It’s 2AM. I’m up working on my manuscript only be·cause some crazy-pants possum woke me, ransacking the kitchen in search of fruit. Which we’re out of, by the way. So, he’s gone mad – throwing pans and chopping boards. Perhaps in the hope I’d come running out, no fur on, and hand him an overripe banana. It’s not un.heard of. I do things like that. Especially the no fur thing. It’s a feature in our household – nudidity and wildlings
As you can tell, my days are pretty un.complicated. When I’m not fending off wildlife in the wee hours, or caring for street cats, you’ll find me at work. For me, that means listening to the universe, tuning into what’s for me to do today, and following my instructions.
Sometimes that’s as simple as being-with a migraine. Other times, I’m asked to be a little more than present. I’m asked to act. To speak. To be a participant who interweaves – a participant of more than. To not just see the silver cord, but to be the voice of that vision. To know-without-knowing that the vision has meaning beyond itself in words on a page for a reader to digest and move on.
Knowing-without-knowing that I am who I am for a reason, one that may forever remain inexplicable except to say – Life Is, or it is. That what-is, in this moment, in every moment, is the Universe re-arranging itself, repeatedly, until it’s not. That my job, my duty as a receiver of instructions, is clear as day. Even when it’s not. Especially then, be·cause it’s all on purpose, it’s all divine, it’s all perfect on that grander scale where everything’s involved and I’m not focused on some smaller, personal detail about who I am in the eyes of a world I don’t have much to do with anyway.
To be in the world but not of the world. To be lived by it. To know without knowing. These are all beautiful bumper-sticker beliefs until they challenge you – challenge, meaning to be ‘called forth’. All is well until our faith in what-is is called forth into the world, into today, where our experiences are pained with doubt, disturbance, and disbelief in the perfection of this.
How could this be perfect?
How could this be on purpose?
How am I to make peace with this version of what-is, right now, as I am, in this moment?
I get asked these questions too. They’re part of my reality. They haunt my halls and live in my house alongside the beauty and birdsong. It’s how this works.
I’m not immune. My faith is not in some better outcome if I decide to do things differently. My hope isn’t anchored to evolutionary humanity headed toward Atlantean peace and fulfilment.
The commitments that run my life do so from a place so deep I couldn’t touch them with any powers I possess. Before there was a ‘me’ to speak of, my commitments, my vision, and my ability to perceive the silver cord, were all in the void. As the sphere of all-that-is condensed into a stream of existence, these particulars came into being via the field of excitation.
That’s how I get through the day. That’s how I deal with the conditions of my life without believing they’ve been foisted upon me as punishment or reward. That’s how I know-without- knowing this is all meant for me. That this has meaning beyond which I can find or ascribe it, beyond which I can see, feel and know to be true from this smaller piece of more than.
My vision. My excitation. My faith. It’s all deeper than that. It pulses up from below and lets me know, from time to time, that I am doing all I can with what I have – and that’s more than enough. In fact, it’s holy. It’s karma, kundalini and Christ consciousness all in one.
There is nothing else going on. There is only the silver cord, the excitation of a field, and a sphere of being. Anything else, that seems to be happening, is tied to one of those in some way, and it’s not for me to say how. Unless it is, and I’ll know if it is by the instructions I get when I tune into what the Universe is saying to me and do what I’m told.
Which is how I end up working on my manuscript at 2AM when some crazy-pants possum starts ransacking the kitchen for fruit.
