If I could be in Heaven, looking down, I would see more clearly the importance of making every effort—for the sake of Spirit. In giving expression to Spirit, life gains grace. In truth it is who we are, our very essence and soul!
There is no finer task than keeping Spirit alive in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. While nurturing forth Spirit while there’s still breath, I prepare for flight to Heaven. When I get there, I’ll smile deeply, seeing just how important that really was, for the newly burnished quality of my soul.
Spirit isn’t concerned with circumstance so much as wanting to participate, to come forward from underneath the rubble of distraction. It is often the something lacking, when we wonder what’s amiss. Its ethereal quality can make it easy to forget, yet there it is—that which finds the silver lining and humor in disaster, goes the extra yard—and sparks forgiveness.
Spirit is a loyal friend, no matter life’s conditions, content to ride the wave of experience. In awakening it from slumber, we enliven the will to live. In keeping front and center the only thing that matters, we transcend space and time.
Conditions may wash over me. After all, tidal waves are real! But I can accept life with grace, knowing this precious anima is always here to serve. Let me rise time and again, in the face of difficulty or hard times, with enthusiasm, encouragement and steadfastness—with joy and love.
When I’m in Heaven, looking down, I’ll smile deeply, knowing that I took God at his word when He gave me life.
Excerpt from Freedom To Fall
There is something beautiful asleep inside of me. I’m given a lifetime to wake it up. To awaken the kernel of beauty, I must free the reins of resistance and surrender to the Way of things—as each moment comes to light and passes on. Otherwise, I will never get over Chris dying. I will miss the joy of wonder, never know the dawn.
There is something here for all of us, something to overcome. Chris didn’t plan to die young, but he sensed he would. He would never see tigers in the wild. There were mountains he would never climb and races he would never win. He wouldn’t grow old with people he loved. He could have clung to sorrow. Instead he chose to live.
Tomorrow lightning may strike. It matters not that the tree lives a thousand years and the moth a single day. What matters is waking up.
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