Tag Archives: peace

Love is often a whisper

   

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Forgiveness and love.

  
I think I have finally figured out how to forgive. 

Years ago I had an unimaginable betrayal from someone I should have been able to trust with my life. It was so unimaginable, that I blocked it from my memory for most of my adulthood. The experience was not absent from my mind altogether, though. I made many decisions based on how best to protect myself from allowing that to ever happen again. Unfortunately, it meant living in an almost constant low-grade level of fear in some areas. It contaminated my perception and gave me a half life. 

A few weeks ago, a series of news stories and life experiences made me question my responses to them. And in a quiet moment, my memory returned. With it, came the understanding I had created a language for my experience that was untrue. I think for the first time since the experience, I’m feeling a release. There is beauty in facing the truth. I did a lot of crying. And sad as I am, I’m also relieved. I made some choices in my fog, that were the right ones.

Another reason this may have been the right time to remember is because of the coping skills I’ve learned and also the spiritual path I walk. 

I’ve talked here a lot about practicing love. I’ve been practicing love for about a year and a half. The simple idea that one faces everyone with love and compassion, regardless of whether they have earned it. By distributing love to everyone, it removes the responsibility of making the judgement of worth. Everyone gets it. It’s surprisingly delightful for you in it’s simplicity. 

It’s not too hard to give love to someone we don’t know. But what about the person who has harmed you? How can you dispense love to him? What about the person you know given the chance will hurt you again? 

If you can figure out how to dispense love to a person who has harmed you, you have taken up with forgiveness. You have walked the same path. And the way to do it is to focus on the love. Stay with the positive. Look for the bright spots. Look for the joy. Look for the beauty. It’s okay to do this from a distance. It’s okay to do it without any contact. It’s okay to do it in a safe way. 

Forgiveness once seemed unattainable for me. Now I see it’s simply the act of giving love when it is the last thing that seems reasonable, and yet, love is always the right choice. 

Forgiveness = love.

Pretty simple.

Namaste, my friend.

Love,

Pamela


The zen in the fight

    

One of the things I’m trying to balance is when to let go. 

Let go of an annoyance, an argument, a dream that no longer appears attainable, other people’s fights, past injuries, past regrets.

Balancing my effort at seeing the world and people in love, compassion, and forgiveness, with how to include standing up for what I believe is right. 

What I’ve come to understand is I don’t need to argue with anyone. I don’t need to interject my opinion on anyone. I don’t need to change anyone’s mind. I don’t need to coherce anyone. If what I believe and share with the world resonates, those who wish to learn more, will be drawn to me.

Yet, there are injustices that require fighting. There are people who, if given a chance, will hurt you as often as you forgiven them. There are people who are injured and inflict injury. 

I can avoid these people, which in most cases is the most effective way to manage them, but what about social injustice? 

I must find the zen in the fight.

Avoidance is not the spiritual answer. 

This is what I ponder tonight. 

Namaste, my friend. 

Love,

Pamela


Some flowers celebrate love. And love? Always wins. #lovewins

 
  

   


A look back on lessons learned. 

I’ve learned a lot about myself over the last couple of years. 

I’ve learned I have a well spring of patience that I didn’t know I had. I am a very loyal person. I’m devoted. 

I’ve learned I can love people at a distance. That my love is infinite and can be, and is, projected any where in the world, at anytime. 

I’ve learned the more love I dispense, the more love I have. I can dispense love to everyone I meet. I don’t have to judge whether they are worthy of it. In fact, by suspending judgment, I liberate myself: of deliberation, of guessing, of theorizing, of surmising. All that analysis, is not energy well spent. It is an effort at control, but it’s also an excuse. An excuse to not proceed. To stop moving forward. To avoid love. 

I’m learning. 

Namaste, my friends.

Love, 

Pamela 


Monster making…

I have created a monster. 

The monster is my daughter. She corrects the grammar in my texts like she’s a German war criminal. She would say I brought it on myself, and she would be mostly correct. Perhaps you’re like me in that you can’t write even remotely as fast as you think. In doing so, texting or messaging, and that god forsaken thing we all have a love hate relationship with: autocorrect, makes for some pretty sloppy, and often abbreviated communication. 

I live in suburban St. Louis, Missouri now, but for a time, we lived in an itty bitty town about 30 miles south called Herculaneum. One day she came home and said the non-word, “ain’t.” When at 18 months, she chanted the F word as loud as she could like a song bird in the morning, in the middle of the isle of a Midwest suburban grocery store, I had a strategy. Distract her and drown her misspeak out with the sound of my own voice. I had no creative or gentle strategy for the word “ain’t” coming from the sweet angelic voice of my 6 year old cherubic daughter. So, I tried not to panic, yet found myself declaring in a loud and strained voice, “Oh, no! You will not say, ‘ain’t ‘. It is not a real word. It makes you sound unintelligent and that would misrepresent you!” I remember her wide big brown eyes, searching to understand the severity of her deed, poised to shed a tear for disappointing me. I knew I had to lighten the mood, but it was the word, “ain’t” for god’s sake!

So, she might say her childhood involved my acting a lot like a German war criminal when it came to grammar. Hmmm…what goes around comes around. 

But oddly, it’s rather flattering that she thinks I am perfect in my communication and it’s just been lately that I’ve  been messing up. Truth be told, I have always had to read, reread, set it down and read again later, and then read it out loud, to make sure I had proper spelling, included every word I intended, and used the proper sentence structure. These days, I let Siri read to me. Thank god for Siri. I only worry I will begin to think in Siri’s voice. Ah, but that is a musing for another post.

Just a gentle, or not so gentle, reminder to proof read. 🙂 

Namaste, my friends.

Love,

Pamela 

P.S. Auto-correct is my enema. 


Permission granted, but you don’t need it.

 

This happens to me very infrequently. 

I don’t have a topic to discuss. 

Wait a minute? Me? With nothing to say? 

Bwahahah! 😆

So, of course, I will speak on that. 

When I was a new mother I received a book for Christmas from my then husband. I read the title to be, Journey to the Self. I had began my quest for peace and calm, and understanding of my damaged soul, but this? This was too heavy. I said thank you and set the book on the shelf. 

One day many moons later, I was sitting and nursing my daughter. The book shelf was a few feet ahead and that book was basically at eye level. I reread the title. It actually said, JOURNAL to the Self.  The first sounded like an impossibility. The second, however, sounded fascinating. I picked it up and read the first page. It changed my life.

I paraphrase, but basically it said: write. 

Write without consideration to grammar, spelling, or sentence structure. Don’t worry about penmanship. Write. Write for you. Only you. 

It liberated me. 

The middle and high schools I attended, never seemed to care about content. If they did, I never heard a word about it. We dissected sentences for labels. Over and over. Year after year. What we wrote had no importance.  

I learned to write at 27. I learned I was pretty good at it. I learned that grammar can be corrected later. I learned that writing took all the stray thoughts I had, and filtered them through the pen in my hand and made them tangible on a piece of paper. I still always write for myself first. It turns out, I often want to share it. 

Writing a journal helped me begin to clarify what I needed, what I wanted. It helped me stand up for myself, to become better at debating a topic, and later, researching why I don’t need to debate at all. 

I never read any more of that book. I simply needed permission to write freely. 

If you need it, you have permission to write freely, too. 

Have fun. 😊

Namaste, my friends.

Love,

Pamela