There was both relief and disappointment in the knowing. Most of us run from our feelings. Well, the challenging ones, anyway. I thought I'd get another kind of answer, something more 'meaningful.' Like, "You're here to do something grand and majestic, something really important." Instead, I essentially got, "You're here to...love."
I guess that's beautiful? It's not that it's hard to love. It's not even that it's hard to love, intensely. It's that it's almost too easy. There are days I despise this world and all the people in it. And then I catch a glimpse of someone walking by, and my heart wells up. What the fu*k?
Even for the greedy bastard. Let me preface, even for the one I deem to be a greedy bastard. I'm learning not to judge...for good or for bad. Either way, I could be wrong about such person. But, feelings are neither right or wrong, you see. So, this feeling - which is not pity - opens up my heart and I well up.
The act of welling up and pouring out is an act of love. I learned that we take on some of God's suffering by doing so. I've asked myself whether this process happens because I'm automatically putting myself in someone else's shoes. But when I observe more closely, I feel the feeling first and then I imagine what life is like for so and so.
This direct, straight to the heart, trigger feels warm and watery...and fast acting. The sensation in the heart becomes expansive as though it's literally being massaged open. Kind of like a small mercy in the sense that it isn't being ripped open. And, it's painful. Not a physical pain...not like anything you might feel in your back or legs or head or any other part of the body. It's a throbbing, emotional and spiritual, discomfort. Maybe like grief. Except with grief, we tend to reserve it for loved ones or heroes and not for strangers. Never for strangers.
This is different. And then you realize the stranger is you and you are the stranger, too. They're all my brothers and sisters. Even the ass-holes.
At the same time, I'll always champion the under dog. My heart belongs to the under dog, through and through.
I want to keep a record. A few months ago, maybe sooner than that, I woke up from a dream with the words, "The Art of Principalities." Principalities? What does that mean? While I was on the couch, I mentioned it to my husband. I had looked online as I normally do when words come to me I have no understanding of. There were references about princes and another about angels.
My husband has recently resumed study in magick. One morning, he left a print out for me about the hierarchy of angels. I folded the sheet and told myself to look at it once I was at the cafe. Well, the first to catch my eye was, "Principalities." I thought of Uriel and his scrolls/sacred books. The word "angel" means messenger...There are supposedly, 9 ranks of angels, Principalites being the third one, responsible for overseeing and influencing humanity from above.
Why...the 'art' of principalities ? I find that intriguing. Like Robert Pirsig's book, "The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance." Art and Maintenance don't seem to go together. One is warm and the other feels cool. Art and Angels might but 'art' implies there's another way to do something you may not have considered or a different approach you could adopt. A way to live life differently...with more beauty or something. And since angels are perfect and humans are not, maybe art in this sense means a kind of wisdom imparted by the angels to humans.
I don't know...something's happening. It's both a blessing and a burden when the veil begins to lift.
No comments:
Post a Comment