Category: Soul journey

Upside Down and Backward

Photograph © 2018 Peggy Kornegger

When I was a child, I used to lie on the living room rug and gaze up at the ceiling, imagining it as the floor. I pictured how it would be to live in an upside down house and walk from room to room stepping over the doorway arches. My partner Anne used to do the same thing when she was little, even though she grew up in an entirely different part of the U.S. Is this something that all kids do, or just a coincidence? I found myself wondering if it is a genetic code within us for novelty and reinvention, which somehow gets lost as we grow older. How do we keep our vision of the world fresh in an adult world that teaches us that physical reality is solid, unchanging, and that facts and predictability are the basis for living a safe and orderly life?

At an early age, children often aren’t interested in order and rigid perceptual rules, unless they have had it already instilled in them via parental fears. What if, at heart, we aren’t either? What if our souls really want imagination, improvisation, and exploration? The element of surprise. After all, we came to this extraordinarily diverse and beautiful planet to live our human lives fully and completely. Who wants to live it in a box of repetitive, expected events and experiences? I’ve always intuitively felt this way. That’s why I’ve moved and traveled so much in my life, from coast to coast and continent to continent. Every time I went somewhere else, I saw the world with fresh eyes. I loved it. I still do.

This move to Florida has been particularly powerful. Literally everything has been tossed up into the air. Anne and I are beginning anew in a different state, a different home, and a different climate. North to South: upside down. I continually feel as if we have crossed into another dimension. Everything unknown. Each day I see something new. The flowers and birds are unique. Even the sky is different—dramatic and ever-changing weather patterns and clouds in an infinite number of shapes, sizes, and colors. We are acutely aware of the new world we are experiencing and what a gift it is to see every detail of life as if for the very first time.

I don’t want to lose that feeling. Last evening she and I reversed the direction of our walk on the nature trail around our community. We did it “backward,” and it felt like a completely different experience. Even in a month, our eyes and brains had acclimated to our surroundings. By changing direction, we flipped the “predictable” switch in favor of “unplanned.” It was exciting to spontaneously and consciously choose the new in a relatively familiar situation. I realized that I can do that at any given moment. A small shift in your inner vision can have a huge impact on your outer experience. Life is, after all, a reflection of your inner state of being.

This morning as I walked the trail by myself, I was very conscious of all that was new to me: the butterflies, lizards, dragonflies, purple beautyberries, orange canna lilies. It was thrilling just to be outdoors on this bright sunny morning. Halfway through my walk, I heard thunder in the distance and realized there might soon be another sudden Florida rainstorm. I watched one half of the skies darken and the other half stay sunny, as the thunder rumbled closer. Then, as I walked in the sparkling sunshine, it began to rain lightly. I stopped and stood there smiling, enjoying the experience of simultaneous rain and sun, the sky divided like a huge yin-yang circle of dark and light. Opposites and oneness at the same time. All my senses were awakened by that juxtaposition.

The exhilaration of opposites is available to us at all times, and we can hold them in our awareness—an inner yin-yang—in order to immerse ourselves in the full spectrum of life’s experiences. Upside down, backward, forward, inside out. Choose the opposite path, the new activity, the unheard-of option. Every single one is an easy-access restart button for your consciousness to keep you open and expansive, mindful and soulful. A fully alive human be-ing having an absolutely amazing experience here on planet Earth.

 

 

Finding Home

Photograph © 2018 Peggy Kornegger
It seems that we are always getting ready for something. Always preparing for the next step, even though the next step will come whether we prepare for it or not. We think we have control of our lives but we don’t. We pack and unpack our memories, accumulating more and more—until death arrives to show us how memories fall away as does the illusion of control. To move from one place to another is to experience a death of sorts and a loosening of control. Every ending is an opening to something greater.

When I moved to Florida from Massachusetts last month, I could feel my consciousness loosening and opening up as we drove south, state by state. By the time we reached Florida, I felt completely detached from any one place. It was almost as if my awareness was free-floating over the entire eastern seaboard, perhaps even beyond that. In moving, I had been letting go of former selves as well as physical objects and familiar places. Even time. As I traveled from New England through the southern states, time and place became almost meaningless. There was nothing but the present moment, in a very intense way. Nothing was familiar, everything new—something I’ve experienced in every major move I’ve made in my life. Yet, this time it’s a little different.

