(For anyone wanting to hear from their soul.)
I haven't always wanted to hear from my soul. Sure, it was fine if it called while I was taking a shower, a walk or a drive. I was happy to get any ideas or answes to problems it might give. I just didn't want to be alone with it for too long. I feared it would tell me things my ego didn't want to hear - direct me to follow my bliss, insist I do something difficult, or speak some truth,...blah...blah...blah... "I can't hear you...We must have a bad connection...buzz buzz...." I might say before grabbing my laptop to check email or Facebook or get busy with...anything. Then I got sick and began getting up earlier to allow myself extra time. Like most souls, mine was waiting for moments of solitude. Noticing I was up by myself, it began talking in my ear. "Forget about your carcass." It didn't want to talk about what ailed me. It wanted to talk about bigger things like, "Why are you here?" It began to make dares, thinking this could be great fun; after all, it had been dormant for some time. It asked me for a chance - to I trust it a bit. Soon, it was insisting I make time for it... every day..... After it assured me it wouldn't speak to me through email, facebook or the news, I agreed to forgo these for the first 3 hours of the day. Overtime, we worked things out to our current routine. I wake at 4:30 and try to be receptive and open to whatever it has to say. Even though it's less interested in my carcass, I still get up, change clothes...drink a glass of water...stretch...drive to gym. There, I workout to my soul's favorite songs, which is when it starts tossing me goodies, at times, faster than I can jot them down them in my little notebook, without falling off the treadmill. It seems this soul has a lot to say - ideas, inspirations, solutions, dares but mostly feelings of peace and contentment, none of which I could hear, when I kept putting it on hold. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
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Though only 15 minutes from a city center, I feel I'm far from the rest of the world. My husband, daughter and I live on the inside of a basin. The downward slopes are covered with trees that step down into an open lawn with a stone creek passing through. Sitting on one incline is our house. It looks across to trees which have a floating, ethereal quality. On a nearby slope is my office, where on the second floor, I spend my days high up with the birds and squirrels. From there, I can look down on the deer as they step gently out from a large magnolia tree after a rain.
The only way in - a narrow driveway that crosses the creek - welcomes our frequent visitors - people coming to my office, travelers passing through to stay for the weekend, or friends coming for dinner and conversation. News of worldly events comes by way of guests, my daughter returning from a day at school and my husband home after a meeting. Except for the newspaper retrieved from the end of the drive and the NPR host chatting as I make lunch, I rarely invite the news in... For me, this is an odd and mysteriously beautiful place. It insists on a stillness; that I like to believe we've called to be the keepers of and to share with others. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend: |
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"Divine" references the soul, our collective souls and the mystery of life. ArchivesCategories
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