Archive
Love and Self-Love
(Epilogue: I went back to the post office this morning and they did have my glasses, pretty much right where I had left them. My immediate reaction was delight and gratitude, even for this small event. And then I asked myself about the lesson: mindfulness, gratitude, and never sweat the small stuff!)
In my on-going exploration of this subject of Self-Love (why is it so important?) I wrote something worth sharing in my daily “Pages” the other day:
It all comes back to trust. This is always hugely important. And trust falls back on Love. Everything rests on Love. All of creation springs from Love! And where does this love spring from? How did this “energetic” get launched, and “who” launched it? Of course, this is the mystery, this is The Goddess, The Holy. And this is Their echo across the gulf of time to now. It is Self-Love that launched all of Creation. It is the reflexive “thing” that initiated everything. And ultimately this “Thing” is a vast and unfathomable emptiness. It is the Void, the Deep referred to in Genesis. It is over this Deep that the Voice of Love spoke it all into being. (Or did She sing it?) How? Does it really matter? Why? This is the bigger question. Clearly, for me, this is about Self knowledge. It comes back to the reflection, the echo, the mirror we are for the Love Energy that pre-exists the All! That which came first is this “Thing” of which I write.
We, our consciousness, our love are the reflection of that original Love. This is the Image of God we wear and act. This is the image we see in every face, in every creature, in every being, in all of creation, The Created.
To Rosemary’s Video Inspiration and Exploration this week, her call to Self-Love, we respond as a reflection of creation and the creative force of Love. There is no way around it! If we are a reflection of the Love Energy that created everything, then we are Love and our response must be Love; it is essential for us to be the mirrors in which The Holy see themselves. Without us They don’t exist! Without our Love They show us faces of more limited emotions!
When we love ourselves, we love. When we love we reflect the face of Goddess. When we reflect the face of Goddess we are lovable and are loved. Love is this energetic through which all echoes reverberate. It is the Ether carrying the songs of praise across the valleys. It is the Water of Life carrying the whales’ songs from wave to shining wave. It is the Earth carrying the deep ground vibrations, the songs of the rocks from peak to purple peak. All of this is Love, nothing more. There is no deep mystery here other than What started it all. And maybe this question doesn’t really matter either. If Love is All then the beginning is Love as well. Accept this and everything becomes clear and real.
So, the words of Jesus are true: God is Love; and Love is God. We are Love; we are God. Love is both inside and outside. It is the substance and the substrate. It is the container and the contained. It is the bridge across the gulf and the gulf. It is emptiness and everything. It is nothing and All. It was before the beginning, It is now, and It will be after the end.
As a creature of now it is my purpose to reflect this power of the Universe, this Love in all that I do and through my very beingness. If I am Love, God, this creative force, this very Life Consciousness, then I can only be and act out of Love. And this includes loving me.
Self-Love. Not a simple path. Practice Love; begin with self!
A Poem about Time: “Echoes”
The theme of the blog last week was “Writing.” And I wrote about the ways I write. Over the years with Rosemary I have attended many Conversations with The Other Side with her. And I always get interesting visitors from my lineage, my guides and teachers, people from the past, the future; and my messages are always encouraging, especially for me to write poetry. I have written a few over the years; and with their encouragement I wrote this last week:
Echoes
The echoes of ancestor voices
Ring with empty expressions
Devoid of real meaning
This side of time.
“Back up Jack; me sheg is in the canvas!”
Can you hear your father
In your head?
Do his words, his voice
Leap from your lips?
“Well, diddly-dee!”
The wall of time seems fixed,
The chamber is only so large.
Our words, their words
Mingle, interfere, amplify, echo.
“Johnny at the rat hole.”
Across the gulf of time
The gods laugh with us.
And they cry our tears
Feeling through us our losses.
©2012 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.
PS: If you are curious about the guidance you may receiver from a Conversation with The Other Side, the next one is scheduled! It’s to be held December 7. Go here for details
Ritual
We just finished Thanksgiving dinner, a family ritual repeated many times in many places this week in America. Perhaps this is more accurately a tradition. But there are certainly the rituals, some even hidden, within the traditions established by families across this holiday and across the land. It’s within the rituals where the magic happens!
