Beliving in false thoughts

An old theme melted today. Before, I had to work for weeks and involve legal authorities to have a package I ordered sent to me and not to be picked up at a Post office 3 hours away. I have gone through this process twice before – a huge forgiveness opportunity – and this time, when the procedure repeated itself and I called the new firm, I connected with their consultant in a beautiful way. It turned out she lived close to me and offered to drive there and pick it up and bring it to me on the door! Now there is a good sign that something in the mind has shifted:)

Then she told me that the Post office would not deliver it to her. But she told me in a mail that I just had to write them (the firm)and tell them that I wanted the package delivered to me home address. I did that – and then the huge father came and swallowed me. Oh my God, look at that. I meant to write fear, not father.

Same thing

I realized how not-happy I was when it all was solved. Why in the world wouldn’t I be  ecstatic  that this pattern of self sabotage at last was resolved?

The answer was obvious: almost 100% of my childhood/youth personality was identified with  the  strategies for surviving. All the ways she/I had to get use to calm the father with the fear so he did not become a dangerous demon – all that has been labeled “me.”

I now experienced the possibility of being wrong in that identification – these strategies I had told myself was me, and had experienced myself to be, and believed myself to be – if I was wrong in this, what would be left?

A huge cry came, I had to sit down. Forgiving myself for believing in this false me, this survival-construct I had made.

And in some weird way, the father and the fear is one – I think about the Course-metaphysics reminding us that we as ego think the Father/God is out to punish us because we left – and so we made up a punishing vengeful god in our image, and do our best to placate him and be “good” – just as most abused persons try to be toward their abuser, if they have to live with him/her

So these “false deliveries,” and  the demands that i pick it up, or else I would have to pay a big punishing fee, were all reflections of my childhood:

pick up those false fear thoughts, or else you will pay, and maybe even imprisoned

I can only imprison myself

I have perpetuated the punishment to stay “me”

I am willing to be wrong about the value of this – and to be shown a peaceful and playful healing process

willing to let go of the lodging of pain and fear and identity in my mind,mirrored in this body I call mine

But it is all based on false thoughts

maybe the strongest false thought is the one that tells me that I am guilty and need to be punished – the very thought of separation

remembering to laugh now

I can not lose something I never had in reality, says Blue.Just my screwed up false perception.

Yes,please

Waking up in the shower

In the shower, I sense chaos subsiding, energies align with clarity.I sense the aura purring like a cat who is stroked. I am aware of some very clear thoughts:

The suffering child/me – and my whole childhood –  is a projection. The memory of the violated suffering little child me is in this moment seen as a construct of ego. I have told myself that I must never betray her, as she was betrayed – meaning I must keep “her” close so I can be there for her if she falls into panic or psychoses. Now I SEE that if I withdraw my investment in the belief that she is ME and that it happened in REALITY, the whole story crumbles and evaporates. There simply IS no “me” to save.

What has given her reality – brought that story into flesh and emotions and vulnerability and victim-hood and me and other, is ONLY  the Holy Son of God’s  choice for the possibility of separation. That choice is taken with the free will that God gave His Son – and so it is manifested.

As the water strokes the aura, I know in gratitude and release that in Truth, there is no suffering, no separation, no victims and predators – there is a false belief in guilt and sin projected into the separated fragments of the One Son. I am not leaving “her” – betraying her – there is no HER other than in my constructed story of separation. I can turn of the projector – I am willing to see clearly.

*

Writing the last sentence, this poem by Thich Nhat Hanh comes to mind.

Please Call Me by My True Names

I have a poem for you. This poem is about three of us.
The first is a twelve-year-old girl, one of the boat
people crossing the Gulf of Siam. She was raped by a
sea pirate, and after that she threw herself into the
sea. The second person is the sea pirate, who was born
in a remote village in Thailand. And the third person
is me. I was very angry, of course. But I could not take
sides against the sea pirate. If I could have, it would
have been easier, but I couldn’t. I realized that if I
had been born in his village and had lived a similar life
– economic, educational, and so on – it is likely that I
would now be that sea pirate. So it is not easy to take
sides. Out of suffering, I wrote this poem. It is called
“Please Call Me by My True Names,” because I have many names,
and when you call me by any of them, I have to say, “Yes.”

Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow —
even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.

The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his “debt of blood” to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and my laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart
can be left open,
the door of compassion.

http://www.spiritualnow.com/

Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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