Life is not about the destination
It IS about understanding the journey TO the destination
Everyone has a story; we would love to have you share with us an aspect of your journey, of your awakening, of your “ah ha” moments when you knew that life has meaning and that there was a reason you are here. Your sharing of your ventures, your thoughts, your realizations, your funny moments, your tripping and picking yourself back up and continuing on, will encourage others to examine their lives and to move forward with confidence, knowing that no one is perfect. We all make mistakes… but we keep on going. By sharing you will be encouraging others who may be doubting their true successes and realizing there is more to life than going through the motions. We would love to hear from YOU! If you wish your name to be anonymous please let us know and we will honor your request. Just let us know how you wish to sign off, with your initials, your first name or ??
We honor your courage to step forward and make a difference by BE-ing the difference. Salude, Celestial and David
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I have walked this life with questions nagging at me all the time. It never made sense why a girl in a good well-to-do cluster of families felt out of place, never part of the whole (we lived 7 houses/families together in the same area; each owner is my paternal grandfather and grandmother’s children). Among the families, that girl did not understand the conflicts the adults had over money and material things, the quarrels, the stabbing words, the jealousy over what another had and they thought he/she should not, the power/authority which would enhance their ego, the ups and downs of the relationship among them, etc. And all those things were often boiling over the brim and spilled over us, children. Luckily and perhaps consequently, many of the third generation like me have felt they have had enough of all the negative plays we all have witnessed since our childhood.
Despite all of the above, life was good. Life even enriched me with love, food, home, families, relatives, schools, and other material things. I was an easy-going girl, smiled a lot, laughed a lot, played all the time, sang songs a lot, too. That’s why I never understand why I wrote down on a paper, “I know I’m not my Papa’s child, not my Mama’s child.” Something upset me before that but it should not have caused me to declare that way. I was 5 or 6 years old, studying grade 1 or 2 (I started kindergarten class at 3, and forty years ago there was no nursery nor pre-kindergarten classes in Bangkok). Then, two or may be three years later I decided to commit a suicide.
No one home that evening. It’s dark and I had this stomachache I almost crawled across the rooms to get to the medicine. It’s in the kitchen. After taking the medicine, I walked up to this drawer with all the knives. I picked one and tried the stabbing gesture on my stomach. I really wanted to go. It’s not the stomachache, it’s something else. This living was depressive, that’s the impression. A thought ran through my head, telling me to think about Mother, she would cry if I did that. I even saw my Mom cried in my head. It’s just wrong to make your parents cry; we were taught not to do that. So I returned the knife. Years later, my Mom told a story as a joke but it related somewhat to this. She said at birth I wouldn’t come out to this world so the doctor had to use an instrument to drag me out by the head. She had to put Hirudoid (a balm) on my scalp till it stopped being green and purple. I told myself at the time that, well, I hadn’t even wanted to be born, or seemed to have changed my mind about being born into this world.
My life pattern changes every 10 years. The first 10 was joy, joy, with bouts of too serious thinking like the examples above. The second 10 began with junior high and high schools, the most turbulent years in my impression. It’s all storms. I began reading things about philosophies, religious teachings, ancient civilizations, pyramids, Tibet, UFOs, art, medicines, science. There was a magazine called “Fourth Dimension” which I bought and read about all the layman science inside, including this short story about the parallel universe that made a big impression on me. Books started to be my companion.
If things got too hard, I even walked into the school church at noon and prayed for some answers. The junior high school was Catholic, and we, students of various religions, were “raised” together “mixed”, which means we all joined Catholic ceremonies from time to time in the church. In the moral class, those few who were muslims sat with us Buddhists while the Catholics went to study in another room. So any sacred places were sacred for us, no matter which religion they belonged. For they were built by humans for humans, thus they belong to us humans. Later when I studied abroad, I never worried about searching for a temple. I went straight to a church and donated and prayed there. Strangely, the few churches I had gone to, were noted for the Virgin Mary’s miraculous appearances, the fact of which I learned later.