In this key transitional move, the letting go is deeper, the awareness more expansive. I am older than the 20-year-year-old self who left the Midwest to be a California flower child so many years ago. The past and the future seem equidistant in my mind. Soul guidance is at the forefront of my life now, and that shifts every perspective, inner and outer. Even that distinction loses its meaning because everything is within me. The external is just a reflection of my infinite soul’s progression through time and space.

My soul is non-localized: unattached to Massachusetts, Florida, Illinois, California, or any of the other places I’ve lived in or traveled through over the years. I am experiencing myself as Being, without location or identity. Almost as if I am a visitor from another planet or galaxy. Actually, aren’t we all that? Dropped down from some other dimension onto this blue planet floating in a sea of stars called the Milky Way. We are stardust ourselves, shining light on the world around us as we move through our lives. When we meet as our separate paths merge, there is recognition, an awakening realization that we are here together to embody connection and love, to transform our lives and everything around us with that love.

As I passed through Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, the Carolinas, Georgia, and finally reached Florida, I watched the skies themselves transform, the heavenly towering white clouds dramatically darkening with daily thunderstorms and lightning flashes in the humid heat. Palm trees lined the road; tropical bushes and flowers proliferated. Observing it all, I was neither here nor there, but everywhere. I was part of the eternal movement into the unknown. Yes, this is why I moved, not knowing anything except that I was to go. To let go and go. Spirit is moving me, all of us, on our soul journeys.

Spirit survives the packing and unpacking, living and dying. It is within us and all around us and has no beginning or end. It moves to its own cadence, beyond human events and activities. When we step into this perceptual field—this greater awareness of the source of all life—beginnings, endings, arrivals, and departures fall away, and we are Home. No need to hang on or resist; the entire journey exists in this very moment. Breathe deeply and see the far horizon that lives within you. This is infinity; this is God. This is who you are.

Name Dropping

Photograph © 2018 Peggy Kornegger

So many unexpected events and experiences have arisen in the process of moving from Massachusetts to Florida, everything from the sale of the house where we rented there to finding a condo here that far exceeds anything we could have imagined. Probably the most surprising pop-up occurrence was finding out that I had to have my name legally changed in order to obtain a Florida driver’s license. What?! Well, you see, my mother named me “Peggy,” but she used “Margaret” on my birth certificate because the former was traditionally considered a nickname for the latter and not the real name. Of course, today no one cares much about that tradition, and you can name your child “Redwood” if you so choose.

Anyway, I never used “Margaret” on anything throughout my life, including driver’s licenses, health insurance, Social Security, etc. “Peggy” was my name; only my birth certificate and passport showed “Margaret.” No one cared—until I went to the Florida Registry of Motor Vehicles to have my Massachusetts license changed to a Florida one. The fact that my license did not match my passport was not acceptable. The two had to match or I couldn’t have a license. Since 9/11, the federal laws about IDs matching have tightened up, and what was once not a problem is now definitely one. Having my name legally changed to “Peggy” was the simplest solution.

So the very kind and sympathetic clerks at the registry explained the process to me: (1) Fill out a form for a legal name change (listing all the places I had lived since birth—for me it was 25) and (2) file it at the county clerk’s office along with a $400 fee. (3) Go to the police station to be fingerprinted, which is electronically sent to be part of the application. (4) Wait for a court date when (5) I go before a judge for a decision. My scheduled court date is August 21 at 1:30 p.m. I was assigned a 5-minute window.

Meanwhile, the underlying symbolism of this event has not escaped me, given that I have felt I was leaving behind all my past selves in this latest life move. What could be a more powerful letting go than dropping the name on your birth certificate?! True, it was never a name I identified with (or liked), but it was the one that my parents and the legal system handed me upon entry into this world. It defined my existence as a citizen of this country, at least in the eyes of the law. That aspect was not something that interested me as much as the idea of naming itself. I began to think about how language defines our lives in so many ways.

Humans have used words and language to organize, name, and often establish ownership over the world around them. Children are named to give them a lineage, a connection to the family they come from. Within the patriarchal system, names (particularly last names) establish ownership, father to child: “You belong to me. You are my offspring, not someone else’s.” Family pride leads to pride of nationality and eventually, often in this world, to conflict and war over whose nation or heritage is better or “right.” We have yet to evolve beyond these delineations and identifications.

