October 3, 2013

I know everyone struggles. Life is hard, so hard sometimes. My life has never been easy. I'm pretty sure I checked off all "opportunities" for growth in the Pre-existence. Picture all of us lined up in a government waiting room. We each have a clipboard. On our clipboard is a twelve-page questionnaire.

The proctor at the front of this huge room speaks into a microphone. "Thank you for your patience. I know you've waited a long time to be re-born. Please prayerfully consider what blessings you wish to receive during your next life.

"Remember that you have Infinity to obtain all the blessings necessary to graduate -- there is no need to overburden yourself during this next one. There is no shame in erasing a few checkmarks, or even an entire page of them.

"Raise your hand once you've completed your form, and someone will come to you to collect it."

I hurried through, checking off boxes, flipping through pages. I raised my hand and was the first one finished.

The proctor looked through my application and shook her head. "Seriously now, you do not have to complete your journey during this next dispensation, Ginger. I realize you are a strong advanced soul, but honey --"

I cut her off. "I know I can do it! I'm ready! I want to get it out of the way so I can move on; I can't wait any longer to advance."

She smiled; she'd heard these same words from others before me.

"Okay, then. It is not going to be easy. You will want to quit -- many, many times. Do you promise to do your best not to give up no matter how hard it becomes --- because, love, it's going to seem impossible at times. So dark, so lonely. You have lived before; you know how hard those lives were. They will seem like a piece of cake compared to the one you're signing up for."

I signed my name on the dotted line. She stamped my form.

* * *

It has been so hard, so damned difficult, this life of mine. I can't tell you the times I've toyed with and even dwelled on bringing it to a close. But my friends are so wonderful, so encouraging, so full of love. They step in just when I don't think I can go another step, and either carry me a ways or support my walk.

Thank you, everyone. It's not profound, but those three words say it all.

Love,
Ginger

Rebirth

Just dragged myself purposely out of a deep, deep dream. In the dream, two of my children were trapped or imprisoned somehow for I think three months. We had a parting of ways of sorts, they were taken off from me and we said farewells, and it was all for the best. I had no fears, etc. There was a sense of sadness, but it was not the overwhelming feeling. There were many details to this first part of the dream, but they don't relate to the rest of it so I will skip them.

My ex appeared/came to me from I don’t know where. He tried to bargain with me. “We have [chits] for two white children,” he said. “You and me. Let’s go off together and have us two more children.” I reminded him I can no longer bear children. I felt very confused. Why did he want “us” to go have children?

“I want more children,” he told me. “I can only have them with you,” and he emphasized you. “We can go find two more children and raise them together, start over.”

“We have children, these children,” I insisted. “We have to stick by the ones we made, the ones we have, and see them through.”

“No, they are fine. They will be fine. They can stand on their own. We’ve done our jobs; now we have the chance to have two more.”

I felt very confused. I didn’t want to ‘start over’ with him. I didn’t want two new children. I didn’t want to have anything to do with him at all.

“Come with me and we’ll have our next great adventure,” he cajoled. “Think of it: Two new children, two new lives we get to experience. Fresh starts, clean slates! Just me and you.”

“I can’t do that – I won’t do that, X,” I said firmly, the conviction evident in my voice. “That is not what I want. I want the children I have now.”

“I can’t do it without you, Gee,” he whined. “You’re the one with the [chit]. It’s my only chance. Please?”

I crawled up out of sleep, struggled out of the depths of death and darkness, pulled myself out of the waters. Our children meant nothing to him – I meant nothing to him. He would just as soon throw all of us to the wolves to have what he wanted.

I recognized him for what he was --- a man who had used me to get what he wanted, who had always used me to get what he wanted, and would continue trying to use me to get what he wanted for all eternity if I allowed him to. 

I would no longer allow him to. The nightmare is over.~~GH

Chapter Two: Prophesy Fulfilled

You know how it is when a love relationship is new and the two sit and dream of a future together. They map out what it is they aspire to share, the places they will go, things they will do, children they will raise. I had a second chance when I was 35 and met my ex. We had big dreams – he had big dreams, and his dreams became my dreams -- I dared not dream my own.

We were going to go to the Deep South and open hearts, expand minds, spread the love of racial harmonics across Mississippi. We would teach the people who, he assured me, were truly good-hearted well-meaning but brainwashed. We would show them their brown-skinned brothers were the same as they. I had long fought this battle in West Virginia; I jumped on the bandwagon wholeheartedly, happily, joyfully in fact.

One night I had a vision. Crystal clear. A middle-aged heavy set bearded white man in work clothes raised a rifle to his shoulder and aimed it at my ex (who at the time was a handsome, dark-haired thirty-year-old). The man was livid, shaking with anger. He spat hateful words as he lifted the weapon and prepared to fire. I stepped forward between my ex and the angry man just as the gun discharged. There was no tender death scene, no sobbing lover cradling me in his arms, no deathbed confession of eternal devotion. I simply took a bullet for him, and I died.

I felt this premonition on a gut level. I knew without a doubt this was prophesy. 

We never moved to Mississippi. We did our share of community service. I did take a bullet for him, just not a literal piece of metal to the heart. Still, I died that he might live. I stepped between the angry man and the good man, and let the angry man take his wrath out on me to preserve the good man’s life. Although I meant well, it didn’t accomplish what I’d hoped it would. The good man lost me; the angry man simply reloaded and fired again; and I died to both myself and the good man I sought to save.

They say three works the charm. I am resurrected. I have my own dreams now. Although I still have a massive capacity to give and receive love, I’ve taken my last bullet. Of course, there’s more to this story than what is here – there always is. 

Stay tuned for the next exciting chapter, and perhaps the backstory as well. ~~GH

Happy Easter. 
~~in loving memory of David Oso, who would be 13 now, and is, in my heart. 

Spare Change

Maybe we're like clay. It has the potential to be malleable and change shapes, to be warped or formed or crushed and then re-formed. Maybe when we experience these metaphysical epiphanies, our clay shape shifts -- a little, or a lot, depending. Maybe this shape shifting isn't damaging, but it is painful letting go of the old shape that we've become accustomed to holding -- like how your muscles complain when you get up after sitting for a long period of time. Or how a baby, after being cramped in a folded position for literally months suddenly is forced from its dark warm claustrophobic world into cold light, its body suddenly unsupported, limbs flailing that are used to being tucked around its own form. No wonder babies howl when they're born.

Maybe this is why we tend to resist change. And yet, the whole purpose for our clay being malleable is so we can shift shapes. And still, we fear. It is like feeling anxious the sun will come up tomorrow -- it will surely happen whether we fear it or not, so why not relax and accept the eventuality? Because we are not rational beings. And I don't mean that in a negative sense. It isn't that simple.

You don't just make a choice not to fear. Trust me, if that were possible, I would have overcome fear by now. ~~GH

Guest Poet: Selah Michelle Townsend

Fat Cat's Saturday Night

     ~~Selah Michelle Townsend

The cat prowls oddly
Low yowls and heavy rumbles coming
From deep inside--something is happening.
The kittens push for birth, impatient to arrive.

Bedroom curtains become towels
As we lay her on the floor--
She will soon be lighter,
Her burdens becoming our joy.

Bundles of fur, sticky from the womb
Emerge tiny and perfect
With sealed-shut eyes and weak little mouths
And paws that stretch with shaking muscles.

Soon they roam alone,
Through domestic terrain and into us
And we are born again with them,
Landing gracefully on our feet.