But the answers I asked for didn’t come. I always found myself in the middle of everything and everyone, never belonged. After my big families, now with teachers and friends, things were quite similar. The difference was teachers liked me, friends liked me. Some even called me “sacred mother” like we called Mother Mary here in Thailand, but they all were wary of me. I was too different, with my grades, my success in the school, my family’s financial position, but especially my thought, my thinking. They said I was strange, which they meant different. It wouldn’t have been hard if I was not trying to integrate into each society I found myself in. I called it stormy time because I silently screamed inside, then sadness; screams, sadness. I tried hard to make sense of all those, to understand a bigger picture. So when some friends prayed that they could be like me I was extremely saddened. How could they want a life that made no sense…
I ended up having no friends. I had everyone as friends, yet I had none. I thought I had two but after I resigned from my post in the class in the last year of my junior high, they stopped going around with me. When I asked them straightaway why, they said, “You have to understand. We are like birds flying across the ocean, we have to look for a driftwood to support ourselves. When the old piece rots, we must look for a new one.” I wondered what was going on. Maybe that’s the answer I had asked for, prayed for, but that sounded like an adult world, not the world of a 13 year-old. I could not integrate or adapt all the experiences to make some sense out of my life at the time at all, so I went on asking, questioning. I even asked what in me was wrong. Just knowing the point, I might be able to fix it. But first I must find out where to fix.
I even asked my teachers. One in the junior high ended up saying, “You know, I have taught students for 20 years, I’ve never met anyone like you. I am even afraid of you.” She was in her 50s, and when she didn’t elaborate on that, I dared not ask further because we were taught to honor seniority that way. Or maybe I was too ready to be upset to ask her what she meant. In a sense, I thought I understood. That “afraid of me” could be sensed among my friends and other teachers, too. Looking back, suicide hardly popped up as a choice during the difficult times. It is as though the knife incident happened to have me make a decision about suicide once and for all so that I will never turn to it again. That path is closed. So at the time I had to push on.
One thing I understood was emotions were a big chunk of why my life was such a depression. But I could not get over the emotions. And I couldn’t hurl anything back to others, it’s not my nature. I couldn’t throw or break things around, couldn’t even express my sadness. I tried sitting brooding once, hoping that would help. Just “drowning” myself at the corner for a while and maybe I would jump up for “air”, something light. The result: I was ordered to smile. I asked back, “Even if the smile is a mask?” And yes was the reply. So I decided that the only thing I could break without hurting anyone was cookies. Food. I chewed with my teeth as though food was a sand bag for my punches. Instead of feeling lighter, I was heavier. Now I had another type of weight to lose.
I kept feeling hurt, etc when hearing people’s words, now including those about my weight. I found the translated books of Hermann Hesse which helped me let out some depressed feelings during the university years. Songs too, they screamed for me. Daydreaming was another way-out but my DD did not transform me into a princess in the beautiful fantasy worlds. It was full of fighting, wars, and bloodshed, tears and broken feelings, disappointments and tortures, screaming, running, etc. I enjoyed them though for they let me live somewhere else with “adventures” as I regarded them at the time. I would die and started it again if I still wanted to repeat a particular experience pattern. Or else, I would start a new turn of events. Years later I would look back and regard them anew as part of my remembrance of some past lifetimes, some emotional remnants.
After the university, I was in my third 10-year period, my 20s. I felt like… old, in the sense of emotional experiences. I even felt frustrated being treated as a young, naive to the whole wide world because of my age. This period also took me to spend longer time in foreign lands. Funny, I found myself there when each place was having a regression, so I ended up in a hostile time, on a hurt land, among an aggressive people. Therefore, I felt no attachment to any countries. I understand much later (actually now as I’m writing this) that it happened that way so that I would become disillusioned and let go of the old tie I had with the countries and their people I once upon a time so loved. It’s time. This lifetime is the time to realize that all people are the same, no matter what nationality or culture or land. To think of them and us as separate or different is to divide and to suffer as a result of such a divisive thinking pattern. For at the core we are the same: the living beings of feelings and emotions and many other things, especially all kinds of potentials, positive as well as negative. This time I must erase all the dividing lines I had drawn.
