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White Noise

This morning, I felt it.  As I sometimes do.  I had risen before I wanted—in the service of a dog across town whom I adore--and walked out my front door to a life that loved me.

Because there was a quiet peace in the world.  And a cool stillness.  And I paused on my porch while my soul connected to the place of it’s true home, devoid of the white noise of people and air conditioners and cars and flurry and chaos.  And I stood there as the sun rested in self-assured imminence behind mountains which stand guard like new parents, and remind me at every turn that nature—that The Earth—will impassively stand in non-judgment of our human drama and flaws until we either save ourselves or perish.  

And the indifference of it didn’t make me feel small; it made me feel reverent. 

And some call the feeling “Source.”  Because to use “God” has become, at once, generic and engorged, and laden with anthropomorphic religious fervor that keeps our appreciation of such tethered to the limitations of the five senses.  And “source” is such a fine word, holding the potential to rewind our consciousness to a now misted-over time of impeccable oneness, where—like string theory—we have known ourselves to be part of an invisible network of connections--ten dimensions of space—even though our conscious mind can only really understand and perceive three.  

It is the feeling of “Other,” or “All That Is” or, simply, the acknowledgment of a higher intelligence, and the understanding of the still, quiet steady-state of our soul’s origin in which all events make cosmic sense.  Or will, given enough time.  In which we can pause and remember in a light, evening breeze--as the invisible Earthly force blows gently across our face and body--that unseen doesn’t mean non-existent. 

And I stood on my porch this morning--this lovely, exquisite morning which I can never re-live and can never get back--and felt as one with Source, and thanked the world with authentic joy for letting me be part of it.

Because there is such hardship in this life.  Just two weeks ago, I was laying on the couch, exhausted, and unable to process thoughts, and feeling certain of impending doom. I was sick. And frightened.  And unsure why this hardship had befallen me and whether I would ever feel better. 

And this morning I was healthy, and happy and filled with gratitude.  And in love with this world and my experience within it. 

And it isn’t a miracle.  Not in the proper sense.  Not when set within the white noise of our lives.  The common, the rush, and the constant distractions from ourselves and our experience in the current moment. 

But in the quiet of the world and of the mind; where definitions expand and “God” becomes “Source” and 3 dimensions become 10, and the evolution of what’s possible changes when our ideas become experience, it rests inside me amid gratitude, and mountains, that--in a life of hardship--there are threads of invisible harmony ready to embrace a quiet mind.

And, for that, it felt like a miracle. 

For, this morning, even the clouds reflected back my inner peace.   And, in the shadow of hardship, my own consciousness had stilled to a point where I could feel—in the quiet coolness, awaiting that imminent sun—that there will always be peace to be had.     

Comments
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Amy, This post is filled to

Amy,

This post is filled to the brim with the abundance of life and all of its goodness and its pain.

I agree that Source is a wonderful word. 

Glad you are feeling better.

Annette

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Thank you, Annette, as

Thank you, Annette, as always, for your sweet comment.  The "illness" or whatever it was was certainly an odd experience, and I'm just now beginning to completely feel like myself again.  For which I am also so grateful.

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What a beautiful, beautiful

What a beautiful, beautiful and inspiring post, Amy.  Perhaps, instead of "indifferent", I think of the Universe and Earth as "impartial".  I use the term "God" but I know exactly what you mean about many people's perception of that term.

Thank you, thank for sharing this with us.  It is a privilege for us.

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Katherine, you just can't

Katherine, you just can't know how wonderful it was for me to read your comment.  Things seem to be piling on lately, and a word as kind as these really salves the soul.

May one day we all live in such moments of comfort that kind words can bring.

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Missed Your Writing

Amy,

I'm glad you had that moment of serenity, but where have you been since?  I hope all is well and that you post something soon.  I miss your writing.

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An Inner Peace of Mind

How lovely to see you back again and I'm sorry to see that life has been tough recently. You write in a beautiful and sensitive way that is a joy to read - a celebration of life and all the good things we strive for in our existence. Thank you, Amy.

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Thank you, Steven and

Thank you, Steven and Nicholas.  This was my last post--in August--right before a little bit of unanticipated mayhem of the "complete and utter, soul-scarring" variety, and--after seeing your comments--I reread this post and think it holds up pretty well, even though I did not know when writing it that the chaos I thought was ending was merely just beginning.  Ah!  To be able to meld our past and future selves together, what we would not be able to accomplish!

Alas, and no matter though.  When The Universe speaks and tells you you've got more to learn and trudge through, there is no choice but to listen.  And so that is where I find myself:  experiencing traumatic life events rather than merely reflecting on and writing about them.  But I will get through it because that's what people do:   we find strength and we move on.

Thanks to you both for saying such nice things about the post.  I will be coming back to writing eventually (on Red Room, rather than just my other blog) and, at that time, will be comforted by being able to--once again--read the blogs of all of my fantastic fellow Red Room bloggers.  

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Mutual Support

Amy, think of your fellow Red Room bloggers as your friends who want you to be well and to be able to achieve happines despite the barriers to be overcome. Don't give up, Amy and I for one will be eagerly looking out for your next blog.

Happy Christmas to you and your loved ones, Best wishes, Nicholas

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A Beautiful Post

Your talent to touch our souls shown brilliantly in this.  Thank you for writing this and sharing it with us.  May God (our Source) bless and stregthenl you and us and help you and us as we trudge through tough terrain.

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Thank you, dear Sue.  Tough

Thank you, dear Sue.  Tough terrain can slow us all down, but it's often at those times that we get the most practice at appreciating what is truly important.