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.

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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

 

 

Sad strokes

Crying on the inside. Crying over the known. The unknown. The old and the new. And just tired in the now. And then…

Today is the first day, of a week of tests, that my oldest is doing to enter University. All set and she is looking at schools abroad. At the same time the next one is planning a life in Asia…and what am I doing?

Me and the dogs. I get this is the time when my creativity is to blossom and I will have all time in the world doing all those things I never could as a young adult, but what were those things?

All I can remember was that I wanted my own family [and not anything like the one I had]. An international life, speaking several languages, learn film, politics and business…

…but the sad strokes of the upcoming solitude are already hitting me. How much fun we have had. Crazy stupid messy situations, that has become funny memories now.

I think of my mother too. How much of all this she is missing, when she didn’t have to. How scared and sad she must have been. How few of the things she planned we never did. Conversations never had.

But before that we have one more year all together and then me and the little one have at least another 4-5 years to camp together and do more crazy, messy, funny things.

Feelings are friends Doreen Virtue says. I am like a very old bottle starting to crack up, with the liquid zippering slowly down its sides. Still feeling primarily blocked and locked in.

Crying on the inside. Crying over the known. The unknown. The old and the new. And just tired in the now. And then on the feet again doing all my little things, such as being the school drive, the consultant, the house made, the animal manager… I smile.

Life’s contradictions and sarcastic ironies. Maybe God does think we don’t have enough humour?

Cracks let the light in, so let the light be love and the love happiness.

Happy and sad – sappy – and grateful.

348 signals left to come home.

Image courtesy of rakratchada torsap at FreeDigitalPhotos.net