Still, life itself tends to break down the differences and separations that language constructs. As we age, the need to establish and proclaim individuality or superiority has less significance. Over the years, experiences of great love or great loss can open our hearts and hasten the process of letting go of what in the end doesn’t serve our soul’s journey through life. Ultimately, we are born without a name, and when we die, we pass from this world into the nameless, formless beingness that is God. Names are transitory and limiting. Even trying to find words to describe God narrows its infinite unbounded nature. So if we too are God—spirit in transitory human form—then birth names can limit possibility and evolution in our lives.

Of course, names do serve a purpose as we relate to each other as fellow humans on the Earth, perhaps to eliminate confusion if nothing else. Still, to hold onto your name as who you really are is an illusion. We are more than words. We are more than our physical form. We are, as God is, infinite. Drop your name and the illusion falls away. All you see when you look in the mirror and at your neighbor is beingness in a temporary form for this lifetime.

So, as I contemplate dropping my birth name and continuing with the name I’ve used my entire life, I’m experiencing a lighter touch about the whole thing. “Margaret” falls away, “Peggy” stays‚ until she too falls away. This is human life on Earth. One transitory experience in the universe. And the more we let go, the more universally expansive and freeing it becomes.

Moving On and Letting Go of Everything Past

Photograph © 2018 Peggy Kornegger
Last fall, the house where my partner Anne and I lived in Massachusetts went up for sale. We knew immediately that that For Sale sign was also a sign from God: Time to move on! A door was closing, but another was so clearly being opened. Fortunately, we had a lease that allowed us to remain in our apartment for several months after the house was sold. We had plenty of time to make decisions and then step through that open door into new possibilities. As events unfolded, we felt guided to move to Florida, where we had a number of friends, and the winters did not include snow, ice, and freezing temperatures. Also (and this was key), we discovered that buying a condo there was less expensive than the rent we were currently paying in Boston. Neon signs pointing south…

So we were excited about this brand new adventure. We flew to Florida for a visit, looked at potential places to live but didn’t find exactly what we wanted. After deciding to rent for a year and keep looking, we returned home. Then, out of the blue, our realtor called us with news that a condo we had looked at that was above our price range had come down in price and she thought we could get it for even less. Long story short: we made an offer, and it was accepted. For the first time in our lives, at retirement age, we found ourselves potential homeowners.

Thus began an intense month of letting go of everything past in our lives. It was like jumping off a cliff into the unknown. Anne had lived in Boston her entire life, and although I had moved back and forth coast to coast many times, I had been in the Boston area for more than 30 years years. Time to move on. We felt some apprehension, but mostly we were excited. We felt supported by old and new friends alike in our decision. It was both energizing and at times overwhelming, but synchronicities and good fortune kept leading us forward. There was never any doubt for either of us that this was the right path.

As the date of the condo closing drew nearer, we organized a yard sale and called local groups to donate to, clearing out piles of old books, clothing, etc. Then it got down to the hard stuff—the really old memorabilia that we still had in drawers and boxes (and we are not really savers). I had one drawer and one box that condensed many years of my life. One Saturday, I spent several hours throwing out booklets, programs, articles, letters, etc. from my 20s and 30s, all of it awash with memories of a past self that was distantly familiar but not really part of my present life.

Then I opened the box that held childhood photos, report cards, high school yearbooks, and letters from my mom and dad and many dear old friends. I pitched almost everything, except a few of my parents’ letters. I probably would never look at or read all these things again, so why keep them? It was like holding onto a memory of my former self. The love in those relationships was within me. Time to let go of the external.

Just as I was tearing up the last set of letters, it hit me—a dull pain in my left side. It remained for a while and then eased. At 2 a.m., however, extreme pain and nausea woke me from a sound sleep, and Anne drove me to the ER. Hours of tests and strong pain medication, and the diagnosis was a kidney stone that should pass in 48 hours. It did not.

For a week, I juggled pain and medication, trying to continue to function as we prepared for the closing. And, in the midst of it all, it suddenly dawned on me that the stone could be seen as a physical manifestation of everything past in my life that I was letting go. That insight did little to alleviate the pain I was feeling, though, or the fear that the stone would never pass. Then, after 8 days, the pain stopped. The past passed through me the day before the condo closing—perfect timing.

