Shackled to Answers

Growing up, education was about being drilled with the information at hand, an expectancy to reiterate and duplicate the process was high priority. Memorize, conform, and follow. If you asked a question as to "why", or "how", you would be looked upon as disobedient and unwilling to follow directions. The teachers were always right, it was up to us to only listen and regurgitate when prompted; prompted to give the "right" answer and be praised, or give the "wrong" answer and be disciplined. 

The culture of religion I was raised in was basically the same; listen and obey. If you asked a question that put the system and their leaders into a position of feeling unsure or challenged, you were labeled as "rebellious". Questions of "why" or "what about" were quickly brushed under the carpet, or blanketed with confident, yet rust destroyed statements that did nothing but enforce a strict "do not ask, only believe" society. The establishment was also always right, just as my school educators were, and it was up to us within the four walls of "church" to listen and regurgitate when prompted. The "right" answer brought you further up the ladder, while the "wrong" answer had you standing on the ground looking up feeling very alone. Those who made it to the ladder, well, we fondly and oh so humbly looked down to those not yet as "spiritual" as us. Wow, what an idiot I was.

I learned quickly as a child that my questions and desire to look beyond the box brought heartache, that my curiosity and childlike faith was dangerous to my survival. I frequently became chastised by my queries and concerns and found myself feeling torn and confused. In order to lessen the pain, I devised that I would follow blindly—follow wholly, be the white sheep necessary in order to fool the gatekeepers into still feeding and caring for me, even though I was clearly black on the inside. And to be honest, I think it worked. For years I convinced myself that I was doing the "right" things, that I was on the "right" side of the fence, that I was being taught and teaching the "right" messages. There were times when my black wool would show through and I would roar like a lion at the injustice and the foolishness of it all, only to have to zip up my coat quickly and go back to pretending my true colours were really pure and that I belonged in the pen with everyone else.

As I reflect now, I do think I chose the wrong way back then... I should have stood up more to the stick of staunch rhetoric and the whip of expected obedience and suffered more of the consequence than I did. I should have said, "Screw you" more often in protecting myself and looked deeper into the things I thought about, rather than indulge in the sick rotten food being placed before me. I let my stomach be fed with what I knew deep down were lies; I knew that love didn't really look as it was being presented.

I lost my true self somewhere along the way in the attempt to fit in and be accepted, in the attempt to not be beaten by the cruel taskmaster of conformity. Perhaps, had I made my bed differently, I would not have been such a jerk to people in my younger more foolish days—blind as to the depth and realities of life beyond the shadows of authority that haunted me. And perhaps even more, I would have been able to live a life of greater peace and understanding for more than just a few years now.

The lack of freedom to explore my faith, my spirituality, and my whole self, all stemmed from fear. It was fear of a generation that was at the time, being exposed to a lot of new ideas all at once. Fear cultured within a religion that was being taught to fear God; that fear trickled into all the cracks about God and about ourselves. I grew up in fear.

Humanity’s questions that roar like a lion and cower like a lamb within the soul will never go away. Throughout time we have had this innate desire to learn and grow. We have searched to know more, see more, do more, be more... it is in our very nature to adventure and discover. Our eduction systems have changed and we now pursue true understanding, we strive to teach our children to think critically and outside of the any box that tries to grow around them. And yet for some reason, in religions that claim to follow The Christ, too many are still trying to side-step the greatness of questions. Traditional evangelicalism is still dragging its feet and fearing everything that comes to the light. Too many Christians are being led to fear the questions about their beginnings and their ends, to fear the middle middle of their lives; the heart and beautiful depth of why we live.

This is why I broke a few years ago, because the questions took over, the balance of discovery and query were not in sync, and fear was holding each side captive. My middle, my living of life was dying because I was not free to search for what held me here.

Questions lead to knowledge. Knowledge leads to wisdom. Wisdom leads to understanding. Understanding leads to love, and all the qualities that burst from love's bosom. This was a truth I had to understand in order to begin the quest to start thinking for myself, the quest towards rest within.

