There's no faking on a spiritual blog! Well, I suppose many spiritual people do fake it because they're tired, just aren't feeling it, or maybe they're just scamming the rest of us to begin with. Anyhow, there's no faking on this spiritual blog.
That's a curse and a blessing. The curse is that you have to BE spiritual to write about it. You have to think spiritual thoughts, feel spiritual feelings and be transported now and then. Well, I've been away almost a year, so what does that say about me? You could assume I've been a-spiritual, spiritually anorexic and I couldn't blame you.
The fallacy in that is that you don't HAVE to post every time you have such thoughts, feelings, and transports! In fact, I don't see how a human, allegedly a spiritual being cloaked in a physical frame, can go even a short time like an hour, much less a year, without swarms of such experiences. I've been swarmed.
The Big Dude has been hanging around on a regular basis, divine stalker that he is. And sometimes I even notice he's there, recognize his droppings, notice his signature. For example, I share my house sometimes and for the first time I have been sharing it with a male. After turning down myriads of potential housemates, I finally stumbled over Rick, a truly fine human being and I took him on.
About a month later, I was rear-ended by a hit and run driver and entered the labyrinth of no-fault insurance claims, personal injury or PIP as it's known in the business, and the part of the medical world fueled by non-health insurance companies. Come to find out, Rick heads up the PIP division of a large insurance company and he's walked me through every piece of paper, every test and appointment, and even through the myriad phone calls from my insurance company. What are the odds that the very first time I agree to house share with a male, he turns out to have the exact skills that I need to survive a very complicated personal injury, no-fault insurance system. The odds
are zero to none, right?
I couldn't help but see the Big Dude behind that "coincidence."
So where's the curse in all that? Clearly, that falls in the category of "blessing," yes? Yes. The curse is in failure to shape that blessing into the language of sacred shit so I could post it on my blog. Better late than never, I say, and so I'm posting today.
Generally, I end my stories with a lesson of some kind, gleaned from that self-same story. A little parable, if you will. Maybe the lesson is this: I'm coming to take the Dude for granted. How great is that? I don't have to write about him to make him come alive. He's kind of taken up residency in my neighborhood, that in-dwelling thing that mystics write about. That's a little fancy for me though. I'm just a chick who's blessed with a stalker-god. Not that I'm condoning stalkers, mind you; but if I've got to have one, then I'm glad it's the Big D. Blessings, Roxie
That's a curse and a blessing. The curse is that you have to BE spiritual to write about it. You have to think spiritual thoughts, feel spiritual feelings and be transported now and then. Well, I've been away almost a year, so what does that say about me? You could assume I've been a-spiritual, spiritually anorexic and I couldn't blame you.
The fallacy in that is that you don't HAVE to post every time you have such thoughts, feelings, and transports! In fact, I don't see how a human, allegedly a spiritual being cloaked in a physical frame, can go even a short time like an hour, much less a year, without swarms of such experiences. I've been swarmed.
The Big Dude has been hanging around on a regular basis, divine stalker that he is. And sometimes I even notice he's there, recognize his droppings, notice his signature. For example, I share my house sometimes and for the first time I have been sharing it with a male. After turning down myriads of potential housemates, I finally stumbled over Rick, a truly fine human being and I took him on.
About a month later, I was rear-ended by a hit and run driver and entered the labyrinth of no-fault insurance claims, personal injury or PIP as it's known in the business, and the part of the medical world fueled by non-health insurance companies. Come to find out, Rick heads up the PIP division of a large insurance company and he's walked me through every piece of paper, every test and appointment, and even through the myriad phone calls from my insurance company. What are the odds that the very first time I agree to house share with a male, he turns out to have the exact skills that I need to survive a very complicated personal injury, no-fault insurance system. The odds
are zero to none, right?
I couldn't help but see the Big Dude behind that "coincidence."
So where's the curse in all that? Clearly, that falls in the category of "blessing," yes? Yes. The curse is in failure to shape that blessing into the language of sacred shit so I could post it on my blog. Better late than never, I say, and so I'm posting today.
Generally, I end my stories with a lesson of some kind, gleaned from that self-same story. A little parable, if you will. Maybe the lesson is this: I'm coming to take the Dude for granted. How great is that? I don't have to write about him to make him come alive. He's kind of taken up residency in my neighborhood, that in-dwelling thing that mystics write about. That's a little fancy for me though. I'm just a chick who's blessed with a stalker-god. Not that I'm condoning stalkers, mind you; but if I've got to have one, then I'm glad it's the Big D. Blessings, Roxie
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