After traveling for years, I became stuck in my own house for 2 years. Not even a trip to the supermarket nearby during those 2 years. I felt imprisoned. But inside I heard a thought, “Keep going. It is what it is.” So I told myself if it was meant to be that way I would go along. I would travel again to everywhere I wanted to, well, after I died would do, but for the time being whatever would be would have to be. But it’s so depressing. Mom had changed from a mother who loved her daughter and sons to a mom who cherished only her sons as if they were princes. I felt like a servant, doing the house chores for them all from 5 am, and working for my Dad using my English during the day. One morning I cleaned the floor crying. Then I suddenly laughed as I realized if I could choose again I would still have chosen to be the eldest so I could take care of others, not the youngest so I would be pampered. Since that moment, I did everything happily for I realized I had chosen that, my position and all.
A decade later I would understand that my lifetimes as warriors had taken me to travel and do my “job” for each country I had been born into. During those eras in which women had been forbidden to work to earn their keep, though in some lifetimes our status was good, they must feel worried and wary. My long absence meant a lot of things. I could have lighten the loads upon their heart but no, I enjoyed my male privilege too much and grabbed it without care about the weak I had left behind. After each death, that’s one of the things I regretted and the 2 years of staying home, doing all the household works are to instill in me all the various feelings and values the women must have felt so that I will never overlook in such an ugly manner again.
My loving Mom also returned. To prove my reasoning, I told her how I had felt about her actions during those 2 years, she didn’t know nor realized she had done that. I let it go for she’d helped me pay the way I wanted to have the things done. I felt “woken up” when I turned 27. Something just stirred. I had no clear understanding but I took it as it was. Then, I’d been to Nepal, first venture outside after those 2 years, and got some wonderful reassurances through a dream and occurrences there that I had all the protection and support from the Divine. It’s a good start… I could tell myself that but of what, I didn’t know. I had to find a job and I kept changing one after another, each was contracted, so it was temporary. But deep down I felt reassured that everything would be alright. I would find “my” job.
All these times I’d never practiced meditation. I read books about it and other miraculous experiences people had had: near-death experiences, astral travels to heavens and even hell. Knowing other languages now I read books in those languages about the same topics, and noted that heavens and hell or the worlds after death differed from one culture to another. But without these cultural and social “dyes”, there must be the true state of those worlds, of angels, and other things. The universal version. But how could I get to know the true version? I wondered, I questioned, but never did I practice meditation. I was even skeptic about it. There were so many things said and written. So I was happy reading on, curious but…
Meanwhile, my Dad’s state of health, physical and psychological, declined more and more. The financial crisis in 1997 left him with 15 millions debt which kept growing with interest. Actually it hit him since 1995, the year I had to give up my master-degree study. For a guy who had enjoyed his prospering status and business, he couldn’t cope with such “failure”. When more material struggles led to worse situations, he turned to the intangible for the solution. At first it was ceremonies, prayers, asking for ways to resolve old karma that might have been the cause. But after 6-7 years, he turned to mediums. Afraid that he might be deceived, I accompanied him to various mediums during those few years. The last straw for me was in 2005 when I was 35. Most mediums or fortune readers we’d met read what occurred in the past correctly but hardly the future. I had enough with “borrowing other people’s knowing” which ended up adding more confusion and uncertainty. I decided right then I must find a teacher, a meditation course. I didn’t expect to “see” like a clairvoyant. To be really able to help my Dad, I myself should have known through my own “knowing” to whom I should or should not listen. So I went to Mr.Goenka’s 10-day course when I was 36. What happened there prevented me from turning my back to the practice ever since.
