Tag: spirit

Infinity Vision

Several years ago, after a somewhat worrisome eye diagnosis, I had the extraordinary experience of looking out my window and seeing the external world moving in perfect synchronicity to the Andrea Bocelli music I was listening to. Every detail—people walking, cars passing, tree leaves in the wind—was part of a divinely choreographed dance of deeply connected oneness. And I too was part of it. There was nothing in the universe that sat alone on the sidelines within God’s creation. And I could see this so clearly that the power and beauty of it moved me to tears. Infinity vision, beyond an eye diagnosis.

Last week something similar occurred. I was taking a late-afternoon walk through our neighborhood when I heard a voice inside me: “Don’t just walk. Look. See!” I stopped in my tracks and looked up at the sky. The brilliant blue was streaked with white clouds like an impressionistic painting. The quality of the sun’s light made everything iridescent, heavenly. When I turned my gaze to the street before me, I saw a man with his dog, a car driving past, and autumn leaves falling from trees all moving together as one. I continued to walk, and everything I saw joined the dance of beingness. A cosmic tapestry so intricately interwoven that each thread was perfectly aligned with every other, and the motion of its living presence filled the universe, and me, with vibration and light. Infinity vision once again.

These are gifts from God, available to us all. Often it is a life crisis or a health diagnosis (like my recent breast cancer) that shatters everything and allows us to see the true nature of the multiverse we inhabit. I have sometimes heard from those who are experiencing it that cancer brings with it both challenge and expanded awareness. I understand that now. I believed I was deeply spiritually connected, aware, but cancer showed me an expansiveness and complexity beyond anything I had previously experienced. It cracked me open and let the full light of infinite awareness in. When disease or illness pries away your attachment to your physical form, magic is revealed. On my walk, I stood speechless before the wonder of everything I saw. Tears of love and gratitude streamed down my face.

If you have been reading my writing over the years, you may have noticed that I have had similar experiences before. Nature is always my profound connector to Spirit and the doorway to something greater. Yet now it is somehow different. The connection is even deeper and more expansive. That is the nature of infinity. You never reach the end of its ever-increasing power and beauty. Birth and death seem like finite experiences, but they are both contained within infinity. There is no end to beingness, ever. And this is the eternal truth that sits quietly at the center of our lives. Each of us is destined to discover it at the perfect time.

Whenever it appears, by whatever vehicle, celebrate its arrival as the greatest gift you will ever receive. The cracks in your life—illness, loss, pain, fear—can be the gateways to seeing with infinity vision. Only then will you understand the true nature of your “one precious life” and all life. Each and every one of us is part of a celestial symphony. The music of the spheres accompanies us everywhere. When you are able to see beyond what your eyes habitually perceive, your vision expands, and you begin to walk on air, immersed in the beauty of infinity, loving everyone and everything around you.

Living with the Unknown

Nothing is definitively known, ever. That’s why Native Americans, in their timeless wisdom, have called life the “Great Mystery.” No matter what scientists do to try to break the code—send vehicles to Mars, create life in a test tube, photograph black holes in space—the puzzle of human existence and life and death is never really solved. Any “knowledge” we come to as a species is a shifting illusion that changes with the years and with those who are “knowing.” That’s the realm of science and the mind—and belief systems.

Then there’s religion and spirituality. Many traditional religions have explained life’s mysteries with teachings about God, each of them claiming truth and revelation. Yet those too are based in belief. Spirituality extends the parameters a bit to a wide array of perspectives and possibilities about the nature of life and Spirit. If we remain open, we enter the realm of the heart. Therein, it becomes clearer that we can never fully understand life or God; we can only experience them. Which means letting go of interpretations and searches and just living in the mystery as it unfolds.

I’ve found this to be a guiding truth over the past month on my journey with breast cancer. Each day, new information comes up to be processed, or there is a new test result to be waited for. If I try to figure it all out ahead of time or mentally project myself into all the possibilities, I get lost in the “what ifs.” And fear. Instead, I focus on the experience of each moment. That returns me to my heart. My decisions and direction arise organically from there.

My years of meditation practice have prepared me for this time. It becomes an intensive immersion in present-moment awareness. Breath by breath. And I find I don’t have to remind myself to do it. At this point in my life—and perhaps because of the nature of what I am going through—I seem to automatically remain centered in today’s experience. Tomorrow is a question mark, but today the sky is clear, the birds are singing, and I am alive. That’s all I “know.” Perhaps that’s the gift of facing a disease that is full of unknowns and can be so frightening. In order to remain centered in the calm at my center, the peace of my soul, my entire being brings me back to the present moment.

