Like Columbus

There are so many things I've believed, in theory or with the occasional validation from the Universe. On some intellectual level I'll know some amazing thing to be true, while still having fear or doubts in my secret heart that I just have a love of whacky ideas.

The real power of intention to manifest people or things is on that list. Or the thought that when the student is ready the teacher will appear. Or that things are always perfect, even if I don't understand them as they are in the moment. I truly believe these statements, but if so, why do I ever feel any anxiety about the present or the future? I suppose that's what separates the human from the divine, just like having a body to house my soul keeps me grounded in a physical plane that is more limited than pure spirit.

Lately here though, I've been watching things click perfectly into place one after another. I find myself starting sentences with "Well there's no accident that ________ happened." Fill that in with "I met you." or "I have this and you need it." or any other thing that will sometimes look like things, people and situations are all of a sudden being pulled together like magnets. I'm sitting here searching for the right adjective to describe this time of my world, and falling short. Eerie? No. Strange? No. Cosmic? A word my Dad laughs at. What word would I use that encompasses both goose-bumps and that tingling feeling that starts at the base of my spine? I say I don't believe in coincidences, but then I looked it up and how can I not?

coincidence |k??ins?d?ns; -?dens|
noun
1 a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection
2 correspondence in nature or in time of occurrence
3 Physics the presence of ionizing particles or other objects in two or more detectors simultaneously, or of two or more signals simultaneously in a circuit.

I have been saying a lot "Well, you asked, and the Universe is telling you yes." It's telling me yes a lot lately too, and maybe it's just that I've wallowed in no for too long and it feels abnormal?

I'll have a need for something to be done, and just the right person who is uniquely qualified to do it will show up, somehow needing just what I know how to do in return. We'll count and recount our dollars, and find them short of our requirements, and Michael will say "Each month we're somehow having enough." and somehow we do. That little side job or walk-in client will show up. We'll say "We really need to get to more meetings." and we'll have newcomers or other people with some time who need the same thing saying "maybe we could go to a meeting together?" or I'll find myself in a two hour discussion about recovery where it's really just a meeting without a format or readings from a text. I'll give instead of selling, and people come and pour their blessings on me like water on a hot rock; steam rising back up to join all the other water that is waiting to fall as rain somewhere else. There's just so much of it right now, and it's happening in my circle of loved ones like woven dream-catchers that have one string that appears to be many, all attached to the same hoop.

People I have known for years, even decades; people I recognized upon meeting, people I only know on the internet, all coming together in a square-dance of service, we're swinging our partners round and round. When so many examples of this principle in effect happening one upon the other just keep coming and coming it makes my head spin. I feel the way the smell of incense in a Catholic church has occasionally made me feel, like I'm breathing in God, and it smells good in a way that transcends a single sense. It's heady and intoxicating, It's vertigo and flight. It's life the way I've read about and heard taught by people I perceive as masters of intention and like watching an amazing juggler I just can't look away.

My personal economy, besides practicing my art for dollars, has become one of give and trade, or simply share. The word "blessing" is becoming a real noun and verb in my normal daily vocabulary. I started learning to use that word when I found recovery, but for the longest time I felt like I was masquerading as a Christian, which I am not. I talk about creating and manifesting, charms and enchantments like a Wiccan, which I am not either. Somehow I am both nothing at all and a part of every single thing.

Life right now feels much like a well-crafted stage-play. So many characters all interwoven and interacting with a plot that is both extremely clever and endlessly entertaining. Although I wish I could, there is no way I have the ability to write a story that is so elaborate and rich, while at the same time being simple and elegant. I guess that's why I wasn't given the job of being God in the first place, I'm too limited and simply not creative enough to spin a web as infinite and flawless as this one.

I walk one strand of it, and sometimes, like now, I rise up and up with my internal eyes and see the fabric of existence stretching infinitely in every direction. The most surprising thing from this occasional viewpoint is that it is not a plane, it ripples and waves and I can't see every bit of it. I also never see beyond the horizon, but like Columbus I have found that the line between sea and sky isn't an edge, and that no matter how far I travel it stays the same distance from my point of view.

I can see myself, with long white hair, healing myself and others with my hands that are not hands, seeing it with eyes that are not eyes but a place that is really somewhere behind the center of my forehead, where the spike of pain lives right now. Do I need that pain to hold me here in the now, and should I start to love it?

Without my frayed and dusty oh-so-heavy sack of anger and resentments to weigh me down and anchor me to the earth I find that I float far more often these days. What if in a moment of fascination for the bright light I just keep rising and the idea of returning to earth loses its appeal? What if up and outward are the only directions that will hold my attention and I just keep going? I see that sometimes, in my mind's eye, but since I'm not really the author of that I have no idea what is in the last chapter or on the final page.

Like Columbus I'll never really know until I sail off the edge of the world.