Little did I know…
My right leg felt like it’s being crushed. I had a vision of a car accident and my leg crushed from the knee down. Only blood and pieces of utterly shattered bones. And each time I sat, the pain returned. We had this particular hour, one in the morning and the other in the afternoon if I remember correctly, in which we must not move a limb, and the pain chose those special hours to visit me. In the other hours, only little of it popped in. Just when I thought this time I was prepared, I could deal with it, that special hour arrived and I found out otherwise.
We must sit silently, it’s meditation. So throughout that excruciating pain, I could only suffer silently, couldn’t change the sitting position. Sweat appeared and I understood for the first time what one calls here “the death sweat”, that kind of mist-like sweat before one dies in pain. It was painful. I was dying. Each second was so long like an hour, each hour like a year. Then, when the hour in which I sweated was over, a lady walked up to me. Though we were not allowed to speak to one another, she spoke anyway, “You sit so peacefully.” That’s the lesson for me not to take what happened too seriously.
But I was afraid to go back into the hall and sit and face the pain. I tried every tactic I could imagine. At first I was even glad, sincerely, that I felt the pain. If this was meant to come at the end of this lifetime, I would have been shocked and couldn’t leave this world peacefully. It’s good to confront the situation now, if the future pain would not be alleviated somewhat by me enduring it at the time, at least I was prepared. But the pain became ridiculous to the point that I feared it. I also knew that fear was not the right response, I should not have fear as my reaction. Then, the final solution came. I read books of two monks at the time. One of them once said, “Die if you must”, which means not to fight it, flow with it. Flow and if the river leads you to death, so be it. “But no one dies in meditation, remember that too,” he added. I chose to let go of the last part in case it might ruin my courage, and I went to sit. That day the pain disappeared. Although it came back a few times, it never was that high again.
Because of such pain, I dared not give up the meditation. Ha ha. I saw this tennis court in my head and I thought if I stopped “exercising” my body would stop being used to the sitting and… THAT pain could come back. A deadly no-no. So I committed myself to follow Mr.Goenka’s advice: to sit 1 hour in the morning, 1 hour in the evening during the first year. But at 5 am every weekday I was on the bus to work, so to compensate I sat “consciously” on the bus. As it took shorter than 1 hour, I had to extend practicing while my eyes opened as well. That meant throughout the day, collecting any drop or trickle of practicing I could grasp, hoping it could equate that 1 hour. After a few days back to the office, however, an incident scared me.
I was a perfectionist so when it concerned work I would go forward, and I let everyone involved know this. Though I did not attack people first, I would counterattack especially verbally. No rude words but I knew well that my words did cut as we do say here “like a pair of scissor”. One day a co-worker did some mistakes. Well, I encountered that on my first day back to the office as well, and I could catch it right then right there that it was my test. So I just faced what was boiling up, bubbling up, on that first day, which surprised me because I truly meant to point the mistakes out to her smilingly. I examined my “reaction” closely for the first time.
During the course, we learned that all problems arise because we react. Like bouncing or throwing the ball back, if the sender is still there, well, we’ll both get hurt. If not, and if we are one of those whose anger dissipates fast, then the ball thrown will go through the air. But we cannot be sure that no one else will not be hit and hurt instead by “that” ball. Or there can be a wall and we get hurt again and again by our own hands. Re-hurt ourselves by re-acting, fuming over the same issue.
I truly wanted to only point things out, just to let her know so she would not repeat it. I, for one, would not repeat it if I knew what the problem was (which I would realize later that such thinking pattern was self-centered and was to force another to do as I saw fit. Moreover, it’s narcissistic since I regarded my way as better and wanted another to follow the way as a result. Calling it “perfectionism” could mislead me from examining my true motivation behind each deed or thinking). But no, the emotion was so used to react that way and it showed up immediately. I couldn’t even move my facial muscle without contorting it, so smiling was impossible. I went to her anyway and said it out as smoothly as I could. If I couldn’t smile then, at least I must not mislead her to think that I was angry. There! She was surprised that I let it go when she said nothing could be done about that, she couldn’t correct what’s printed. That’s often her reply anyway. I expected it, too, I just focused on changing my reaction which was the goal at the time.
