Tag Archives: dogma

Look at the Map

4fc9468d64649c3e4e337fb4b580f29b

I woke with a strong urge to share something with you. And that is: Look at yourself kindly, today. See the beauty within you that is uniquely yours. Do your best in life, then trust that good will follow. Have faith that you’re not only on the path, you’re steadily moving at just the right pace. Everything has purpose. Try not to cast judgement upon yourself, others or the world around you. Love who you are. Because the package that makes up you was specifically chosen as the vehicle your Higher Self wanted for this journey.

Oh yes, its true, dear reader. Even your less than spectacular propensities are there for a reason. Have you not considered why your hardships seem to fall along the same few lines. If you haven’t. I urge you to do so. Great truths about your journey will be discovered when you do.

Once you notice the grid work on which your foundation is laid, you’ll better understand the bumps and hurdles. Once you begin to listen to the repetitive nature of your ego, you’ll begin to understand the work of your soul. Ego offers the voice of contrast to the authentic nature of who you really are. Instead of believing the ego, try instead to view it as a bellwether. For example, if your ego screams it can’t be alone, know that your soul wants you to experience the peace found only in solitude. If your ego whispers that you aren’t good enough, know that your soul wants you to experience that you are, and it will keep nudging you in that direction. And if your ego mocks that your words have no value, then your soul will keep putting you in situations where you must own your voice and speak it.

If you have a tendency to see yourself as a screw-up, know that your soul is living out this life for you to discover your worth. And it will keep offering opportunities necessary in making that discovery. Problem is, when we allow the fear-based ego to be the Parent, the Ruler, the Judge, the Doctor, the Lawyer, the Prophet, the Priest, the Writer of our life, then these opportunities get twisted and used as evidence to support the ego. But when we look at ourselves with Love, then we see the value in every moment that comes our way.

Look at your knee-jerk reactions. Look at your tendencies. Look at your urges and desires. Every component within you is there for a reason, even the voice of your ego. I knew my words as a writer were of value when I heard the voice of ego laugh and tell me they were not. Now, maybe they weren’t refined to the level they’d eventually be. But I knew that if my fearful inner voice was trying to derail me, then there was a good chance writing was something my soul came here to do; not just to help heal and empower others, but to help heal and empower me.

So, try not to draw hard lines of judgement upon yourself, dear reader. Instead, consider that you are the whole. You have many facets, and they’re all there for a reason. If you are easily intolerant of others, most likely you are here to work on tolerance. If you feel you’re better than others, you are probably here to discover compassion, empathy and humility. If you have a hard time controlling your desires, there’s a good chance you are here to discover the divine freedom experienced when not controlled by the body.

The list goes on and on, of course. But the heart of what I am saying is simple: Embrace who you are and look upon yourself openly and kindly. Within you is the map that reveals your life’s purpose. All you need to do is look at it with the broad eye of Love and not through the narrow lens of fear. Because the ego will look at the map and tell you its an impossible, messy journey; even the paper its printed on is flawed. Whereas the soul will say, “How perfect. Look how the roads go out of their way for us to make certain discoveries. It is so rich, and full and divinely intricate. The ink is so colorful, the paper so delicate. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sane

But Why?

taistoisoisbeau.com

I can remember with vivid color, the confounded look that swept across my mother’s face after having asked her what I (a nine-year old, with a very inquisitive mind), felt was a rather straight forward question.

Standing in the kitchen, my small feet planted on the brightly colored, orange and yellow carpeting that gave our kitchen an unmistakable seventies flare, I stared at my mother while voicing my question, “If ya’ only get to heaven through Jesus…then what about all the people who never heard of him? What about all the Indians?” To which, after a lengthy pause, she replied, “I don’t know. God just knows, that’s all.”

My mother was constantly hit with similar questions. In fact I had a Hefty bag full of questions resting on my mind. Periodically, while driving to the store, or moments before my mother would attempt to bring closure to another long day, I would launch a question in her direction. She was, after all, the person to whom I went for all guidance in this regard. She read the bible and believed in it, and while young, we were raised to believe in it too. However, I questioned everything that failed to make fundamental sense to me – and still do. On the flip side: I had no problem with the things in the bible that did make sense. So, like a rookie reporter from a small town newspaper, I would seek out my mother, wherever she was hiding, and expect a thorough explanation for all that baffled me. I needed her to patch the holes I felt were peppered throughout the bible. My mother, it seemed at the time, was content stepping over the holes.

“Why does the minister say it isn’t right to work or labor on Sunday, that it’s a day of worship and rest…then he goes out for lunch after church? The waitress and cook are forced to labor as a result of him wanting to go out for lunch?” I said eyeballing my mother carefully. On a separate occasion I asked, “Why is there a King James version of the bible? What happened to the other versions? Why did this King James guy need his own version?” I immediately zeroed in on the very real possibility that valuable information may have been, inadvertently or perhaps quite intentionally, left out of this valuable manuscript as it morphed from version to version.

“If it’s a sin to murder someone Mom, then did all the soldiers in Vietnam commit sin when they had to shoot the enemy?” I questioned, while looking at my Mom as she tried to enjoy her lunch. This question bothered me considerably. I needed an explanation, and she tried to offer one. “The soldiers were doing their duty. They were following orders,” she said. Later I asked, “Well, what if a person breaks into your home to steal food for their starving child…that’s a sin right? But it seems to me like God would understand why the person did what they did and it would be okay?” She reassuringly offered, “God understands Honey.” I nodded, pleased for the moment with the thought that there was a good deal of grey area involved with these so-called sins. “Mom – how do we know the commandments are what God really said…?”

So far, my children do not pepper me with these types of questions. And years ago I abandoned those particular questions altogether. Instead, I believe only those things that rest comfortably on my soul. When I want to commune with God I pray regardless of where I am. And when I question the existence of God or that which is bigger than myself, I merely look into my children’s eyes, let my own eyes scan across the natural vista that sits outside my window, or pay attention to the way my heart hurts when I see someone being treated poorly. I see and feel God in these things. And upon doing so, my questions, for the most part – are answered. To this day I still see the great divide between those that profess adherence to certain religions yet fail to let their actions mirror that which they say they believe. Nothing seems more blasphemous either. I don’t care what one believes, but at least live it with respect and strength of mind and character. With that said, my ways most likely wouldn’t feel right to someone else, and that is perfectly fine. Our journey is ours alone to map out, walk, and discover. But looking back, I can’t help but to smile. My mother tried in earnest to answer questions for which she had no answer. But she took the time to listen. God’s love rested within her patience.

Sane