So how do you and I retain this wisdom, this calming approach, in our day-to-day lives, beyond crisis situations? Here, I think it once again becomes a practice of consciously calling yourself back to the present moment, with each breath you take. The more you do it, the more ingrained it becomes in your consciousness. Gradually, you release your hold on the need to know outcomes and relax into living with the unknown, accepting each experience as it arises and letting go into the next one. This is the natural flow of spirit in life. If you allow it, it will carry you effortlessly through the endless vacillations of life. You feel every emotion as it arises but never lose your connection to the inner peace that lives at your core. In this way, the unknown becomes your faithful companion, instead of your adversary, on life’s journey.

Commitment to Hope

“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without words
And never stops—at all”
—Emily Dickinson

A key component in any transformative life experience, personal or planetary, is hope. Not half-hearted or faint hope, but hope that is steadfast, sturdy, resilient, like that in Emily Dickinson’s poem. Hope within the human soul cannot be extinguished, no matter the hardship or loss. Despite the challenges of life, we humans endure because of that intangible something within us that holds us to life. Yet, there are times when hope seems shaky—as tenuous as a single candle flame wavering in a strong wind. Times such as now, when political discord, a deadly global pandemic, or personal crises erode our belief in a positive outcome. This is when hope is needed most.

Hope requires intention and commitment to keep it alive and well. Especially the latter. Commitment is the strong hand that holds trust in place and points to possibility when surrounded by what seems impossible. Commitment to oneself, to others, and to a greater intelligence that weaves a tapestry of meaning in the seemingly chaotic universe. In our dreams, we envision a better world in which all beings on the planet live in balance, health, and harmony. Those dreams arise from the divine design that shapes our lives on Earth. They are founded in hope.

In day-to-day life, how do we live that commitment, keep it strong within us? It must be part of the weaving of our relationships with family, friends, and our communities. It must live in the smiles among strangers in the streets, the friendly word to grocery cashiers or bus drivers. Commitment is fed by the feedback of connection and loving relationships. Hope grows stronger in our hearts when we feel part of something larger than our own individual lives. When we feel one, not separate. To keep the commitment to hope is to remember that we are not solitary, we are many.

I have been reminded of this repeatedly recently as I face a breast cancer diagnosis and live through the surgery and healing process. Friends and family have been key in keeping me centered in the hope in my own heart and soul. Even in the midst of fears that can accompany illness or disease (or any unknown), hope rises within us and sustains us. The feathered presence that Emily Dickinson refers to has appeared to me again and again in my life, never more than now. No coincidence that birds have been one of my greatest joys throughout the years. Their songs lift my heart and show me the vivid miracles that surround me every day. When I hear a cardinal singing outside my window, I know God is near, both within me and in the external world.

So, whatever your life situation, whatever challenges you are called to face in your life, whatever is going on in the world, look around and see the beauty, see the blessings. Nature, friends, family, the sun that rises each morning—all these call you to hope, for your own life, for all of our lives on this dear blue planet Earth. Listen to the sweet song of hope in your soul and know that each breath you take is a miracle. Commit your life to hope, and it will carry you forward, beyond any challenges, into a profound connection to something greater that your one life, to the oneness of spirit that sustains us all at the deepest level.

Losing Someone You Love

Last month, a friend I’ve known most of my life passed away after a recurrence of cancer. It was not entirely unexpected, but it happened suddenly and was deeply shocking. I thought she would always be there—an unspoken assumption many of us probably have about close friends or family. We never imagine that they won’t be in our lives. Yet she was gone. And even the most profound spiritual beliefs about life after death cannot entirely prevent the initial heart pain of losing someone you love.

Teddy and I met in college in San Diego in the late 1960s. We were “flower children” together, going to student demonstrations and be-ins and finding our way during a time of radical social change and personal transformation. After graduating, we lived together in San Francisco and then traveled around Europe for five months. We knew each other’s parents, boyfriends, and first jobs. Eventually I moved to the Boston area for graduate school in women’s literature, and Teddy got a degree in art therapy in SF. I returned to the West Coast after a few years but then moved once again back to Boston. Teddy moved to the East Bay and continued to live an alternative life as a dancer, poet, musician, and art therapist. In New England, I was active in the feminist movement, came out as a lesbian, and wrote for various publications.

No matter where we lived or what we were doing, we always remained close friends, “kindred spirits.” Our lives intertwined even from a distance. I met Ron, the man she married and who was by her side at the end of her life. And she met Anne, my life partner, when we visited California. I can still see Teddy’s face filled with such joy as she looked lovingly at the two of us together. In 2014, she flew to Massachusetts to play the flute at Anne’s and my wedding. Having her present was one of the most beautiful, touching parts of that day. Among other songs, she played Joni Mitchell’s “Circle Game,” which we had listened to many years before in college.

