Over the last two weeks the energies related to the case have been moving at a much faster pace, which has left me restless and without much sleep, but is also leading me to believe that answers are coming very soon. I feel answers will come closer to November 9th, and that the third person involved in the crime that I talked about in previous blogs will also be named. The MillardAir family hangar is also somehow playing a part in the case going forward, as well as strong evidence found at the farmland.
Crucial information will be released soon and hopefully this will finally bring the truth into the light.
Truth for Laura Babcock and her family. Truth for Wayne. Truth for the Bosma family, and truth for Tim.
It’s those fleeting moments that light the fire of our lives.
Thanks for watching the glow…
I once had a wonderful winged best friend. Her name was Zora. She would sit on my shoulder and fluff herself up and nestle in behind my ear and underneath my hair for warmth. She would stay there for hours. She would eat breakfast with me and loved green apples and alfafa sprouts, but chicken was her absolute favourite food. Go figure. Good thing I never explained it to her or she would have been utterly horrified. She would play cheeky little games with me. I’d make a little tunnel under the covers of my duvet and she would run in at a fast clip and hide in the far end the tunnel. I’d put my face up to the opening and make noises and call her name and she would come running out as fast as her little feet would go, nudge my nose with her little yellow beak, and perfectly imitate the sounds I was making right back.
She was a talented flyer, but when she’d decide to beat it across an entire room on those little twiggy feeties it would make my heart sing. It was the cutest thing. She was such a sweet little parrotlet. She was a hand-raised peach-faced lovebird, technically an agapornis roseicollis, but I called her all sorts of crazy names. My little agapornis had a million names, and a million adorable personality traits to match all the zany nicknames I christened her with.
She had a good life, better than good. I gave her everything. She was spoiled rotten and was hardly ever in her cage. I wanted to be with her every second I could. She was a wonderful friend. She was my very best winged friend. I was very lucky to have her and the love I received from her in return could never be duplicated twice in a lifetime.
She loved to travel, but wasn’t too impressed when she would spot cows in the pastures while we were in the car. She liked seeing horses but I don’t think she liked cows, she was afraid of them and would vocally let me know when we passed them grazing in a field. She loved to see new places, and in the summer she would chill with me outside on the deck and have conversations with all the other winged creatures that flew the skies. I always wondered what they were talking about.
She loved to sit on the shower curtain rod while I was showering and patiently keep me company until I was finished. Sometimes she would hang with me in the bathtub. She would run up and down my legs and try to bathe herself in the deep water, but I would protect her from falling in head first and she would settle for flitting around in the shallow water that would accumulate on my stomach. I would often give her a bath under a warm tap. She loved water. Afterwards, she would sit on the branch above her cage and groom herself happily until every feather was taken care of and she had deemed herself perfectly coiffed.
She would fly freely from room to room and squeak in delight when I would play hide and seek with her. Sometimes she would fly from the upstairs to the downstairs and I would hear a little chirp from somewhere far away to let me know where she was hiding. She liked to sit on windowsills, looking intently outside to check out the worlds happenings. At night she would fluff herself up while I was watching tv and make little grinding noises with her beak when she was completely content. She was toilet trained. Well, not really a toilet, but her cage. I would move her from my shoulder to my index finger, tell her to go do her business and she would fly over to the top of her cage and use the loo. Then she would fly back to my shoulder. Such an intelligent little soul.
She had a little triangular fluffy yellow bed that I hung in her cage nightly, and every night she would crawl in and put herself to bed, fluff herself up and get comfy, and then I would say, “Goodnight Z ” she would chirp a little goodnight right back from inside her cozy little yellow bed.
We were meant to be together her and I. It was two souls connecting on a spiritual level that could never be captured in words. It was a love unlike any other. It was a perfect love as deep as the oceans and as wide as the Universe. It still is. Infinite as the moon and the stars.
She passed away suddenly of a heart attack after sixteen wonderful years together. A quick passing without suffering. Sixteen years of pure love and laughter. When I found her that night, almost two years ago to the day, I could feel her little soul sitting atop her favourite branch, looking down at me grieving, holding her tiny little body in my shaking hands. My girlfriend felt her there as well. We both knew she was still there, waiting to make sure we were ok before she moved on.
Zora wasn’t sure why we were suddenly separated. She would soon come to understand. I knew she would be happy. She had other things to do. She had other adventures to embark on. A soul that special would have important jobs to do on the other side. Now she was my Spirit Guardian and I felt blessed to know that she would be watching over me.
I asked her to come and visit me in my dreams the night she passed to let me know that she was alright, and she did, that very night. A beautiful vivid dream overflowing with the love that we shared for each other. She comes every so often to see me in the night, mostly when I ask her to, bringing my soul a little slice of happiness again, if ever so briefly, and I’m grateful for her visits. I’m grateful for the sixteen years we spent together, and the pure love she brought into my life. I miss her so, and wait patiently for that glorious day when we can finally be together again.
I love you Z. Now, then, and forever.
Two weeks before she died I felt her death coming. My intuition told me I wouldn’t have her with me for long, so I took this picture one day after she’d had a bath, sitting on her favourite branch. She’s smiling.
Wise words-Experience the freedom of NOW. It will change your life.
taijitumartini 