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It was 11:15 P.M.
The words, The Story, prodded me from REM sleep, despite exhaustion from the day’s challenges clinging to every pore of my old body. I was to write, now, not in tomorrow’s daylight.
After I swallowed lemon water from my Sippy-cup, I tossed aside the covers with my foot, lunged to a sitting position on the side of my bed, toppled onto my lap, and in silent pleas complained. I was to write, repeated the Source. Then, I flipped on the lamp, grabbed my wheeled walker, made it to my word processor, and waited for words to come.
The butterscotch sun bathed planet Earth revolving on its axis. Its people of every color and ethnic background cycled through each day, from sunup to sundown. The pattern was always the same: waking, washing, eating, working, exercising, preparing for sleep; disease, discord, and violence marred the land. Such had been the human family’s experience for eons.
Yet, The Story would be told, in shimmering tones like a summer evening’s wind chimes carried upon gentle breezes, from house to house, from hi-rise to hi-rise. No one would not hear it. It began, almost imperceptibly at first, then in gentle tones until the unique voice of each each clapper sweetened psyches: smiles gentled clinched jaws, breath inflated taxed lungs, hands opened to offer help, feet came to the assistance of the needy.
Change was occurring. Laughter and storytelling quickened imaginations, resolved tensions, cheered the dissolute. Gone were the locks on hearts and front doors. The day’s hardships and surprises swelled those gathered around supper tables. Everyone anticipated more life lessons culled in dreams.
Lest anyone forget the sound of the wind chimes, everyone strung their own and hung them from porches, or wherever. Braided harmonies told The Story, over and over again—The land rollicked with Peace.
I’ve heard The Story. It’s about God’s dream for the world.
Step Three of Chronic Pain Anonymous – Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
This newly discovered Power in Step Two caught my attention. Given the waning energy of my terminal illness, how use or lean into this Power as I moved through each day’s unknown? Step Three’s decision was called for, but I had more work to do.
Again, the Ingredient willingness appeared in Step Three: this time, willingness to give up self-will/self-centeredness. I shuddered. Despite their at-homeness in my psyche, their sacrifice was essential. With their removal, a modicum of humility, another Ingredient, glanced upon my awareness and opened me to a new partnership with Higher Power.
Critical to this process was the invitation to formulate a God of my understanding. Since I’ve never lived in a dying body, I needed help. Especially worrisome was Beast, a toxic god from childhood, which had stagnated my psychosocial/spiritual development and cast doubt upon my CPA recovery.
Yet, Creator God had brought me into this existence fraught with chronic pain and illness, nudged me into hospice, then led me to CPA. After I caught on to the patterning, I learned to surrender my body into His care. He already had my essential being.
The more I practiced Step Three’s daily application, per the Ingredients, the deeper my trust in Higher Power’ care grew. There was still rich life within my limits, despite the sting of flummoxed instincts and dreams alerting me to even deeper disorders within my psyche.
This new empowerment subsequently led to scrutinizing these same disorders and bringing them to Step Four.
We come from God and we return to God.
I do not remember first learning this truth, but it’s been integral with the furnishings in my psyche for a long time. Online research found this saying proclaimed in the Judaic, Christian, and Islamic scriptures, each affording glimpses into the mystery of creation. Such wisdom shivers my timbers, some of which I hope to share in this blog.
It begins with We, the approximately 7.8 billion persons living on planet Earth today, given fluctuations of daily births and deaths. Focusing upon such numbers staggers comprehension, evokes wonder, replicates variety, and fashions communities from barren tracks of land—Human life seems afire with its mandate to evolve.
Early on, however, time with its limits, crimps innate freedoms, but if properly understood, leave residues of honesty and humility in their wake—the attitude critical to approaching the sacred mystery of creation. We are not God. There is another. With more passing of time, we taste the dregs of mortality. Then what … to whom do we turn?
To the Giver of Life, within the grace of cleansing, itself a new creation—such is where I find myself today. The process resonates with the Hebrew word shuv that turns to Creator God for conversion of heart. Such is impossible on my own. Never have I been so awake to this development, one I’ve witnessed in loved ones, but now my lot to experience. Once complete, this turning will bring me home. Until then, my new education continues, within the constraints of time.
Heart Whisperings 