Today’s Good Word

Did you know that I had a siamese fighting fish named Shri Skeletor? Well I did. And he was a miracle. Iridescent red, kissed with blue when the light danced about his elegant slithering body. And I killed him. So slowly. By accident. I didn’t realize that his water needed to stay in the eighty degree range. He seemed to do fine in my old apartment. I guess it was always warm there. But then, once again, Shiva, the god of creative destruction, slashed my world apart in the name of Truth everlasting, and I put him in a mason jar (for the duration of travel) and slung him to the Momshram. Through the sweltering expanse of summer, we were one big happy family, me and Ma and Skellie… But then winter cast her frigid breath upon our lair…

His demise was slow. So slow that it was unnoticeable at first. But after a couple of months, suddenly, he mostly just lounged around on the bottom of the tank like an over-stuffed Roman. Except conversely, he was under-stuffed. He had stopped eating all together. I thought maybe he was just on a diet…

By the time my white knight, Sir Edward got a heater for Skellie’s bowl, he was too far gone. Poor baby, just lay on his side, at the bottom, his little belly heaving as God continued to breathe him with twisted mercy. Every once in a while Skeletor would exert every ounce of his fortitudinous fishy will, and scurry up to the surface… perhaps in hopes of finding the pearly gate to heaven. No such luck. He’d sink back down to the bottom and flop onto his side where he lay like a spoiled piece of sashimi. Finally, on the soulstice, by the mercy of the One, he left this world. I felt nauseous, guilty and bereft as I scooped him out of the tank and put him in a ziplock baggie in the freezer… until our makeshift undertaker, Ed, could haul him away in his big golden truck, and burry our beloved friend in his vegetable garden. I did not realize I could love a fish so dearly.


Wow, that was quite a scenic route. I only meant to tell you that lately, I have been feeling akin to our little finned protagonist. Devastated by exhaustion… All I want to do is lay at the bottom of my little fish tank of a bedroom in a fleshy heap of merciful respiration. I mean, I’ve had a proclivity for exhaustion my whole adult life… I mostly nap every day, when life permits (which it mostly does, because I design it that way…). But since I have been here, it seems to have gotten worse and worse. On saturday, I was in a painting workshop taught by Dana, and instead of being able to sink in and suck the marrow from it, I felt like I was dying. Every time I stood up, I got light-headed. Scary. I feared I was having thyroid failure.

On sunday evening, I visited our resident naturopath… and after asking me ten thousand very deep, probing questions (which really stirred up the sediment in the depths of my soul) he deduced that I am probably anemic. He took my pulses and was shocked that I was almost dead. That was a mild exaggeration. The dead part, but not the shocked part… So now my mission is to find an iron supplement that works with my system, and to eat some bloody cow meat asap.

I went to bed feeling panicked and helpless, like I was stranded on a meatless island, forced to face my untimely demise. It’s kinda weird, being tucked away in this remote little valley in northern oregon, sans car… not being able to earn money… relying on the benevolence of occasional sprinkles of cash that fall from the heavens and flutter down upon me in decorative, love-stained envelopes. (Thanks Ed and Ma!!!)

I want to earn money. And feel self-sufficient. But right now I’m on a spiritual quest. Which, in the eyes of the default world, might not seem as legit… But in the omnipotent eyes of All Pervading Love, it’s a noble and worthy endeavor. For what is life, but a gracious opportunity to realize Truth within and become a perfect channel of love?

I just exhaled for like ten minutes…

Two weeks and two days left. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m counting. Because spiritually redeemed people live in the mOMent. Honestly, I’m getting WAAAAAAY better at living in the mOMent. That has been one of my most fervently pursued elective courses here on Earth University, for quite some time now. And being at Ananda Laurelwood has been a graduation of sorts. I am truly able to relax into all shades and shapes of life here and luxuriate in the sweet, tootsie roll center. And still, I count the days. Because I am in love with a man named Edward. And his body and his life are far away. (His heart is nearer than I can say….)

Yep, I’m still hanging in there with our favorite married police officer boyfriend, like it or not. I like it. I was seriously ready to throw in the blood-stained towel a couple of weeks ago… for real. But instead of reacting like a threatened, starving wolf, he became an unwavering pillar of masculine strength and valor. I told him that if we were to continue onward together, it was time for him to take explicit action and move toward me. He has been. I trust him deeper and deeper with every passing day. And meanwhile I am using my life to move deeper into God (aka: wholeness, inner freedom, love, Self-realization). Which, as far as I’m concerned, is the only thing worth doing, anyway. I just want to unfurl in the light of heaven, and share every drop of divine wealth with this world. THAT MEANS YOU. Yes. I want to pilgrimage to the gurshing Source of Love at the center of Creation, and then serve as a guide; effervescently lighting YOUR way.

A teacher may be responsible for a particular body of knowledge… But ultimately, what they truly have to offer is their state of consciousness; the pure, raw immediacy of their BEING. I will NOT stop short of the mark! This train is bound for the very pulse of Infinity.

Speaking of being short of the mark, though, quite frankly, I feel that I have missed the mark with this blog entry. I spent sOMuch time driveling about my dear little fishie… and from there, I just continued to tease the edges of the reality of my existence. Sigh. Sometimes it happens like this. You push off the bank of the river, and get swept up by a current, and instead of taking you to the day-glow capital of Graceland, you find yourself in a faded, remote suburb.

But A Course in Miracles teaches that the messenger’s job is not to invent the message. Only to be the winged dove, appointed in the name of Grace, carry it safely to Destiny’s dancing doorstep. So perhaps I am being a needlessly hash judge, and these are just the words you thirsted for… I just feel like there is sOMuch left unsaid. And I want to say it all; just open up my figurative mouth like a snake with a hinged jaw, and pour forth an entire universe of flaming pertinence and sacred revelation.

Oh well, maybe next time… “Om Swaha”, as we say in my country…


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