But now, a few days later, similar encounter and while my head was still blank about what to say, my mouth opened just a little. That’s the only movement it made and a whole sentence flied out. We can pronounce a word only when we move our lips in a certain way. So to pronounce many words for a whole sentence, we have to move our lips continuously. But I had not moved my lips. And it flew out very swiftly. One second. The whole sentence, not a short one, took one second. I could only listen to it and felt startled for myself, and hurt for her. That cut.
That was the first time in my life I was woken up to my own style of speaking. How many times did I say something that way consciously? How many times unconsciously? I recognized it at once for what it was: an accumulated habit when had enough mass, could have its own momentum/life. How many things had “I” done? How often had things occurred on their own? “Out of habit” was no longer just a phrase. Like that moment when I meant to smile but couldn’t, was it me living this life or something else gearing me around like a puppet? I couldn’t let emotions and habits lead me around any longer. This is not life. This is manipulation which I had allowed it to occur because I was not conscious enough.
So I rewound the whole episode and figured out what triggered the process. I broke it to pieces to understand its route and how it ran its life. And I had to do so many times throughout the first 2 years of my meditation. One thing I could decide then and there, was that I must practice/revise my behavior anew. To do that, I must speak more slowly. I must be able to hear every word I uttered so that I could follow my own words consciously. My speaking style changed as a result, I mean wording style as well. Slipping of the tongue was no longer acceptable either, so if in the middle of a conversation I got angry, I would stop talking and asked for a time-out. I didn’t care if I was regarded as dumb or stupid or a loser, I had to deal with myself, not the others. They are the least of the problem.
I began to talk less. All the colleagues, including my boss, knew I had gone to a meditation course. Their first reaction was respect. I had not expected that. So when I turned inward they were quite surprised that I continued practicing after the retreat, and so they observed, which means they allowed me any distance I needed. I had started to integrate the practice into my living, wanting to weave them all into one fabric.
The change I felt at home was immediate. Discussions that used to heat up the whole house just stopped. The talking through the office grapevine started to lessen “around me”. It’s not my drama anymore. And all these happened just because I became more silent. Before, I had tried to be louder, to put my opinion out there, just by voicing alone I had put myself in the competing, struggling pattern. But I had misunderstood. There’s no competition, not even with myself. And the real struggle was not out there, it’s inside.
With all the focus on my own deed, words, thoughts, attitudes, my own job, and my own family, I had no inner resource left to deal with any other things. What I had to confront was so much so many. Thirty-six years of accumulation of anger, want-not want, like-dislike, living through illusions, and living unconsciously was like… a lot. When we sit in Vipassana Meditation, we do not move. Our inner self is to be aware of all sensations happening all over the body. If somewhere itches or feels stung, we just acknowledge and let it be. If it goes, we let it go. Sometimes later I will just acknowledge and bye-bye, “You can go on doing what you want to do, I will do something else, too.” I will say to the sensations, or feelings, or emotions, even thinking, and go my way. I have things to do as well. But during the first 2 years I couldn’t say so yet.
During those first 2 years, I had to deal with big emotions by acknowledging them and let them be. Like anger. Not throwing the anger out, deciding to endure all the fire alone instead of burning others around me just because I could not stand the burning effect which is the product of anger, opened a hell to me. I saw the fire burning ceaselessly around me everyday. But whatever I had to face and endure I had to do it. I fell down many times because anger has its own force. That’s the meaning of falling. So all I had to do was standing up. For 2 years that went on. I was tired but also renewed by each hour of meditation which cleansed the heavy residue of each day away.
