Dear Miracle

Setting free the beautiful truth inside.


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When Everything Falls Apart, How to Fall Together

crossingthecolumbia22Last year my sister and I took a long anticipated trip to Cabo San Lucas. Landing at the airport in San Jose at the southern tip of the Baja California peninsula, we rented a car, anticipating a happy drive to our resort. I brought my trusted electronic GPS with me in order to navigate our way there.

Zigging when we should have zagged at a fork in the road, we became horribly lost along the way. The GPS wasn’t any help at all as we found ourselves out in the middle of the Baja desert staring at nothing but cactus, sand and sun. The red car icon on the screen showed us going round in circles in one spot while the female voice instructed us to “turn right at the next alleyway.” What? What alleyway? Where? (We’re still laughing over that one!)

We ran out of road at a half finished freeway end zone that dropped off into nowhere, wild eyed and asking directions in English from workmen who knew only Spanish, who then pointed us down a dirt embankment into a dusty, dry flood zone.  We were incredulous. But then more incredulously, we drove down that embankment because we didn’t know what else to do, soft pillows of red dust kicking up everywhere as the back end of the rented sedan wildly fishtailed about, not misconstruing the overheard Spanish “loca” (crazy) as we drove off.

At a loss to know how, the flood zone got us there—eventually. Eventually, and as we later learned, the GPS had righted itself taking us on what we thought was a wild goose chase while we zigged and zagged between crumbling adobe houses, abandoned construction,  and third world city boulevards, and children in the streets while we pretended we knew where the hell we were. Then suddenly, there we were—right in front of the resort, where after checking into our rooms with much too much luggage and exhaustion—sand, sea and salt rimmed Margaritas beckoned with relief.

It’s been a wild ride these last months that have left many of us attempting to turn right at the next alleyway in the middle of foreign deserts, our psyches and emotions left going round in circles. Personally, I’ve run the gamut of inhospitable feelings and disbelief. I’m exhausted. Isn’t there a Margarita somewhere on an island resort waiting around the next corner?

And frankly, the pile of unfolded laundry on my bed isn’t going to fold itself. The piles of paperwork aren’t going anywhere until I attend to what needs attending. There are impending deadlines to meet while I stare off into space or sleep late trying to insulate myself from pain, while my fear or guilt tell me to do something now—anything, no matter what it is.

This is often how trauma impacts us at first.

We are a traumatized nation at war with itself while the whole world watches in horror. And I often feel like the first world I knew is heading into some surreal third world landscape I don’t recognize anymore.  

Then I realize that in order for something to live or be born, it is often true that something has to die. Death and birth is the natural order of life. And when what fails to work anymore, life will find another way. Chaos and order coexisting all at once. One way dying while another is being born. Yada, yada—I could write a whole chapter on that one subject. It’s painful. People suffer, even die. You know. Our egos and ideologies threatened, our existence, too. None of it is personal, but it sure feels like it.

Presently and at the same time everything is going on, I’m actively resisting the notion to intellectualize myself into a nihilistic state of stupor, or numb myself in other vice. I’m fighting to stay awake. I don’t want to miss my life or fail to connect to the suffering or joy of another.

Where true value lies is remembering to consciously breathe, meditate, pray and listen, take time out of each day in order to decipher or intuit what is yours to do, your personalized marching instructions, your “true north”, as they say.

I know that as humans we react to trauma in the most human of ways. We must grieve, allow ourselves to experience its stages in order to heal. Life must wait. It isn’t helpful to hear others tell us to calm down—which can feel for us like a manipulative tactic to alleviate the discomfort of another who is not yet grappling with their own pain.

After all we are humans, not machines.

Against a backdrop of black landscape out there, there is a still a wide vista of blue sky inside myself. In the spaces in between I choose to create, be it a minute or an hour or more, in between the crazy, the chaotic, the confusing, is where our internal guidance lives. Learning to lean in and listen is what saves us from the clamoring voices that demand we do this or go there or be quiet. Not always that we receive clarification in the exact moment of quiet breathing or prayerful listening, but that the stage is set for direction to come, often in the most unexpected ways. We learn resilience here, how to bend in hard winds. Directional leading tells us what is ours to do and what is not. Like the Wheel of Fortune in the Tarot, it is in the hub of that wheel that shelters, knowing that all is okay no matter how harsh the storm, or who might be coming at you with fear in their eyes.

I know. Easier said than done. But it’s a conscious practice. I still fall out of practice though even after practice over many years. Why do I do that? It’s the human part of me.

I’m learning it’s okay to fall, even as a nation. Failure strips the veneer off. It’s the great revealer of what’s been hidden. Healing cannot come until you uncover the hidden that has been having its way with your life or your nation planet. It’s the beginning of the end to what hasn’t been working. This could take a while though while that which has been hidden fights hard for its existence or way of life.