In yesterday’s post I wrote about the rituals I surround myself with when I write, especially my “morning pages.” The candle and incense, the blessing and clearing of my space, my alter, my tools, pen and notebook, cards and journal, all part of creating the magic space within which I write. Ritual for me is a vital element of life; not just my spiritual life but all of my waking moments. Ritual is bridge-building; it connects me, especially vertically from the core of Mother Earth to the deepest reaches of the Universe. And it connects the inner me, welding me together, physical, emotional, mental spiritual, male, female, creating a unity, a pillar to support that bridge.
Ritual connects me to the Holy. I sit, remembering the Holy and pray that in making this connection They remember me. It is only in this reflection, this echo across time, within this ritual space that any of us can exist. If we don’t remember and are not remembered there is nothing here.
We all surround ourselves with ritual whether we recognize it as ritual or not. All the little aspects of our lives, the habits that get us through our days, the repeated functions that move us through time and space, for the most part with little thought, are our vital rituals. It is a good practice to take note of these rituals. Which ones work? Which ones are limiting? How do we separate the supportive from the limiting rituals so we can expand, evolve, grow in consciousness?
The first step, as is so often the case, is to become aware of our rituals, habits, behavior patters that get us through the days. Take note of habits that support and become more intentional about these; reinforce them; bring more attention to them and examine the ways in which they support you. If a pattern is not helping, even interfering with your life, make note of that too, and determine how you might limit or even eliminate it.
The second step is to look for new rituals, establish new behavior patterns that support your goals. This is the fun part. If you don’t have a regular practice of any kind, create one. Then practice it; ritualize it. It is through the practice that the magic happens. It is the repeated behavior that creates a thought pattern that after a few repetitions creates the “groove” that kindles the energy of magic.
The third step is to expand this process outward to additional patterns. Create a ritual about everything in your life and your life will be magical. And I’m not suggesting here that you turn everything you do into a repeating series of patterns with no changes, no expansion, no creativity! Ritual without creative expansion becomes rote and dogmatic, rigid and stifling. The trick is constant awareness and focused intention on the expanding patterns that support you through your days.
And in this week when we celebrate Thanksgiving, we need to be grateful for us, our lives, our rituals that support our ever-expanding understanding of who we are and our place in this incredible Universe.
Make it a ritual and magic-full weekend. I’ll do some ritual writing myself and see you back here on Monday.
A POEM: “Honor Your Grandfather”
I have decided to begin sharing some of my poetry. Mondays seem a good time to do that, a good way to start the week. If you enjoy these I’d love to read your comments!
The following, “Honor Your Grandfather” I subtitled: ‘A remembrance of “A Day for Men” with Robert Bly and Michael Meade at the Lisner auditorium, Washington, DC’. I had attended this day, a lot of years ago now, in the middle years of the men’s movement known as the “Mytho-Poetic Men’s Movement.” I was very moved and influenced by this day for men. And I did then and still do honor my grandfather. As we approach Thanksgiving here in the US I particularly honor all of my ancestors whose product I remain.
The clear day was filled
With heightened expectations—
“A Day for Men.”
At the entrance we were guided
Through a side door leading to steps
Descending into the womb of the theater.
Winding through narrow passages
Voices whispered “Remember your Grandfather.”
“Remember the ancestors,” “Honor your Father.”
A faint rumble echoed
At the Edge of perception—it began
To resolve into rhythm.
Dark warmth held us, then
Suddenly we were birthed
Onto a stage amongst fifty men.
Drumming! Dancing! We were urged on—
Asked to dance across the stage,
To perform for the sea of faces looking back.
The short trip was filled
With tension—light, sound, motion
Blending in splendid cacophony.
Off stage, at our seats, we stood
Dancing in place, pounding rhythm
Of drums, hands, feet—driving.
“Remember your Grandfather” echoed
On the rhythm. He appeared on stage
Larger than he had ever been in life.
Tears streamed—“He would have loved this!”
Primeval sensation drove his body
And mine as we entrained with the drum.
Remembered days with him—the
Dark tavern—blue smoke hanging
Sullenly in the sodden air.
The bar supporting elbows
Of overalled farmers—fresh manure still
Clinging to rubbered boots.
The sweet/sour whiskey and beer breaths
Mingled with aimless talk
Of weather, crops and cows.
They laughed and cried, shared lies
That covered their fears and
Broken dreams—we laughed/cried.
The almost painful rhythm
Brought back the now—then stopped!
We had arrived.
©1990 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.