In a few days we begin the year that some believe will be
the end of the world. I prefer to add
the phrase "as we know it" and join in the celebrations around the
world that predict a marvelous transformation of fear into love.
The energy
is mounting. More and more, I find
myself in cosmic conversations that blissfully dance around images of joy. Beatific smiles grace the voices on many
different venues where people feel more free to describe the sense that wonderful
events are unfolding.
I recognize
that I am in Vermont where progressive ideas are common place, but the internet
proves to me that the euphoria spreads like a wildfire of coals even the most
timid may soon be brave enough to walk upon.
In grocery stores, at high school soccer games, on talk shows and
seminars, in a wealth of books printing from many presses, the joyful tales are
told how spirit is rising in so many of us.
After a
lifetime of work, I have published my own book.
The sense of pride and satisfaction to hold a copy in my hand is
immense, complimented wonderfully by the gentle "pling" of an email's
arrival to announce another copy purchased.
My ego is
less salved by the effort, however, than that I am proud to be contributing one more story
about leaving expectations behind and pursuing a more heartfelt way of
life. Some of my family and friends are
at a complete loss of patience and lack of understanding for my leap into this
blatant and unapologetic revelation of my embarrassing secrets. I hope anyone reading it will find resonance
in the description of finding faith and meaning in embracing the parts of
myself that are the truest expression of my heart.
To leap
into one's faith, to invest in the unsupported belief that intuition will lead
to a more secure happiness than following rational rules is a scary act to
take. I am full of fear and fighting my
conscience every hour to keep panic at bay.
With no solid job in sight, no reliable income to pay my rent stored in
the bank, I can shudder with fright, nearly immobilized if I ponder too long.
Listening
to headlines and watching the news, the world does not seem to be a safe
place. My job search supports the theory
that the economy is desperately slow, trying to hold itself together, but is
ultimately a pyramid scheme heading for an inevitable crash. Grim faces struggle around me to make ends
meet. More diseases from a toxic
environment take the lives of friends.
We still insist on making war on terrorists by broadening the definition
to include just about anyone, even our own citizens occupying their right to
freely assemble and speak.
Sleep-broken
nights for several weeks have been terrorizing my own balance. Taking on a carpentry job to make ends meet
this month is counter-intuitive to my claims two years ago that doing so ever
again could mean a fall much worse than from my scaffold. Having one book in my hand, my heart aches to
scribble loftier thoughts instead of calculate the inches between two by fours.
Despite the
fear, compromises must be made for now.
Relief
comes when I remember my promises to my heart.
While I breathe between hammer strokes, I consider that my purpose may
be in doubt, my faith once again jeopardized by the pursuit of dollars, but my
heart strives to hold strong.
The power
is in the breathing. With each conscious
inhalation, I remember that these are all steps, small steps in a large life,
leading to something I cannot see. I have hopes and dreams. I trust what I feel and know what I know. No
clear thought enlightens me to get ahead, but the simple act of breathing, the
concentration on the very simple action itself, stops my mind from wandering
and gives me life.
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