fatigue

I’d like to talk about my faith today. I give full credit to my mother for my faith.

My mother was a divorced Catholic who remarried. Who could no longer receive the sacraments in the Catholic church, but she made sure that we were brought up Catholic. Every week we went to religious education. And every Sunday, she took us to Mass.

And if my older brother, who had been out having a good time, came in late and knocked the phone off of the wall, we went to 7 o’clock Mass, otherwise it was usually 10 o’clock Mass.

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.

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 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.

I love floors that creak. There’s a power, a personality to it, as if the floor acknowledges me there, greets me, in a way. The house feels homey and lived in, in some sense imprinted.

Old houses have creaky floors and stairs, for sure. It’s not clear if it’s the personality of the people who lived there coming through or the personality of the home itself. But, to me, it always seems inviting and cozy.

It makes me mindful of the moment, more fully present with more of my senses focused here and now.

I also love doors that creak and drawers that squeak.

New Earth is not a place, but a way of living.

A way of experiencing earth a different way – joyful, playful, conscious, and aware.

I live on New Earth, or rather, “in” New Earth.

I am very aware of what I am thinking and saying. Always, as best I can, choosing positive over negative. So, I am constantly editing and guiding my thoughts, rather than letting them run rampant.

Whenever I hear that someone is not well, I immediately, within 10 seconds, say “Thank you for allowing assistance for that person.”

I am talking to God, to the Presence, if you will. Notice that I am not asking but trusting.

If someone is complaining, say about their job or another person or whatever, I listen, but keep repeating silently to myself, “Thank you for showing me the truth. Thank you for showing me what they are “really” saying.”

There’s nothing like doing nothing.

I feel liberated, carefree, as if all responsibility is paused, and I am placed in a state of open wonder, able to just be.

Some may find it totally boring, perhaps a waste of time – not me!

My imagination is piqued, and ideas appear, as if clearing away everything that was blocking them. My senses are more, well, “sensitive,” magnified. So, I see and hear beauty around me more easily.

We have a huge Chinese rug in the living room, 10 feet by 15 feet, 1 inch thick.

It is truly gorgeous. The colors and design are out of this world.

Sky-blue borders, decorated with flowers, all against a crème background. And it feels wonderful under your bare feet.

Who made this carpet I so enjoy? I feel I know him, or her, or them. I appreciate the sheer scale of its beauty and its masterful craftmanship.

Was the design handed down generation to generation, perhaps on rice paper? Or was it kept “in-mind” and shown only when needed?