If you don’t know – don’t act

…I am happy to report, that in the days I had a corporate career I used to be envious of my fellow muslim co-workers….

As you know by know I read and study A Course In Miracles. When I follow my routine I also usually follow the weekly live stream with Marianne Williamson.

Sometimes I just listen and other times I take notes as was it a dictation.

On today’s replay there was 2 questions in the audience that resonated deeply with me;

One was a man, who over a period of a couple of years, had built up his business from scratch and now was ready to build his team and even if he indeed had found great candidates he still felt fear and a big worry about it, primarily however these people would be able to take care of his baby the way he expected.

It was so peaceful not be hear a lot of bla-bla-quick-fix-be-rational, but a simple listen inwards…follow your senses…don’t rush…if you don’t know – don’t act

How often haven’t I taken rushed decisions just because I believe if I don’t others will think I am unprofessional or incompetent or inexperienced…

The other was a young woman feeling out of her presence , but yet pressured to keep up with deadlines etc. All primarily because she felt it was more secure than to ask for a meditative time-out.

I am happy to report, that in the days I had a corporate career I used to be envious of my fellow muslim co-workers, who simply had their dedicated room and legitimately were allowed to take their moments for prayer etc. As a non smoker I had no official reason at all – for anything.Like this woman I just kept going even if I felt it was not optimal.

Now I started to wonder how weird we actually talk about work. Someone asked the question why would we want a job or work at a place where we feel the need to get intoxicated (read drink coffee) just to feel awake enough to get started? Said like that it does seem quite obvious – just I never ever heard anyone talk about work from that angle.

That said I now need my good night’s sleep.

320 signals to go – learning new.

 

 

I am Malin and you call me George?

Maybe men identify with the suffering on the cross – however I am certain women cringe every time we see, hear or witness any harm done to any child, girl, woman, mother, grandma – physical OR verbal. We burn. That is the feeling we know.

Every morning I do some spiritual reading. ACIM (A Course In Miracles)most of the time.

And now I have a question to those who knows this better than me:

I can ground myself.

I can feel the earth under my feet and resonate with it.

I can co-create and all sort of amazing things fly through my mind.

I understand the emotional concept of the Father and Mother Earth.

I can feel the sense of all mighty protection and divine creativity and safety.

Every time there is an exercise where I have to meditate or think in the lines of “You are a Son of God”it slips through my fingers…

It feels like I am Malin and you call me George.

Why are we not Children of God? Or if I really want to dig deep – Daughters of God?

I fully comprehend and understand the concept of equality – but do we have to be in denial about diversity that makes every individual unique? So special?

I am not big on using the word God to begin with – even if I understand it – I am however big on feeling it and experiencing it.

Maybe men identify with the suffering on the cross – however I am certain women cringe every time we see, hear or witness any harm done to any child, girl, woman, mother, grandma – physical OR verbal. We burn. That is the feeling we know.

You may be my Brother, but I am your Sister. And we all belong together.

That is what I know.

You write Son. I read Daughter. You say George. I hear Malin.

Connecting my dots.

Is this off path?

331 signals home.

Image courtesy to Hyena reality at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

 

 

A possible miracle in the bag

…unravel some type of relationship to a book…

This is my first read of A Course In Miracles and I am about half way through the text- and the student book.

I have read quite a lot in my life, but what I like the best with ACIM is its way to somehow always be, just that one step ahead of you.

I say to myself I must be crazy or lost or confused and the next time I open the book it tells me exactly the same and what to do about it.

As much as it is a great experience to unravel some type of relationship to a book (if you can have that?) it also grounds me in the facts that we must all be so much more the same than I can ever imagine.

Something else it has established is that – before – when I used to be talking quite badly to myself for not doing this or that, or not keeping up  or not be as far ahead as I “planned”/”wanted”to – I am exactly where I am suppose to be – otherwise the book’s answer wouldn’t be so exact.

Often I leave the book open with the lesson I am on on my working desk – both as a gentle reminder, but also as a companion somehow. In the lack of other fellow ACIM people in my nearest circle the book itself has had to take on that role.

Days when I seem to be waking up running and never sitting down it happens I get as far as in the car, just to go back in again to pick it up and put it in my bag. Then it sits beside me on internet cafes, waiting rooms, waiting in traffic and so on.

I may never open it and just be checking in on it. You are ok down there? No pages squeezed? You could say there is some type of bonding with the possibility of a miracle, even when I have taken my hands off the hows, whens and wheres.

And so the day goes.

A little miracle is always possible.

337 signals coming home.

 

 

 

On my own

This is the first day and night I spend on my own since my mother passed away…

This is the first day and night I spend on my own since my mother passed away.

My girls picked up their stuff from the car and returned me the keys and then wandered off to spend a day and a half at a hotel with my ex, swimming in the pool and watching football.

All so that I “could work”.

First I kept busy studying, researching, writing emails – put this blog out there for the first time – trying to understand html coding…

…got myself so worked up I ended up writing a deep and long email about the mental mobilization required to launch an online campaign…to the technical support [do-not-reply-to-this-email] guy whose name is probably something I can’t pronounce, but I call him Henry.

By that time even my conscious brain was registering that this u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow I have to get from A to B.

And I didn’t want to cry sitting alone at a café[people always look horrified when you do –like they would have to do something – when you are two they can somehow pretend it is not up to them and at least try to look sympathetic].

I have cried a lot by myself this last year. Both openly and alone. So now I know and normally I don’t care anymore. If I need to cry I cry. But today everything seemed u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

Since I suspected they were talking about me I eventually decided to leave. Smiling casually as if nothing ever happened.

And went to sit in the car.

I don’t like to drive, but I like to sit in the car. Close all doors, pull the seat back, take my shoes off and read or meditate – often I do a lot of hand writing.

When my mother was still alive and in the house I used to do my morning reading in A course of Miracles in the car. As if the distance between the house and the parking lot would have any relevance.

So I try to chill in the car. It works a little bit. I write something. Feeling a little it more in control.

Eventually I decide to drive home.

After being busy feeding and giving water to everybody and dotting around the house I sit down.

We don’t really talk me and the dogs. I mean not out loud. We do our thing, but the is no conversation.

And in the house there are no teenage slamming of doors, no music constantly on somewhere, no phone calls, no playing with puppies – just silence.

Far away traffic, some birds singing, some dog sighing, another one sneezing.

When I sit down, so do they. Nobody moves.

If I do move, they all attend me, rushing up to see if I possible would drop them anything.

I go out in the kitchen making myself a cup of soup and some bread.

Like a ball thrown too hard in your solar plexus the loneliness hits me. But now I can’t cry.

It is stuck somewhere in between.

I am supposed to be the grown up and I feel like calling them right up, telling them to come home right away.

But I don’t.

I take my work calls and pretend everything is just normal…

I miss them s-o-o-o much.

I go back to the laptop. Distract myself. Write all this.

Pretend there is someone on the other side. Just like me. All alone.

Signing out. 345 signals home.