The journey towards seeing my true self as I see the true heart of God, has created a landslide inside me. I have broken apart everything I thought I knew, deconstructed everything I was taught and was told was right. Turns out, nothing is right. Because "right" doesn't mean anything when you search for truth and freedom in love. Being "right" is just a weapon of mass destruction for a soul on this earth. Love is a healing salve that frees the soul and expands its ability to live in rest. 

I don't need to have an answer to a question, as long as there is freedom to ask it and explore its boundaries. I realized, that it's never been about the answers, its been about the shackles. 

We all want to understand who we are, where did we come from, and what does the Creator look like. We want to know why we have tragedy and sorrow and why we must endure death. We ask these things and many others because it is in our nature to do so. We were created to be searchers; created to explore. 

I am not alone in my attempt to break these things down and solve the universal mysteries that lie within the human heart; nor am I alone in failing. The Buddhist, the Islamic, the Christian nor the Jew, none can answer the fundamental queries that lie within. But one big difference is, some of us are willing to ask the hard stuff, even being ok to not receive the answers, while others will never dare whisper a sentence that ends with a question mark.

Come-Passion

Compassion is a prayer that my heart is drawn to pray.

There is simplicity in compassion; kindness is not complex.

“Come” - “Passion”

Compassion

Compassion is a choice, it is a desire, and She is a being that can fill our souls.

When we call upon her, we are inviting her to come and stir our hearts,

to become passionate about the requests that sit in heavens files.

We are inviting peace and love to be the meal that we partake of.

We are invited to share in the burden of sorrow and bear the weight of pain.

When we have compassion on the least,

on the weary and fragile pilgrims;

we are feeding them life bread and serving them the finest aged wine.

Let generosity and kindness always be served at our table,

let us cry out for passion to come to our feast!

Let us resolve that our very lives will be a bounty that many can partake in;

our Father so freely gives, may we follow his footsteps and give passion a seat.

Lead us to the hem of Compassions garment, that we may touch her fringe 

and begin to taste the generosity she has to offer.

I Will Not Cast My Presence From You

Sometimes to become a Resting Traveller on the journey of life, we must allow afford the embrace of difficult things. Questions that have no answers, theologies that don't align with the heart; we have to dare to look upon them—we have to be brave enough to consider value might be within them. Today I challenge the heart in order to walk further in rest. I want to travel with eyes to see all angles and be open to learn that which may be difficult.

I begin with a little story for today...

Once upon a time, for that is how all stories begin, there was a young woman. Only age of 16, she delivered a baby boy. No one knows for sure how that young woman became pregnant; the boy next door perhaps took advantage of her, her own father abusing his role in her life... or was she just lonely and found comfort in the physical nature of a man. Yet, we know that a child was born from her young womb. One could imagine she was scared and full of fear, so young and about to bring life into the world; life she was barely understanding at such a young age.

One could wonder if she didn't want that child, he remained nameless for weeks; why was no founding statement of his identity given quickly? Was he not worthy of a title to bear? Well, it is a wonder, not fact here in this story... let us continue.

The young woman married shortly after the birth of this child to a man who worked as a labourer. It is hard to tell how that relationship was, but knowing how hard it is to raise a child and be a wife and mother; one could say times were stressful, especially for such a young soul.

The boy-child was not safe within a home at all times, not raised in the boundaries of consistent love and contentment, no... this boy was passed to foster homes, given away, and sent to group homes over and over. His mother found guilty from a string of unlawful behaviour, he was put into situations repeatedly that no child should be found in. And in each place he lay his head to sleep, I have to wonder if he himself was taken advantage of, if he was abused or found without the nourishment of food, water, and love? Children who are transferred in foster homes find themselves with severe mental illness a great majority of the time, the trauma of abandonment and rejection bears deep wounds to their souls... I bet this child would be no different.

This sad little boy, being sent away over and over, decided one day to break away from the group home and run back to his mother; run away in order to find the heart who birthed him, for she was out of jail and could receive him! ... He was rejected by that heart, his mother refused to allow him access to her heart or her life. She tried to release him to the courts and into their possession; he was devastated as any young soul would be.

No home, no sense of belonging; this little lonely boy began to take care of himself in the only means he had; theft and the secrets of the night. But what about his heart? How did he take care of the deepening wounds of the heart, soul, and mind? Was there anyone for him? Was anyone there to show him he mattered in a world that told him he didn't?

