Confessions VII - The End and the Beginning

I promised, in the beginning, that I would not lie to you. And so I will continue my confessions.

I have been hard at work healing myself from the trauma of losing my parents. Life was peaceful for a time. But then, suddenly, at the beginning of this year, it all changed. The past ruptured like a great pit in the earth, wherein darkness reached out and grabbed me, and I was back in it again, experiencing it all over like the first time.

Except this time I turned to face it. This time I decided I would not run, I would not split into a thousand pieces, nor would I hide in prayer and fantasy. I would face my hell and I would see what lay on the other side. I would place my hands on my own soul and, with God's guidance, push it back into shape.

And I realized the self was fragmented. I realized there were many pieces of my soul lying about, waiting for me to pick them up and press them together into something singular and beautiful. I was missing parts of myself that I yearned to find again. I yearned to have her back: that parallel me living the life I wanted in the place I belonged. I yearned to know her again.

And I would not consider any other option than to succeed. I would not fail. I would have her back.

And finally, I realized -- God has been waiting for me to see myself as fractured. God has been waiting for me to see that final truth: that I split my own soul when I fell. I was young and God -- the presence and truth that is in all of us, the Father, the Higher Self, the superego, the greater consciousness, the connectedness -- entered my soul in the broken places to repair me from the trauma and the loss. Those parts of myself destroyed are gone forever. God has replaced them with parts of Him. A Frankenstein of Faith. 😉

The beautiful part of meeting Christians is seeing the strange brokenness and the shining wholeness of God's love all at once in the same person.

That part of myself that is greater than me -- that piece of us that extends above and beyond all else, connecting everything, the Holy Spirit -- became like a parent watching over me. The grief sent me into some form of spiritual madness. But in that madness, I searched, and I found a knowing and a truth that was purely visceral, that was purely part of the world and my atoms and my heart. Perhaps the madness was necessary, because when it finally broke, it allowed me to see what was still real.

My purpose was always to serve and to love others, and never in pursuit of my own gains, I can promise you that. I only ever wanted to be honest about my journey, because I knew it was a strange one, yet as real and human as my own hands. I knew inside of my story was my purpose. By observing the workings of the Spirit, I was able to learn, to be mentored, and to be loved unconditionally without question or doubt. And here is the seed that the world can use: the unfiltered truth of my experience, because the Spirit is accessible to all of us. I am no longer afraid of judgment or ridicule. I know you can't find my story to be so strange, after all. Not after all the saints and the prophets and the acolytes that we believe without question. Not after all the ways we already question who we are, even without our trauma splitting us in two. I am writing this for all of us, so we can heal. Because I love you.

And yet, how very strange it is, to know God by having grown up seeing Him as a parent. The truth of it makes me smile, for I finally see how all the threads weave together, where the ropes interconnect. I have my hands on the reins now. I have been outside of You for too long, and I would like to take You back into me. Life is stable, the valley has ended, and now, it is time to be One again.

Knowing God's spirit gives me peace. It tells me I am whole, no matter how imperfect I feel.

The grief, the fear, the pain, all eventually faded away as the trauma passed and the body grew stronger. But the truth of God's love remained. It lent me the strength to carry what otherwise would have destroyed me. What is left is a backbone, like a solid beam of light running through me, whole, and a spiritual strength forged in fire, and the knowing of that truth -- that the deepest purpose of our spirit is to love unconditionally, that we are all one, that what is in me is also in you. To know my spirit as part of the Divine -- to know the Divine as part of myself -- to know my work is God's work, and I am not afraid, and the world is smiling.

I know my life has been led by God's spirit of unconditional love speaking softly to me, writing letters to me, guiding me home. That was always His promise - to bring me home.

This will be the hardest work, to heal, to bear the confusion, or that sense of endless seeking, the wondering at God's purpose, the struggle against falsehoods and why I have been stuck on my path. I can see, now, both the end and the beginning. The old road and the new. She is glorious, and She is coming back into me, fully restored by the grace of God, the one true Healer.

Revelation - The Tree of Life

“Revelation”

The tree came out of the ground like a tower.

It struck the earth, a mighty scepter.

The tree stood impenetrable.

It arose and became

a guardian

giving home to an eagle's nest.

Its roots like anchors, it shielded

the smaller creatures.

Drifting down,

its leaves became psalms

and ignited Life.

The tree came from within.

The heart bloomed

like the woods.

Winter shied away,

and Spring flooded the Wilderness.

All that lay dormant

awakened.

* * *

I had a vision during meditation. I had never heard of Rapid Resolution Therapy before, but if you are of a spiritual nature and you seek healing from trauma, I absolutely 100% recommend it. I was healed in 1 session with a practiced counselor. My therapist, Ginny, I later learned was Christian. God healed me through her hands.

At the beginning of our session, my therapist, Ginny, asked me to think of a place that brings me peace and makes me feel at home. I thought of the forests up in Washington, where I lived in my childhood, before I moved to Los Angeles when I was 10 years old. I miss the forests fiercely in my heart, and on some days, I can feel my whole body crave the peace of the forest. We agreed that the forest would be my "place of sanctuary" as we explored my traumatic experiences together.