If the first 2 years were hell, little did I know that the third year would be “Grilling” which is harder. When we meditate, the gross emotions will surface first, like those big chunks of dirt that can be noticed more easily. They are like… fire, burning and gone. Maybe big time but soon it will be over. It’s like I have entered unknowingly into a building. The depth I get into determines the distance I will encounter when I decide to leave. Each fire, each chunk of emotions, was like each room I had to pass through. They were many, which means they are difficult by their numbers. But the little ones, like a refined form of anger: annoyance, dissatisfaction, etc, are like embers. They are little, difficult to notice and their effect is long. I trembled a lot while during the first 2 years I never did. I understood the Buddha’s talk about Endurance then, it’s for moments like that. It’s not suppressing emotions, but instead, going through it all with understanding that it’s my own creation. I had put off the time to face it, now that I decided to leave it I had to come out the same way I got in, so I couldn’t prolong the self-confrontation anymore. Long after that I would understand that it’s not my anger that I faced but my reaction to Anger. That reaction is my own creation.
Anger, Greed, Illusion exist in their own right. They are like friends who come with a torch to show me my dark or sharp corners. In the East, we say an orb is the perfect form, of which a circle is the two-dimensional expression. Each one of us has a work to round ourselves off. And we have countless lifetimes to create and collect such a dark/sharp corner inside and around our self. Anger, Greed, and Illusion are never us, however. The language we use can mislead us a lot. They’re never me, never mine. While being grilled, I tried to pass the time by discriminating myself from the emotions. That’s how I dealt with it. First few times were unsuccessful but little by little I began to distance myself more from each emotion until I sat side by side with it. I just let it be there but I told it right away, “I won’t follow you.” I had my own ground to stand, and so it was.
That led me to an idea. One day I retraced my life back to whatever was the first memory I had. Then I traced it down to the present. Surprisingly, I couldn’t fathom where all the anger came from, where all the sorrow, the fights, the conflicts, the authoritative voice that would hear only yes or else… , etc came from. This Wimolrat could smile and laugh easily. Her life was simple, no strive, no pressure. But each time she faced something, some situations, it seemed a big well was open and all kinds of things flew out as though having been long pressurized. I was startled to discover that various lifetimes had interwoven with this one. Each knot that had been left tied, unsolved, jumped out at me. I understood what I read immediately of simultaneous lifetimes. But linear speaking, I was the one more capable of resolving those knots than them.
In this way, my remembrance of old lifetimes was unlike what I read. While others saw their old lifetimes like watching a movie, I had glimpses of what’s mine through these emotions, they belonged to some strangers yet familiar. So I had glimpses of their own reasoning in their era and society behind each emotion and decision as well. Understanding is the key. I knew then why angels don’t condemn. Well, I read Edgar Cayce and some other books about near-death experiences. The immense love and non-condemnation are the most extraordinary things I found therein. When we “understand”, we “know” then why others decide, act, react, or do what they do. We will also know if we should say something or nothing and let them go. It’s their choice. But before we reach this conclusion we have to understand first. I understood for the first time, too, what I had read that by understanding oneself, one can and will understand the whole universe. We can understand these sage sayings only through our experiences, not through our head. The brain can only get that much. But I had all the books to thank for the seeds, little did I know the latter could sprout in that manner. And thus, one by one I had walked through all the emotions, not caring now which belonged to whom. The more I walked through, the more distance lay ahead. I had so much to do, no time to spare.
The fourth year was unexpected. It’s about love. I was 39 and single, had not met anyone and I had a lot more important things to do. Besides, being single has become common in our modern life. It’s our choice now. However, I remember a lot of experiences about love through those emotions from the old lifetimes. I had felt my heart broken again and again everyday, sometimes many times a day while listening to the songs and daydreaming so nothing was news. That year I met a few people who had been my life partners. I remembered an extremely happy, perfect marriage life with one in particular. I understood then why I had this yearning for someone. However, the yearning belonged to the entity in that lifetime, not me. She still felt attached to it, to a wholesome life like that.
