Hm, I kind of feel like writing a post today, maybe a light-hearted post after the heaviness of the last one. You know, there are times when I think I will never want to write again, never share anything of myself again, never this, never that, but then I’ll wake up one morning and feel that my spirit’s been re-inflated like a big old fat balloon. Like today, so hello, world.
I’ve been contemplating happiness lately–my own in particular, but also, in general. Some people are happy. I asked Jess and Van, my sons, what their personal percentage of happiness is, and they said respectively, 85% and 95%. A friend told me that she’s 95% happy all the time. This astounds me because I would calculate my happiness percentage to be around 25. That’s three-quarters unhappiness, people, in one form or another. Yet, my life this time around has been full of love, especially in these latter years. Why is there such a shadow cast over my life? Why has there always been, as long as I can remember? I can think of specific childhood incidences, as well as certain aspects of my upbringing, that contributed to it, but many, many people have gone through far worse things than I have – horrific, tragic, unimaginable experiences – and have managed to emerge on the sunny side of the street. I retain a certain brand of optimism, but you know, I am rarely satisfied with the real elements of happiness in front of me, and am always searching for that missing phantasmagoric something. In addition, possibly because I haven’t been exposed to, oh, growing up with drug-addicted parents, or wasn’t sold into the sex slave trade, or you know, whatever other mind-blowing things people do to each other, it seems I’ve felt the need to manufacture my own painful circumstances, just to have a furnace to burn in. What is that?
Okay, I wasn’t planning at all to go here, but it seems appropriate at this point. The “here” in this instance is reincarnation, which I realize the vast majority of my readers, being of the Judeo-Christian persuasion, cannot allow as a possibility, because they’ve been brought up to feel that way. That’s okay, I’m not getting on their case for that. Not at all. I understand because I used to feel the same way. All I ask is that for a moment they open their minds a tiny squidge, just a squidge, to what a comfort the idea can be to someone in pain–maybe to someone who was born deformed or mentally ill, or who has lost a baby, or whose grown child is in prison for murder…. It’s helped to explain so much of what I’ve struggled with, and continue to struggle with, and has offered answers to many of my questions. Even biblical questions… For example, from Matt 17:10-13, when Jesus was speaking of Elias coming back as John the Baptist. How could Elias, who had been long dead, be John the Baptist? Or the passage where the disciples asked Jesus if the man had been born blind because of his parents’ sin, or his own sin. How could it have been his own sin if he’d been born blind? Those passages have driven me crazy in the past, I’m not joking. But in light of reincarnation, they make perfect sense. Constantine and the Council of Nicaea had a religion to create, a real agenda, and reincarnation really messed with it because, well, it made null and void completely any fear of hell, or of only one chance for salvation… all of that. That agenda has caused so many people unnecessary pain, and I’m truly not angry when I say this, just sad.
Anyway, I’m not saying these things to open a debate or upset anyone or rock any boats; God knows I need to keep the friends I have now; I can’t afford to lose any more. If you don’t believe, that’s fine. I’m telling you this because I’m comforted. As in, huge sigh of relief, that this life is bigger – and I mean Holy Toledo BIGGER – than anything we can see here in this tiny slice of existence. So the shadow that’s cast over this life as Kelly? I believe it reaches way back to tragedies that happened to me long before I was born to my parents in 1964. I’ve seen some of those tragedies in my own meditative regressions, and yes, they would definitely factor into any sadness I continue to carry here.
So, other than going through a few professional healing sessions of past-life regression (I’m considering it), what can I do about all this pain I carry? That’s been my question of late; in fact, it’s been weighing very heavily on my mind. Last night, as I spent some time seeking guidance, I was able to see that because I feel dead, blind, and helpless to figure out what’s happening with me, I’m to lay down all my fruitless figuring and let the answers come as they may, in their own time, rising from my intuition and from messages outside of me. That’s very difficult to accept because I’m a consummate analyzer, and feel safe only when I’ve got all my “t”s crossed. But I know it’s necessary. It’s part of my process.
Over the past few days I’ve been singing Losing My Religion by REM. It’s not about losing your religion, by the way; it’s about obsession and unrequited love; and the first lines in particular have been incredibly significant to me. They go:
Oh, life is bigger,
It’s bigger than you
And you are not me
Yes. Love to you all this weekend! xo