It is not uncommon for me.
I typically carry a heavy load, but the coronavirus quarantine has loaded me up.
I have endured life from a fragile place.
Like looking out at the world from a fox hole in the war, I volunteered for risky maneuvers, this lifetime.
Not having been a veteran myself, perhaps that is sacrilege for me to suggest that I live in a world where there seems to be constant firing of weapons.
But can you really disclaim this reality?
Especially in the face of covid19?
I do extend my respect, and thanks, to those who fight for temporal freedoms; in uniform or not.
Still, we seem to be willing to tolerate a world where children must fear everything and everyone.
Is it any wonder that hate brews steadily under the masks of the capitalistic smiles we put on to win our “Tribe” and have our “network”?
Hate, not only for the other, but for those we call friends, family, even posterity, and ourselves.
We seem to be content with the trauma that the world faces.
I know; what is the alternative!
People do what they can to get by.
Survival is what is acceptable in this world.
As long as you are functional, and can hold a job or hide out somewhere homeless or on welfare, the world is okay.
I have always gone the extra mile in what matters to me and the tasks I have at the moment.
When they asked me to take an extra class, for a good price how could I resist? And then the idea of being able to share what I know on screen, if only!
I already had two hours of podcasting I did a day, two weekly blog posts, and I was at least stabilized in an apartment that had some elbow room, and it did not feel like the next place to a nursing home.
I did find some exercise things online that helped me function better with my health.
Feeling strong and stable again. I can handle this task, I have angels assisting me.
That was until the text “You never had any business having children.”
He was drinking, I knew that.
I sent an S.O.S. to his sisters to send him some support.
I could not resist reaching out.
Our conversation went better than last time.
What was that, 3, 4, 5 years ago, when he told me to kill him and then kill myself.
Moms are supposed to be able to handle everything they are given and still give more.
I know that I have to close the door, and I will if he does this again. And yet:
It was more gentle this time, I can tell he is maturing.
Nearly forty. He is still my son. He said he knows I did the best I could.
He “just once” wanted to hear me take responsibility for damning him to the life of a social outcast.
He does not realize that each and every one of us feel an outcast in our own skin, we just have different ways of coping with it.
Instead its; “What a fool I had been to look to the church and to herbal remedies to make the world bearable for me and miserable for him!”
I lived a life trying to stay alive, so I could help them.
He’s right I had no business having children, and I would highly caution anyone against it today, without really knowing in your heart that is what you are to do.
For you are birthing the Christ Child.
Once again to face the trauma of the confusion of the Separation whose only recourse is a life of torture from without and within, with the hope that they will look to the Father, know the Separation is impossible and accept their inheritance and reality of eternal life, in the NOW.
One moment at a time, in faith, despite whatever else may face them.
Today I live in the hell that I envisioned I would face, on the other side, if I had killed myself when they where younger.
I feared my children would suffer, and I would be standing there, not able to do anything for them.
I could not imagine that, and so I stayed alive.
Doing what I could with my limited resources.
They were free to make their choices of where they wanted to be.
It was not with me. They wanted to be with their dad. Okay.
Yet somehow, I get the backwash and “my life choices” are creating the hell they have.
Or, so they say.
Everyone needs to find an excuse for the terrors and confusion that they live.
We all do it. There is always someone to blame. Anyone, except the Creator.
I see no answers in this world.
Yet I have a faith. A belief in something greater.
Something greater than the Creator of this world.
I believe in a father-figure, I call Him God, the Father of Christ.
He is the Father of my eldest brother, Jesus.
A belief in a brother, who made a mistake, just because “he did”.
Someone had to manifest the concept, healed as it was, even before it was fully thought.
The mistake of believing in Separation.
We all do it, and anyone of us would have made the same choice, even if the basic blueprint had been different.
None of us, have not mistaken ourselves to be separate, from our creator and each other.
We, each in our own way, chose to be a betrayer of that which is clean, wholesome, and good.
If only in believing we are separate from God or from other part of creation.
These are roles, we took on to “prove” the separation had actually occurred.
And “look out” if anyone dares to love us!
We will show our unworthiness in whatever form we must.
Unless, we forgive.
Unless we forgive the one who started it all, and accept the Atonement.
The undoing of the idea of separation. And we have to do it in the NOW.
My story will not be one of “rose-colored glasses”, but it will be one who dares “see” that “Emperor has no clothes on”.
I hold to the Atonement and testify of The Father’s love for His Son.
And I will push through the doubt and witness to the contrary.
Overload or not, I will bear witness of God’s love for and need of His Son and the Son’s love for and need of His Father.
Till next time, God bless, bye for now.