You have a “life”. You’re on your trajectory. You think you know yourself and where you’re heading. Until Life opens you … to your heady, unimagined destiny. And then the ride begins.
Life slips through the cracks of your life, and you get a call. And it stirs you. But it isn’t from the phone. It’s from your soul. This curious, mercurial message reacquaints you with an Ancient You whose gentle insistence feels like you’re pregnant, with that first blush of life inside … or in that first blush of love. You know something’s “up”. Afoot. You feel a glimmer, a buzzing sensation – and it refuses to politely retreat again because finally and inexplicably, you’re waking up. This anaesthetised state you didn’t even know you were in is no longer hidden. By some dint or hint of Nature you’re now vividly alive, and enraptured.
Thirty years ago.
When I gave birth.
To my Self.
I didn’t plan on trying to heal the world by launching a 30 year “odd”yssey that would propel me from my homeland to foreign lands with far out plans to produce a live global television event celebrating everyone on earth. But inadvertently I unearthed a “far in” revelation about my self in relation to others; I care about them. And I care about me.
I unveiled; from the insight out.
I’m a quester. I’m fascinated by the machinations of Mind & Universe. The Above & Below. But never did the notion of fusing Heaven & Earth into a dazzling music-inspired Global Selfie, broadcast live from the 7 continents, ever cross my mind.
How could it? My mind was blind. Blocked … by a comfy lifestyle in which soul-searching was something fanciful rather than deeply meaningful. I read books like A Course In Miracles, listened to lectures like Marianne Williamson’s, watched television programs like Bill Moyers’ series with Joseph Campbell / The Hero’s Journey – all of which ignited me, only to subside again with daily routine which I allowed to define me rather than help align me. This ultimately led to desperation as I further disappeared from me.
Where does one vanish when they disconnect from their innate Self? And what of those remaining remnants that are constant reminders of what awaits? I knew there was something missing which I hadn’t (yet) the courage to explore. Forfeiting the Known (be it the Comfortable for some, or the familiar Discomfort for others) for the Uncharted is a curious human condition whose stasis creates safe spaces – like moats to insulate and hold life at bey. We feel protected this way. After all the ultimate comfort most of the world seeks and never finds is that primal parental love which cradles our infant being with a reassurance that’s almost godlike.
When I was four years old odd sensations already beckoned. I had a hunch there was more … beginning with a gigantic nee mythic crush on Star Trek’s Captain Kirk who could offer me that More. I would dress up in my fairy princess clothes and sit in a special chair that resembled nothing of a spacecraft’s to watch him navigate the Universe on a weekly basis, believing Kirk was my foreign husband and that he could actually see me through the TV screen. So much for intergalactic marriage …
But today we have Skype, so I guess some dreams are worth nurturing :-).
Inner Directive is patient. It lingers … waiting for anyone anywhere to invite its Voice to be felt in whatever way addresses that specific individual.
My way was circuitous and hilarious and musical and mystical.
Summer, 1987. The floor of a New York City living room with a map of the world and David Bowie’s “Dancing in the Streets” blaring on the stereo. My puny cat is madly chasing my dog across the room, periodically swatting his head and then mounting his back like a circus act run amok.
They have the whole room to wreak havoc, but somehow the map and I are on their collision course. Skid marks streak across a fresh, hole-y portion of the USSR. But I don’t notice … because I’m mesmerised. By the world. Wondering. Imagining. Who In Heaven Are We and Why On Earth Are We Here? Does anyone on the “other” side – in some remote longitudinal-latitudinal tribal hillside – know I’m sitting here Saturday night on Earth, thinking about them? Or vice versa? What if the entire planet could somehow align for a global moment in time, crossing datelines and religious lines and cultural ones, etc? What would it feel like if 3am Helsinki was celebrating 9pm Tokyo was greeting 4pm Chicago while one global corner was snowing and another was sleeping (these hours are figurative, but astonishing in implication)? Would it change us somehow? Would it impact our perceptions individually and collectively?
My dog breathlessly slides onto the map now, so excited that he starts to pee as the cat quizzically observes him from the distance. The yellow fluid gently trickles over the Western hemisphere, descending onto the Marianna’s Trench where it sinks further into the Pacific Rim and the apartment’s parquet. But all I see is possibility. Like a melange of Magellan and Jung and Galileo, I feel the urgings of past explorers and future wonders.
Thus began my ambitious passion-project with Synchronistory, circumnavigating the global mindset and terra firma itself with my literal wanderlust and the belief that this unprecedented event will indeed eventuate. The chrysalis cracked and I was recast in the role of a lifetime – because it was truly mine this time. And that’s what makes the difference in the experience of a life being marginally lived versus one being infused and lived through you. A mercurial footpath isn’t supposed to make sense to the rational mind. But its resonance makes deep sense to the soul in a way that almost feels destined in its fluidity and utter joy despite the hurdles en route.
There is something enchanted about watering your soul, the way you do a flower, and not knowing what mysterious beauty it will sprout.
We’re taught to nourish others; our kids, our plants, our pets, our lovers or friends – almost by rote. But the art of loving lies in the heart of being – truly oneself. Whatever the intuitive call, it may not initially present itself in a reasonable fashion. But feed it nonetheless. Want it into being. Give it time to root. Energy is not just invisibility running through hidden wires that illuminate our living rooms or juice our appliances. It is the stuff of us. It is real. It is perceptible but often in the most imperceptible ways – which makes for a maze of confusion if you try to understand it from a logical perspective (the mostly Western kind, which advocates concrete left brain-drain because we cut off from our internal inspired power source).
The notion of connecting the entire global population in a celebration of our worldwide history seemed implausible thirty years ago. But Synchronistory is a miracle in the making, an historic “televisionary” event that has ridden the tides of socio-political change on the wings of angels to maintain a steadfast faith in its hopeful future. We’re currently in a Global Identity Crisis akin to World War We. Tech Connect & Disconnect have so spun us off course that perhaps we’re ever closer to a Reconnect. A Weconnect … through a Meconnect, in which the Either / Or mentality that straightjackets Humanity is realigned with a new paradigm. Of AND.
We were born without conscious choice or a User Manual. We know less about our inner workings than that of our laptops or mobile phones. This is our current legacy. This is our Earth. This is our b’earth. And our most dependable Homeland Security stems from respecting this current reality – even if we don’t agree with it.
Life Force is both daunting and inspiring. The experiences that reshape me … awake me … expand and deepen me … are available to everybody – uniquely, in whatever time and way it takes that individual to uncover.
There is nothing wrong with living a life on “autopilot” either. Waking up to one’s inspired nature isn’t a hierarchal proposition. There is no superiority in forsaking routine to pursue one’s passion, because for some people routine is their passion, and by all means their safety. The only caution is if there’s a longing … an urging … an unsettling disquiet and discomfort whose urgency is continuously ignored. That’s the cue … to tiptoe into you, through those ethereal winds that whisper sweet somethings in your ear.
You don’t have to know where you’re going … just know that you’re going, aware.