Darkness covered his eyes and heart, he began to live a life in the shadows in order to survive. Stealing the wealth of others to buy food for his belly, robbing from the innocent to provide shelter for his body. Darkness grew and hatred interrupted his innocence daily as he had to care for himself; alone. Soon, he was not just taking what was not his; he was killing lives that were not his. His anger and sadness grew so large it overtook his innocence and became a thief to his own life.

The little lost boy just needed to be loved. He needed to be valued enough to be given a name in jubilation of his birth; not necessity of the courts. He was just a little boy who wanted to ride his bike down the street and learn to spell his name in school. A small child who liked to play toy cars and desired to run into his mothers arms and be found in her warm embrace... a child; a baby.

This child; this was Charles Manson. In the story he was so humanized; that was his story, his life. He may have grown to be a monster, but he was born a prince. Everyone comes from somewhere. We all are born in the innocence of life, yet life is not always innocent to us.

We have no right to condemn him to hell, for he already lived it here, and in a world where faith trumps darkness, where we proclaim God to be big enough to save; we must also agree that even the darkest of hearts has a child within, and perhaps it is because of those around that child, that he became dark as he did. We too are responsible for the shadI wiows of this world, we contribute to the madness when we do not love the least of these, as Jesus said. And I believe that God is big enough to handle the mess of Charles' life, that God is loving enough to hold his darkness and peel away the layers to hold the once small child and say, "I am here. You are not alone. I will not cast my presence from you."

Wildly Frazzled

Have you ever felt as though some force beyond your vision and control is pushing against you away from peace? That you are fighting a battle and losing?  Today... that is my today.

Just when I thought my book was smoothly on its way at the publisher, just when I was making all the decisions for my book and seeing the hope of my words becoming a physical entity—all was removed, all has crumbled.

Circumstances beyond my control have changed the course of my publishing journey; I am left to begin again. And I am wildly frustrated, I am wildly angered and frazzled.

Yet, in the middle of the chaos that circles me like a tiger in the amazon, though I feel as prey who sits in a puddle of cold fear just trying to guard my every emotion and move forward... I make choices in this moment—I choose to rest.

Rest isn't easy. Peace isn't simple. You cannot just purchase or acquire these things as one does when picking up milk from the grocery store. Rest is a process, a culmination of choices that leads to confidence, understanding; a release of the things that bog us down through the process of surrendering to moments like this, instead of fighting them.

I don't want to feel frustrated, instead, I want to push away my anger, worry, and stress. And the only way to accomplish those goals is to agree to walk forward within them. To experience them in proper measure and then set them down on the ground for their purpose is completed, they no longer need to be held by me. 

I think that too often we run from the feelings and the moments, which leaves them attached to us longer. Its almost as if they are unable to be freed from us until we acknowledge them. The question then arises, "What if we embrace the pain and give it boundaries... could we perhaps learn from those sufferings, learn from the frustration and fear?" If I agree to use those times to learn about myself, I am willing to bet that the next time I am faced with the same kind of moments—they won't be so hard.

So today, as I sit here wondering how in the world my book is going to come alive with all this opposition, I choose to remain for a while in this yucky feeling, that I may grow and be changed, that I would learn about me and uncover new layers of myself in the process. And I choose to trust in the process, allowing this time to benefit me; to become a stepping stone that takes me higher.

The Heart Leads

There is a calling and a challenge, a hope that all travellers will hear upon their trail.
This call will sound off and ring true in the deep places that lay dormant within,
awakening ones true self from slumber.

The way to find all that you seek is to wander where your heart will lead.
Your pain cannot lead... your sorrow cannot navigate.
Only your heart, which in its wisdom will use pain and sorrow not for its direction, but for its fuel.

You must listen to the heart as it ushers you through suffering.
You must agree with your feet as they tread through the pain of memory's past.
For if you do, there will be rest from the weariness, solace in the searching, truth in the reflection.

Relax, Enter, Surrender, and Trust the journey... REST in the places the heart leads you to.
Follow the call, awaken from sleep, rest in what you journey in.