But everything is to be experienced so that we can turn it into life-knowledge and wisdom, not to be addicted to. One day, I suddenly felt this thick and heavy atmosphere encasing me. I walked and breathed in that heavy and thick bubble from 8 am to 9 pm. After the extreme pain during meditation, this was the sensation I had to endure the longest. So when I went to bed, I had to pray, “I haven’t shirked my own responsibility but I must have some sleep. I will gladly endure it again comes morning. Just let me have a rest now.” It had gone, and never returned.
It is said that in duality, life is like a moving pendulum. When we are happy, a momentum is gained for the opposite direction, the sorrow. So after enduring the true effect of extreme happiness, it would only make sense that I would confront the opposite. That same year, I remembered one who had been my father. He was being hospitalized, so I naturally flew through the process of him dying in my head to see if there was any residue of crying left to let out. Unexpectedly, the memory flooded in.
I had been his youngest son. He ruled over this town, if not a kingdom. I lived as a spoiled child, that is I was always a child, an aging child. I hardly worked for the people, hardly cared. I abused my own social status, my warrior class because I thought I could and the era gave me the opportunity. Not realizing it was a lure to test my strength of conviction to live as a true human, I seized it. Suddenly, I was told my dearest father had died. He was my world. Deep down I knew that I could do all I had done because I was his son. His people loved him. I loved him. Yet I had never done anything to brighten his heart, gladden his mind. I had not done anything!
The memory flooded in while I had breakfast. Tears streamed down, I couldn’t swallow. That’s the first time in my life that I was so sad I couldn’t even swallow. The throat literally closed in. I had to watch all the emotions with detachment because I sensed and saw that the sadness was so extreme it bordered on turning mad. Such guilt, such self-blaming, self-punishment.
Now that I had savored the two extremes, I understood clearly why the Buddha talked about Equanimity, the neutral, walking the middle path. Now I realized that my whole life I never belonged to any sides, any groups, any clans the way people usually do because it was to remind me of my prebirth intention: to walk the middle path. And the path is a path, not a string, so treading on it is never meant to be suffocating. I can breathe and dance and move around a lot, there’s enough space to do everything, even visiting the waysides. Just don’t get attached, addicted, nor get into dislike or hatred. It’s all illusions, three-dimensional illusions/simulations. Just recognize it for what it is.
Nowadays, I live in joy. The joy is silent, subtle. Not the joy-joy. It’s soft like a small feather of a little bird. Hardly felt, but it’s there. That’s how “middle” I am meant to be. Dad is also free of the debt so we all feel lighter. But I have much more to face, to walk through, a long distance to go. I’m still a human with many things to resolve. The past works you have read about are but the building process of my own foundation. The difference is now I have gained some sense of my various journeys.
Celest and David – PU, you have expressed yourself in such a beautiful way, with such clarity of thought, those thoughts flowing effortlessly, concentrically into the next thought. This will aid many other people in understanding their path, their journeys, their emotions and assist them in releasing the baggage, the drama in their lives. It will also assist them in reclaiming their own power by not being unconsciously pulled into others’ life lessons.
From Our Soul to Your Soul, We Love Honor Respect and Treasure You.
Salude, Celest and David
Note, Redza in Malaysia (http://merahza.wordpress.com) shared this with us the other day. We feel it is timely and well worth consideration. David and Celest
A Sweet Lesson On Patience
A NYC Taxi driver wrote:
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90′s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940′s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’
‘Oh, you’re such a good boy,’ she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’
‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.’
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.
‘Nothing,’ I said.
‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.
‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life..
