Archive for Spirituality Stories
It’s winter. I need to sleep. Not hibernate, just get a solid eight hours of sleep so that I feel rested when I wake up. It keeps my mind sharp and my spirit peaceful. Without the proper amount of sleep my stamina suffers.
Lately I’ve been staying up far too late for my own good. “But I’m working on my creative projects,” I rationalize. In the morning I manage to be quite chipper, but as the day progresses I notice that I am a bit ‘off’, and the actions I want to take in regard to manifesting my goals do not get done.
What to do?
I have a deck of Animal Medicine Cards and on an impulse yesterday (btw, my #1 new year resolution/commitment is to follow my impulses) I drew a card. Elk, the symbol for Stamina, appeared. The message that stuck out for me was, “Elk is telling you to look at how you choose to create your present pathway, and how you intend to perpetuate it to reach your goal. Your best weapon is the same as Elk’s: to stop when you need to, to persist when you need to, and to allow room for change and exchange of energies.”
The message always shows up at the right time.
And now I’ll take the advice that came from someone I follow on Twitter who posted a quote by Pablo Picasso: “”Action is the foundational key to all success.” and go to sleep.
Today I send my gratitude to all who dream big dreams and take empowering action to see them through, to Robin Coley, my landlord, my neighbors, all the folks who run the New York Sports Club at 145th St. and who gave my friend an extra day on her visitors pass, the authors and artist who created the Medicine Cards that I’ve had since 1993, my clients, new and prosperous business opportunites, my home at the beach, my book agent, editor and publisher.
Thanks and peace to all!
“Motherfucking faggot,” I heard the man say as he barreled past.
“Is he talking to me?”
I looked around the subway car. There were four other people waiting for the #3 train to leave the 148th St. station, three women and a young man.
“Maybe he had a run-in with someone before he stepped into the train,” I assured myself.
A familiar uneasiness had crept in. I looked down the subway car at the big guy who had just sat down. He was staring at me. Or was he?
“Why are you looking down there, Joe?” I asked myself.
“What are you looking at fucking faggot?”
“I think he’s talking to me NOW!”
I pretended not to hear him and looked down at my Blackberry.
“Why am I nervous? Why the hell am I letting this guy upset me? Focus on something else, Joe. Be compassionate and tolerant, just like you think he should be. Do I LOOK gay? What am I saying? I AM gay. What the heck does ‘look gay’ mean? Great, now I’m thinking in stereotypes. Shit. Am I a stereotype? Am I dressed ‘gay’? Maybe it’s my shoes. Are my pants too tight? I’m sitting down, he can’t tell if my pants are tight. Mom once told me I looked like a girl in grade school. Where was that memory hiding? Remember when that guy called Byron Katie a fucking bitch? She said ‘Yes, thank you.’ Thank this guy for recognizing the truth: You are a man who has sex with men. So what? Oh, this is some conversation I’m having with myself. Compassion and tolerance, Joe, come on. Asshole. I could kick his ass. If I had a baseball bat I’d break his friggin’ skull. Asshole. I don’t need a bat, I’ll use my hands. Fucking asshole. He’s really messing with the wrong person.”
I laughed at myself. “Yeah, now I sound like him. Very good.”
I was so immersed in my violent, stress-inducing thoughts that I barely noticed my alleged gay-basher getting off the train. A deep breath. Now could I be tolerant and compassionate?
It’s a day later and I still don’t know if he was really looking at and talking to me. Funny what the mind can do.
How many gay men, people of color, women, Muslims, Jews, obese people, etc. experience what I did today? How many of us allow the kind of thoughts that I described to run rampant without taking a closer look at the source of the torture?
Why do we think that others must change for there to be peace? Like the song says, “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.” Will you let peace begin with you?
My affirmation for today is: ‘I am peace.’
Today I am grateful for the man on the 3 train, my brilliant mind, my loving heart, my fear and anger, my friends and family, gay men and women all over the world (Uganda, Rwanda!), warm clothes, Always Economically Viable, Robin Coley, Byron Katie, and this blog.
Thanks and peace to all!
I admit it. I used to call my cat an asshole. I used to do that a lot.
Quite often, when Wicca would do her “Get Up and Feed Me” purr and dance routine around my head at 5 or 6 in the morning, or when she would send things crashing to the floor in yet another attempt to wake me from my blissful slumber, the word asshole would fly out of my mouth as my hands repeatedly pushed her furry face out of my nose, or her paw out of my eye.
My pet’s pet name would also emerge whenever she tore around the apartment in a post-meal frenzy, leaping onto my desk as I worked, jumping up the wall after some invisible playmate, or carelessly smashing things that happened to be in her way.
Late last year my then-boyfriend, in his great wisdom, insisted that I stop calling Wicca an, uh, you-know-what. So as part of my New Year commitments I told myself and God that I would stop that practice.
Over the course of this year I have trained myself to get out of bed when Wicca asks me to, I have allowed myself to enjoy her acrobatic genius, and I have learned to respect (but not always give in to) her desire for attention at all hours of the day and night.
I’m not saying I’ve been a complete name-calling celibate. The a-word has slipped out on occasion, usually when I’ve over-extended myself or am in a hurry. The funny thing is, as my behavior continues to change, I hardly notice what were once Wicca’s terribly bothersome traits.
The other day I spent several hours working from home on my computer. Every now and then I would get up to stretch my limbs, grab a glass of water, and find out what the cat was up to (oh, still napping!). On one of those breaks I found Wicca curled up in the coat I had tossed onto the couch. I bent over her, whispered her name, poked at her ears and woke her. She looked at me and I picked her up. In that moment I froze, aware that I had just done to her exactly what she has done to me on countless mornings. Did she swat at me, push me away, attempt to bite me, or call me an asshole? No. She looked at me, purred and lifted her chin higher as I stroked her neck.
I love my guru housemate.
Today I am grateful for Wicca, a sound sleep, the NY Shamanic Circle, the AEV community, Robin Coley, my laptop, long-term planning, my newest J.O.B., self-confidence, AD, Byron Katie, Rosa, aspirin, my Monday Spin class, new clients, my book agent, editor and publisher, Hay House Publishing and Radio.
Thanks and peace.