Photograph © 2018 Peggy Kornegger

Sometimes life is literal and sometimes it’s symbolic and sometimes it’s both. We come to this Earth for life experiences, soul growth, and shared evolution, and boy are we getting them! There is no one among us that is immune to the jolts and jumps that this particular time span on the planet is rich with. We are all being jettisoned into a new future, which is actually the Present in disguise. We are being asked to leave behind the memory of our selves in favor of a present-moment awareness that includes all time and timelessness.

When Anne and I stepped out of our past—through the looking glass—the entire world around us accelerated and renewed itself in magical ways. It’s still happening. We have no idea what’s coming next, but that’s part of the magic. When you let go of everything past, you are carried forward by life force, by spirit, to a destiny that only your soul and God understand fully. That is life’s greatest mystery—and sweetest grace.

Your Crowning Glory

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Photograph © 2017 Peggy Kornegger
Okay, can we take a look at the elephant in the room, the one we avoid, the one we pretend isn’t there? Specifically, the white-haired elephant, otherwise known as ageism. Ageism affects us all at one time or another in Western culture. Women get hit by it around 35 or 40 when the first white/gray hairs appear, and we are encouraged to run for the hair dye. Around the same time, makeup ads advise treating those new wrinkle lines with cover-ups, serums, and lotions so they don’t become permanent. Later, Botox is the treatment of choice.

Men get the wakeup call if they begin to bald early. Ads urge them to get hair transplants, or the trend now is to shave their heads. If their hair starts to lose color instead, they may receive a few years of deferment with the “distinguished gray” perception. However, eventually they too are faced with the white-hair stigma. The idea of just allowing our physical bodies to age gracefully and naturally—with a healthy diet, exercise, and a stress-free lifestyle instead of some kind of intervention—still remains on the outskirts of the collective consciousness. We live in a culture that promotes “youth” relentlessly.

I wore makeup in my early 20s, but when I came to see the underlying sexism and ageism in it, I stopped. I’ve never dyed my hair for the same reason. It’s all just costuming anyway. If we could see it as play, it might be fun, but when it’s tied to tight social expectations and judgments, it becomes an impediment to self-acceptance. Women are habitually trained to wear masks to alter their appearance and disguise their age. And one white hair can give you away. So I have had various reactions over the years to my gradually whitening hair.

What I’ve discovered is that there are three kinds of assumptions people may unconsciously make when they see someone with white hair:
1) The person is old, frail, and physically weak.
2) The person is mentally slow-witted and forgetful.
3) The person is just plain invisible.

I’ve occasionally had one of the above directed at me (or one of my parents), such as someone offering a bus seat or a salesclerk over-explaining in a condescending way. When my father was still alive, I habitually had doctors or salespeople talk only to me even when my father was asking the question. Your individuality and your humanity often become invisible because of white hair or wrinkles. Not to everyone, but to some. Many people respond with an open generous heart, regardless of age, sex, or physical appearance. Others get lost in their own preconceptions.

I’m certainly not criticizing people for offering seats; really that’s a kindness we should extend to everyone. It’s the socially created assumptions behind certain behaviors that are annoying. A receptionist at my eye doctor’s office recently said to me in a somewhat snotty tone, “Do you realize you’re a half hour early for your appointment?” I replied, “Yes, of course. I always arrive early. Better than being late.” It took me a minute to realize that she would never have said that to someone younger. My white hair made her think I needed some kind of wake-up call.

Isn’t it about time that we see aging as a journey into wisdom and well-being instead of decline and stupidity? We expand into more awareness, empathy, and generosity as we age (if our hearts remain open). Many cultures honor their elders as the most valued citizens of the community. They don’t ignore, shun, or discard them as we do in Western society because they no longer bring in “a capital wage.” So many broken paradigms are falling away—this one needs to as well.

Let’s look at white hair as natural and beautiful instead of something we have to hide or deny. Don’t let anyone else’s perceptions define and limit you. Be your own unique soul self throughout your life. As you stretch and grow with each year of your time here on Earth, think of that shining white light at the crown of your head as a sacred gift: God’s blessing for a magnificent, expansive, fully lived life.