Everything does come full circle in life, and everything is ever-changing. If you embark on a spiritual path, as I did (and Teddy did, with her Buddhist practice), you learn impermanence and letting go. “Forever” is a truth, but only within the continuing soul consciousness beyond one lifetime. As a human being, you are born, and your parents love and launch you on your journey around the circle. Mine were the backbone of my life and so much a part of who I became. I feared their deaths all my life; yet when they passed (and I was with each of them), it became one of the deepest spiritual experiences of my life. And so with Teddy’s transition. I knew she was “gone” here in this dimension, but I also knew her spirit could never entirely vanish. On some level, I was comforted in knowing that she, and others I have loved who have died, are “on the other side” of a very transparent curtain. They have not disappeared into a void where I can never again reach them.

The week after she passed away, I could feel her presence unconnected to a physical form. Memories of our shared experiences flowed through my awareness in wave after wave. My human self couldn’t believe she was actually gone, but my soul knew she was still present. This is one of the ironies of life. We understand on some level that people we love are eventually going to die, but when it happens, it is so hard to assimilate. This is part of the soul’s experience in a human body: the appearance and seeming disappearance of life. Loss and grief are so real, so heart-breaking, but in the process we learn that nothing and no one is ever lost, including ourselves. Gradually, over the course of a lifetime, we grow in wisdom, until finally we accept all of life. We learn that death is an open not a closed door.

Or that is my belief, my trusting. That is what my soul, and God, show me is spiritual truth. And the longer I live, the more expansive that awareness becomes, the more I open to whatever comes, in this world and beyond. For ultimately, there is only love in this universe—divine love and human love. And they are one and the same. Indeed, that was Teddy’s last text to me from her hospital bed, just before she transitioned: LOVE. The essence of our friendship and the wisdom of a lifetime. I carry it with me in my heart, always.

Becoming a Vessel

The idea of becoming a vessel, or conduit, for selfless love to flow through you into the world is part of many spiritual teachings. To be of service in this way can become one of the highest aspirations for those on a deeply committed spiritual path. Julia Butterfly Hill, who spent two years living in the branches of a 1500-year-old redwood tree to prevent it from being cut down, has described her own preparation for this dedicated act of service. She let go of all physical attachments in terms of possessions, but then Mother Nature emptied her of everything else in a fierce wind/rain storm that brought her face to face with the possibility of her own death. She was “emptied out” for the task ahead.

We may not all be called to such courageous actions, but more and more I believe we are called to be fully present in our lives in the most loving way possible. When your heart is open, you can touch the hearts of all those around you. Love is the greatest act of service imaginable. It doesn’t necessarily take physical stamina or facing death, but it may require you to let go of attachments that keep the energy of love from flowing freely. Ones you may not even be conscious of. Like attachments to particular outcomes or to controlling how things occur. This requires letting go at the deepest level. And often the letting go itself is beyond your control. Perfectly designed that way.

I have written previously about my move to Florida and my expectations about how it would unfold in terms of being of spiritual service there. God presented me with a framework, and then proceeded to take it apart piece by piece. Nothing I had planned on came to pass. And as things fell away, I felt at times lost and abandoned by spirit. Yet that same spirit kept me going, showed me light in the midst of my inner darkness—and the beauty of Nature everywhere. At the end of more than a year of being emptied out, I finally saw that this was exactly what was meant to happen. I had asked to be of service, to be a vessel, over and over in my prayers. I couldn’t be that when I was full of expectations and ideas about what that meant. Surrender means completely letting go and just being peacefully present, without attachments, for whatever arises.

Then the “storm” of COVID arrived, within which we each encountered our own possible death (like Julia). At that point, I could see that all I had just been through had prepared me for emptying out and letting go even further into acceptance and peace. There was nothing I could do about stopping this pandemic. I saw that what I could do was remain peaceful and loving every day, through meditation, writing, and connections with individuals around the world online or in my own neighborhood who were holding this same space of peace and love. The “invisible” network that the Internet provides has helped many of us find support when feeling isolated and alone during this time. It has shown us how we are always connected in our hearts.

We all do what we can in our lives—and the greatest gift we can offer is in being who we are deep inside: compassionate, peaceful human beings. COVID has compelled us to look inward, to meet our own souls, maybe for the first time. From the soul’s perspective, there is no necessity for trying to control what happens or doesn’t happen. Within the soul, there is only loving-awareness. When life empties you out of all external activities and aspirations, you come home to that wisdom within you. The wisdom that shows you that in emptiness is peace and space for the love in your heart to flow freely to all those who cross your path. This is what it means to become a vessel, a conduit, in the world. Perhaps yet another of COVID’s hidden blessings.