Awareness

Artwork by Bruce Zboray www.bruce-zboray.artistwebsites.com


I am drawn to thin books. Books you can read in one or two sittings. With pictures or a fancy border – like an ancient manuscript – decorated. And a hard cover with cloth, where you can feel the weave.

Others may enjoy epic novels of a thousand pages – not I. Maybe it’s me wanting to “know” the whole book at once – no need of bookmarks for me.

Whenever I paint something: the walls of a room, a piece of furniture, an oil painting – I really look forward to seeing it again when it is dry. It’s like God, time, something unseen needs to intervene to finish it.

It’s not done until it’s really all done.

The same with gluing something together – next day, all those pieces are one whole thing again. The same with waiting for the scrapbook page to dry or waiting for pottery to bake.

Now, some people would rather wait for some muffins to bake far more than some pottery to bake. I understand this well.

What words are on the tip of your tongue?

Core words you typically talk with and think with?

I sometimes pause and consider this. Consciously moving what I say to something softer and brighter.

As best I can, I use the wonder words “please” and “thank you.”

Instead of “Stop shouting,” I say, “Please stop shouting.” It isn’t just a nicety, but rather energetically shifts the tone from a command to a request.

It’s interesting. How can I use words each day like: better, kinder, sincere, conscious, aware?

Come to the lake of calm. It sits there open to you.

You will not find it in travel books, nor upon any map ever made.

Because you do not “go there,” but rather “tune-in,” like dialing a radio station.

Many of us keep this place ready for you. Holding a space of pure peace.

Thousands, if not tens of thousands, if not far more, offer this collective vision. We pour out thought-power, our peaceful energy, our imagination into this “place,” this little realm, if you want to call it that.

We combine our thought focus to offer this.

I sincerely thank whoever discovered the muffin.

There is something really irresistible about a muffin – all kinds of muffins.

Others may love their croissant, but I love my muffin.

Right away, I think of muffins wrapped in red and white checked gingham in a honey-colored wicker basket. I think of New England or charming European villages with fresh baked breads. I think of the open hearth, with a log fire, at the center of a home.

It’s so primal – food – eating – our daily bread.

Do you climb the mountain of prosperity?

Do you climb the mountain of health?

Do you climb the mountain of the perfect mate?

Do you climb the mountain of awakening?

Seeking a solution at the top? Day after day?

Here’s what I found helps me.

To sit quietly and feel that I am at the top of the mountain, in tune with the Creator, the guru, the wisdom at the top. Sensing what it feels like to be exactly where I want to be, right now.

I say an affirmation or two, a few times, out loud. Simply, “I am prosperous.” “I am healthy.” “I am awake.”

Sometimes knowing you have a choice isn’t obvious. Sort of, “What, I can choose?”

I do not read the newspapers, nor watch the news.

I choose my reality.

I sometimes imagine myself in a place of turmoil like Jerusalem. I stand there, eyes closed, with ripples of “illumination” going out from me, as if a pebble were tossed in a pond. Every second, going out hundreds of miles.

Then, at the same time, I picture myself in the center of China, doing the same.

In summers, during most of high school and college, I worked in a summer camp. My assignment was, pretty much, to protect and entertain a cottage full of three-to-five-year-olds. It was such fun that I decided I’d like to teach children as a career.

After graduating from the university, our certificates covered: nursery, kindergarten, and grades 1-8.

As luck would have it, before graduation I was hired to teach in my hometown. The year was 1969, a year of many problems and few jobs. So this was a blessing.

Some say infants are born with wisdom and abilities. It is a thought to ponder.

Let’s take a journey watching a young artist create and grow.

When a baby is old enough to manipulate small objects, he should be given one crayon and a white piece of paper. He will be beyond delighted when he realizes that he has the power to make this crayon work. You’ll see a big, happy, toothless smile! Share in his joy.

I saw an angel. Actually, I saw one, then a second, and then a third. The first was a young adult about 14 years old. The angel wore a white gown or robe. It looked like linen.

Upon the robe was exquisite and unusual golden trim and gold embroidery. It seemed as though the gold was alive, as if it were the energy identity and the “life” of the angel – its core essence.

The gold “writing” sparkled, too. The angel moved but was completely silent. It had no wings.