Who Will Save Me? #45

Who Will Save Me?            #45                                 
No one’s going to save me.  I know that.  And still the hope that there is some rescue coming, emotional or otherwise, shines bright.  I’m a big girl, a grown woman and I know “if it’s to be it’s up to me” yet I lean into the hope that shared experience will not only ease the passage but somehow change it.  Certainly it heightens joy, right?  When something wonderful happens we want to share, just look at all the Face Book and Instagram posts.

Lately I have been practicing feeling.  It doesn’t sound as if that needs too much preparation but to do so cleanly, without fleshing out some story around it takes a kind of purity I’ve yet to master.  So, when some emotion, sweet, happy or sad floods my senses and drives me to my heart, brought on by the sun’s rays dancing on the floor, a child’s unexpected back flip in the street, moving from my beloved home, or the impending death of a loved one, I stop.  Closing my eyes I give voice to the feeling as purely as possible.  Taking a few deep breaths, I invite the stillness cultivated from deep meditation, to settle my awareness, and permit the flooding of sensation to pervade my body-mind without naming the why, without writing a story around it in the hopes that I may truly take it in, and in that more complete digestion, be nourished so perfectly by the increased light, that I will let it go and be ready, open, fully present to the next.
Thus far I have no miracles to report but the practice is happening more, and more ease-fully, in a spontaneous natural manner.  I recognize this as the increased presence of grace.  Actually it is the increased recognition of the presence of grace.  In turning my awareness in to face what is emerging before it has the opportunity to become a full blown story of epic proportion, there is a meeting closer to source, closer to the root of the sprouting that somehow tempers the wild blossoming.  

While this is wonderful and I celebrate the mere existence of such a‘some time gift, the feeling is still there but it is mitigated. This is important to note.  There is a budding sense of power, of knowing, I can work on this!  It is more than just the intellectual understanding that I do not have to believe everything I think; I’ve known this for years.  Knowing and experiencing are two different things.  There is something of the miraculous in this. 

I’ve been down this road before, too many times.   Why am I more able to skirt the hole and see the possibility of actually taking a completely other street, as the poem states?  It is the result of meditation.  It is the result of awareness steeped in wholeness that is presenting me with a real chance at healing, and in that, to re-write.  It’s not just the words formed that shape the story, the way they are strung together, but the expansive perspective as to what the story might be.  More, it is the increased capacity of the very mechanism that tells the story, all the stories. 

I still yearn in my bones to be saved.  I am a human female of a certain age and I did not escape the Cinderella Complex completely but I am coming more, even as this age, into my power.  It’s not all roses this coming into power; there are plenty of thorns and many buds will not bloom.  Yet I also feel in my bones that if I continue to steep awareness in the silent potent source and meet the emergent emotions as close to inception as possible, something truly miraculous will occur.  Instead of recreating each move with the same furniture of thoughts and ideas to merely fit the scene as best I can, I will create something entirely new.  The opportunity of working on this from my intellectual mind is only possible because that mind itself has been, is being, expanded, heightened, transformed and opened at depth.  It is a practical miracle in process.

As a dear friend of mine use to say, “to get something you’ve never had, you must do something you’ve never done”. 
Bring the light!