Ginny put me under a form of hypnosis. I was sitting in a chair with my feet both on the ground. We faced each other.

She asked me: "Do you believe that we are all connected?"

I said, "Yes."

She took my hand and led me down into a folded position. I bowed my head low, low until it was almost between my knees, and I wrapped my arms around myself to calm my nervous system. She released my hand, then she held her hands over the base of my skull.

I breathed deeply, settling into the moment.

“Go to your forest, where you feel safe. I want you to just think of the forest, think of the trees, and relax. Be at peace."

I breathed deeply and slowly, and in my mind, I went to sit by my tree.

I sat at the base of a pine tree in the beautiful woods, somewhere in Washington State. I could smell the scent of warm summer: sweet blackberry perfume on the air. Pine needles cushioned me. Yellow flowers sprinkled my feet. I leaned back against the trunk of the tree and relaxed. I breathed deeply, steadily. All was silence.

As I relaxed, I slowly began to sink backwards. I sank into the tree, into the ground, until I was comfortably wrapped up in the roots of the tree, so safe, so quiet, in the cool moist darkness of the earth, where nothing could reach me, and I could sleep and sleep and restore my soul. I felt a deep peace well up inside of me, pulling me down, down into the roots of the tree. I kept sinking deeper and deeper into the silence, into the peace of the roots.

And then, suddenly, I was standing in a chamber that resided at the heart of the tree, at the center of the roots. Inside this chamber under the tree, I saw a tomb. A sarcophagus. It lay horizontally like a coffin. A beam of light shone down from the center of the tree, illuminating it. The sarcophagus was white marble or granite, or similar white stone. The carving of an ancient King lay on top of the sarcophagus with a stone sword clutched in his hands and a stone crown upon his head.

Suddenly, I knew the tomb was my dad's grave. My dad's presence suddenly became known. He was here, with me, in the roots of the tree, not visible, and yet I felt him there.

In an instant, the tree exploded around me, growing and growing, thousands of feet into the air. The largest tree you could fathom, stretching up and up into the Heavens, into infinity, into forever. My dad and I flew upward through the middle of the tree, our spirits combined, flying up and up, higher and higher, into infinity. And I knew this:

My dad, myself, God, and the Tree were all ONE.

My dad was not dead. No one was dead. No one ever dies. We were all alive, and we were all together, and we were all growing into a massive Tree, and the Tree was God, and the Tree was infinite, and connected, and Everything.

My dad's spirit was inside of me, and God's spirit was inside of us, uniting us, and we were all One. We are all the Tree, and we were all Growing.

God showed me the Tree of Life. He showed me the Truth of Life. There is no death, only life, only a million million lives all growing into God, into a Tree that connects All Things.

I came out of the vision with tears streaming from my eyes, howling and laughing as grief poured out of my heart. God's unconditional love and presence embraced me. I realized, dimly, that Ginny was praying over me, and the base of my skull was warm with raiki energy. I cried and cried with her, and in the grief was joy, because I knew my dad's presence. I had reconnected with my dad. I knew now our spirits were not separate, but whole; that we were all connected, that he was not lost, but he was a part of me, a part of God, and we were all growing into One. We are the Tree of Life.

You never lose the old, only gain the new.

You never lose the old, only gain the new.

There is no such thing as "getting over it." No such thing as "healing it." There is only that new self, that new life, you build for yourself. Once you live through hell, it always remains in your memory, in the solid bands of strength that define your character. Walking through hell--climbing out of it--defines you. Don't hate or regret it. Just know, no matter how far you think you travel beyond it, it will always be ready to assert itself over your life.

You can only keep moving forward. You can choose to walk away from it, toward joy, toward a good life, toward Heaven and all of God's blessings. You can choose that for yourself. You can do it every day.

Scars remain on the body. A scar is not something fully healed, but a permanent mar, a flaw that might be gruesome and unrelenting. Yet despite all the flaws of the body, the soul continues to grow. With each new period of growth, our soul becomes stronger, wiser, bigger than it used to be. We can move beyond our flaws. Eventually, we grow beyond our scars and move on to better, higher selves. But we will always remember the darkness that made us what we are.

Loneliness

So what if you're not liked?

We weren't given much time, either way. A lifetime? 80 years?

God is the only permanent companion. Surely, you must realize that by now. Why become so attached to others, when you already know their inevitable departure?

Why try to impress? Why try to hold on?

You and I, my friend, are not like they who don't have the Spirit. The loneliness eats at us, because even surrounded by our fellow man, we feel that emptiness of their hearts. When we surround ourselves with those who are sleeping, God feels absent from the world. No matter what the circle, without fellowship of Spirit, I inevitably feel alone.

Loneliness has become, in a way, like God. Because here, I can feel His love beside me, and His love is greater than all worldly desires.

I don't know where I am called. I don't know where I go, or what I see. But with God as my guide and savior, I continue to explore the world, and learn about myself and my purpose.