My GPS always knows right where I’m at, at any given moment even when I am feeling wildly off course, flailing about or melting down into a puddle of emotion. I always trust I will, however, settle down. My own true north always knows where I’m at, always comes for me to lead me back. It is always talking to me even when I’m not listening. It could say, sit still, rest, prepare, learn, take care of yourself, eat right, move now—fast, go, stop, you will be okay, you are okay, talk to someone, talk to and help the person next to you, remember what and who blesses you, write that letter, make that phone call, here’s who to see or where to go, write that book or poem—here’s the first sentence, run fast, don’t worry, trust, sleep, be careful, watch out, see the doctor, don’t go out, stay in, it’s okay, love yourself, you’ll learn, find grace in your fall, you haven’t failed.

It is intimately connected with every moment of your life. Helps you to open your heart to the world, feel the magic of and get inside of your body, identify with the suffering of another, disengage with suffering that doesn’t belong to you without losing your compassion. It’s all there. Everything you need as a guide to your life is inside of you, guides you to the next step, the next thing to do. May not give you the second step until you have completed the first. It has kept you alive to this point even if you’ve failed to see it. You’ve survived until now for something else you’re supposed to do or be or flower into. It’s fierce. It brings clarity of vision you didn’t expect in ways you couldn’t have foreseen. It can save your life, bring you home when the time comes.

Last night, I was reminded in conversation with someone dear to me about making a commitment to myself to listen more to that still small voice that knows. I am making a commitment right now that every day for the next week, I will start my day by listening in, by being still, by breathing consciously in and out, by praying for direction, clear hearing and vision. Be it for a minute several times a day or an hour when I awaken, I will listen for my marching orders, for what is mine to do. At the end of the week, I will commit to another and then another. One day at a time.

Today I am not going to rush out into the world in attack mode without hearing what it has to say first. It might only be a quiet hint, a sign, an intonation, but I have learned to recognize that voice through years of practice. It always comes with peace, with expansion of being and not contraction. There is grace in it even if the work is difficult or the suffering around me heart rending.

What is important is to keep my heart open and my ear to the ground. This is how we work for the greater good. This is how we heal in time.

And I’m wondering—will you join me?


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However Imperfectly

Glorious Sunset

Would you please just sing your song?

It’s just old friends here.

Make every mistake you can.

Please do it wrong.

Your singing will never be good enough for you—

it never has been.

 

Yet you have a word, a voice, an intonation,

a clear ringing bell

with light inside that is begging for release,

and still you hold it all in, fight the brilliance

that is uniquely you.

People are begging for your song,

waiting to be saved by a song that only you can sing,

however imperfectly.


 Shoshana Wolfington


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Practicing Emotional Integrity

Canadian Glacier Eagle

Photo by S. Wolfington

Wisdom from a higher source–when you need to make a decision,  don’t know what to do, or take a strong stand,

here are some basic rules to get you through– 

  • Determine desire vs. need.
  • Work for the greater good of all.
  • Set clear boundaries.
  • Practice honesty, kindness and gentleness.
  • Stay focused.
  • Take care of yourself.
  • Set priorities.
  • Study past tendencies and patterns to avoid future troubles.
  • One thing at a time—don’t overcommit.
  • Share your gifts freely with others.
  • Listen to and follow your conscious.
  • Surrender the need to be an authority or always“right”.  Self righteousness leads to a fall.
  • Practice emotional integrity.

    S. Wolfington

 


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On Grace

Willamette Falls, Oregon City, Oregon Photo by S.Wolfington

You’re guaranteed only this moment.

Grace is given for this moment and no other.

Don’t waste this moment on worries that

may never materialize.

The future will provide the grace you need

at the exact moment you need it.

Grace will make herself known

not a moment too late.


S. Wolfington


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Before the Smoldering Turns Cold

smoldering roseBefore the passion in me dies,

while I can still breathe and inhale

the sweetness of jasmine in spring and

feel the ocean pouring between my toes,

I want to stand in the small gulf of your arms

and know heaven in my soul.

I want to feel your warm skin pressed

against mine and breathe together in time.

 

And when I’m looking off into forever,

your adoring kisses at my neck

will to my senses bring me back.

With just a look you heal me—

you love me, and I am made whole.

 

So for this, while I live,

while we have this briefest encounter in time without end,

while the fire burns still within our souls,

and before the smoldering turns cold,

I will look in your eyes at this moment in time

and let myself be loved by you again and again.

 

Shoshana Wolfington


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Thank You, But No

13173662_10206536769525587_8058892534481363848_nI am learning I can say no.

It’s not always easy when you’re learning,

when the birthing of your own worthiness

is still so fresh with pain.

 

You have to keep saying no loud enough until you hear yourself.

 

I am learning to stand by my no’s, by what nourishes my own soul—

by the NO that has my back, knows best what is for me and what is not.

I am learning it’s okay to be quiet when there is nothing more to say,

when I have already spoken,

when I have paid careful attention, said what I mean

and mean what I say.

 

Because another discounts my no,

does not mean that I don’t count.

Both of us in the same classroom as I learn to stand by what I have said

and they learn to hear my no.

 

And just a single no can stand on its own—

just a simple thank you, but no—or because I said so.

I am learning it’s quite okay to have momentary confusion or

temptation to say yes without actually doing so.

It’s okay to sit with it for however long it takes until the thing is done.

Even though it hurts for a while, even though those old feelings rise up,

I know everyone is hurt

when I say yes but mean no.

 

Shoshana Wolfington