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
(If I may add…this is also a lesson on unconditional love. Redza)
As posted by Kees (GalacticChannelings.com)
Many Thoughts-Many Voices / Godumentary.com
The answer that people are always searching for is to the question “what’s wrong with my life?” The real questions they should be asking themselves about are the following: was I raised to believe in truth or was I raised to believe in the illusions of truth? Was I raised to have prejudices against people of other colors? Was I religiously indoctrinated? Am I setting a good example for my family, for my friends and for myself? Do I respect the choices of others without being judgmental? Here are more questions for you to think about. Are you allowing people to learn from their mistakes and are you learning from your own mistakes? Can you see the actions of others and understand that two wrongs do not make a right? Can you love people with the understanding that you do not have to always agree with them? Have you learned to love yourself yet? If you can not love yourself how can love another? This is how is how the generational family curse is passed on from one to another to another. If people do not learn to respect other peoples’ boundaries, then how can they expect to have their own respected? It is not about the color of skin, everyone bleeds red.
It is about how you have been taught to perceive others and how you react to your own perceptions that define you as a true human being. People should not value others more than they value themselves, yet if they have grown up in unrealistic situations that truly have no value then they can not teach their own families or even their own friends about things they themselves know nothing about. The history of the people of this planet is bias and prejudice born again and again and again. This only creates more disharmony and unhappiness and causes the gap that exists between races to widen even more.
Men and women have been battling each other since forever and their children grow up the same way. As long as this type of hatred, competition and lack of morality exist, the family curse goes on. The 99 percent is representative of all the different types of mental enslavement and physical duress that have been commonplace all over this planet since the beginning of time. But even the 99 percent can unconsciously become a magnet for many instigators and troublemakers who can care less about the principles of truth and justice. They are just what they are, troublemakers. If it were possible, which it is not, to trace the family life of each of these troublemakers, you would see that it is simply history repeating itself. The troublemakers are placed within the 99 percent by the malcontents of society who are intent on disrupting good people’s attempts for justice. The malcontents all have hidden agendas. There are many neo-Nazi’s, KKK members and every type of hate group you can imagine who are contributing overall to the family curse. So on the one hand you have the good citizens of the planet struggling valiantly to not only have their voices heard, but to establish a true democracy worldwide. On the other hand many of these individuals are being used by the very people who are the tormentors of society. The tormenters are the ones who are also aligned with the one percent, as well as with the emotionally unstable people.
People seem to need to have a hero or heroine to be the ones who create change. But if these heroes or heroines do not have the people’s best interests at heart then nothing can change except the further decimation of the human races. The curse is an all prevailing mass of thought, like a hoard of locusts let loose and consuming everything good in their path. The most difficult challenge people have today is to leave their former mental programming and start to think for themselves. What a concept. It requires work and personal responsibility and the ability and the willingness to admit you are wrong when you are. It means standing up even to your children, lovers, spouses, whoever, and saying, “just because you want to believe in those illusions does not mean I do.” Forget about trying to find truth and honesty in the media, it is a very bad joke. If you can just search your mind and clear out the junk, diffuse unjust angers and put an end to the generational curse, you can be your own media. No, this will not be a popular stand, however one person standing in truth can begin to turn the tide.
The curse has been a continuous case of pattern making. Change is not static nor is it repetitious, but it does require work. Everybody wants to say they walk their walk, yeah right. The problem is they don’t walk their talk.
The family curse is an insidious infection. Everybody wants their children to grow up and be better and do more than they themselves have done. How can the children do that if their minds are not educated in truth sans illusions and understand the harsh reality that this is not a perfect world? It has been a long time since the teachers have taught the children to think for themselves and even longer since many parents have taught by example.
To nonviolently stand up for yourself is a scary proposition for most people. Yet if the people don’t do it, who will?
We suggest that you consider the curse as the “majority” and “change” as the true minority. There is nothing wrong with being a minority unless you are part of the one percent.
There is not a culture or a class distinction on this planet that is exempt from the family curse. The beat just goes on and on and on. If you are wondering how you can create change we can give you the simple answer. You create change by becoming a part of change. Just remember, this may not be a popular stance to take but other people will see or hear about it when you start doing it. And in time the family curse will be exorcised. Are you up for this challenge? We are.
(Note: there may be more than one posting on this topic)
Celest and David
The Time to Know is Now / Godumentary.com