 Life is an endless mystery. What to value, what to maintain, what to seek, what to hold dear...we never stop seeking. But God is here in the woodwork, hiding beneath our fingers and along the narrow angle of a shelf.

Perfection

"For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. ¹¹... Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

Perfection and love are the same.

No end to the valley....

You'd think, eventually, this one event would stop coming back to haunt me. That after four years, my life would move on and resemble something close to normal. In some ways, I suppose it does. I know how to smile. I know how to laugh, and I laugh often. I know how to take pleasure in beautiful everyday things. I know how to sit silently and allow myself to seep into a moment, to expand that silence until I lose the center of myself, and I feel a great overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

I know when to let people take priority, and when I must prioritize myself. I know that a broken heart can't heal the world. A tired mind can't cope with a new day's struggles. Grief becomes a constant process of opening and closing. Recovering and spreading out, accepting our new life, inviting friends into our hearts, relearning how to love...and then closing, cutting off, dissolving into ourselves, still trapped by those deep-seated mental structures of trauma and loss.

These days, I feel a great need to retreat from my life.

I am not healed. At times, I don't think I ever will be. I have stopped striving for it. Life continues to roll on, and grief rolls with it. Sometimes that grief is hardly noticeable. Sometimes it is a wonderful thing, rich in poetry and a solid sense of satisfaction, knowing the personal and spiritual growth that comes from it. Through years of struggle, I've come to know myself. At least where my soul is concerned, I stand on solid ground. And yet always, there is a backlash. That backward sliding motion. Yearly events trigger it. Stress at work, fights between friends, between family, small everyday details. And I realize I am far from healed. I wonder, sometimes, if I am worse off than I was at the beginning.

How can I move on from grief when the loss of my parents continues to define my life? All of my stress comes from inheriting a house I was too young to care for. Navigating a harsh world with no safety net, no loving, nurturing arms to enfold me. Working too many jobs, losing out on those soul-searching years of our twenties when we're allowed to make mistakes. I cannot choose to give up, to take a break, to redirect or reorient myself to this life. A bad decision can cost me my home, my livelihood, my honor, my sense of self. I have too much to lose. Too much I am trying to hold onto. In this sense, God grants me no reprieve. I must carry on, nose to the grindstone, rolling through this world as grief rolls through me.

If I had one parent left, it would change everything. "Well, I may not have my mother, but at least I can turn to my father. At least I can spend Christmas with him. If I am upset, I can call him on the phone." But I don't even have that. And I am still so young. Twenty-five. And four years now, this same situation has defined my life, my struggles, my achievements. I can't move on when the problem is still in the present.

Now, today, it is hard to make a decision. Any decision. I can't even finish a thought. It is difficult to entertain the future. Too many possibilities. I cannot plan, or reply, or explain. I want to shut the door on the world. I need to block it all out. Every thought splits in many directions, chains of words, rivers of logic, and the mind cannot resolve them. I fumble for threads, but can't tie it all together.

God knows how often we fall. God knows our struggles and our failures. And today, in the face of grief, I am falling. Failing. Dear reader, I promised never to lie to you. This season has been a hard one. Four years into this struggle, and I thought it would be over by now, but a cold thought arises--perhaps it will always be there. Perhaps this valley is much larger, much deeper and wider, than I ever imagined.

On the brink of a New Year....

And always, I forget.

So close they come, and yet they still don't know.

A dear friend said to me, "That is why those who know the divine spirit are always smiling. They know something you don't know. That's why they're always laughing. They know the divine joke of life."

And I wanted to explain myself so badly in that moment. I wanted to say everything, but I couldn't. And so they indirectly ask me--why am I always smiling? Why am I always laughing? They ask in the late night, after a Christmas party, as I'm dropping them off at the curb. They ask me, but I cannot answer.

Because those who know the divine secret know the joke of life....We know the peace and joy of God. We have made peace. We know the great presence of the spirit in the world around us.

And that secret, you know...that secret stays between me and god....

It is like they almost see it. They see a shadow in the corner of their eye. Almost, when they look at me....

But if I told them the truth, why would they believe me? Would telling my story change them? Would explaining my beliefs make faith any more accessible?

And then I realize--that is why. That is why all the great teachers are so difficult to quote. That is why they contradict themselves. Because the story changes. Because we are preachers, not mathemeticians. Everyone is in a different place, starting from a unique point toward that same, central whole. Everyone knows God differently, and so the story must change, to reach each individual soul.

And so my message changes, depending on the listener.

And so my wisdom, at times, is hidden, because I know a listener is not ready.

And so I hold my tongue, because people need to be free to speak of their souls, to rejoice in their own spiritual self. By asserting my theology, I am stifling them. People need to know it's safe. No, it is not a weak or shameful thing to reach for God. It is, in fact, the most important stretch of your life. Reach, in those early stages. Just reach.

And then I realize, I am in service, no matter my doctrine. I draw those listeners into a delicate web. I am listening with my heart, trying to mentor, trying to love, trying to say the right words that will uplift the soul to God, not tear it down.

A single perfect word can awaken the soul.

And who cares of the right way? The first step is what they need. There are so many paths available. They need that one step, that nudge in the right direction.