Through the Looking Glass- Are You Me?

     Though I have a twin, I have always felt as if I were adopted.  I felt different.  As a toddler and as a child I observed my world as an outsider looking in. I had an adult perspective on life and quite often felt more mature than the adults I encountered. I felt awkward on the playground and just as ill-fit  at home. It was not acceptable to ask others if I could play with them, I considered it rude; one must be invited and welcomed into a circle. Perhaps, in some way I had an experience or developed a belief in the cradle. Perhaps, it was the way of my Soul.
    
     It was late evening. A bedside lamp cast a soft yellow the other side of my parent's bed. My mother was lying in the middle, my twin sister nestled with her right arm and I on her left, my mother;s left arm was free to move. If I looked up past my mother's head on her right,  I could see the hall light shining brightly over the dark stair railing. The stillness of the home announced itself in this moment filling me with peace.  My mother's belly was heavy with child making it difficult to see over her.  My mother was softly talking to my twin as she lovingly stroked her and face. I clearly remember thinking, "I wish she would talk to me the way she talks to her." This would be the last thought I would ever choose to have concerning my perception of how each of us were treated as siblings. This was life and it was the way it was.

     On Saturday mornings in the first grade, I would write letters to my father's mother. Through the letters between my German grandmother and myself, I would feel an unspoken and unseen connection to another family in another world that accepted and loved me. My grandmother shared her family and reminded me of all the wonderful things about myself and encouraged me to do well.  As a first grader, I  read books on the fourth grade level in which I escaped my life momentarily living vicariously in the world of literature; once becoming the a young woman in a cave with a unicorn and once an orphan seeking a new family. I reveled in the freedom of changing my life in my minds eye. I loved the adventures taken from the safety of my own little corner, but the greatest gift of these treasured trips would be the ability to see from behind the eyes of another.

     When other third graders were trying to force classmates and friends to choose a side during one of their battles, it escaped my abilities to figure out why everyone wanted to be a part of stupid fight where no one was right or wrong and everyone else wasn't part of the disagreement.  Why would I want to hate someone who did not do something to me? Why would I be mad at the other child when I truly had no idea as to what really happened? I would often reflect upon my own actions, concerned that I may be guilty of some crime that might hurt someone in the same way. I remember in Jr. High being close to tears as I apologized to someone for possibly hurting their feelings inadvertently. This daily self-reflection continues today in all areas of my life. Did I react with mindfulness and compassion? Was I out of line? Were my words positive and clear? Could I have said it better?  Was I really the best I could be? How will I make it right?

     We all have beliefs, opinions and emotional responses to people, events, actions and places based on our own personal experiences. We see out of our eyes from a platform built by what we heard, the events that we physically and emotionally felt, what we witnessed and what we experienced through our own actions. In every moment, we hear or see something new and the person we were a second ago has changed in some way.  We may be touched in a way that we realize that we are blessed or we may sink further into a belief that no one can be trusted. We may be able to forgive a transgression which enables us to heal and change.

     There is another element in the Circle of LIfe. I refer to it as the Magical Mirror, the aspect of seeing our own behavior good and bad through those we encounter.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, reflect to me the gifts and faults I reflect to all.

To use our mirror, we just remain non-judgmental, especially about our Self. We must put our emotions aside, they are just energy in motion (e-motions).  Emotions are not feelings, emotions are energies we experience based on beliefs and experiences. We heal or do not heal based on our choice to see our experience from love or otherwise.

     We may choose to forgive- or not.  We may choose to move on - or not. We may choose to feel anger and hold a grudge- or not. Despite our choices, we do not see. We become caught up in the emotions rendering us helpless to understand that we are not the only ones hurting. We see the story of one our side, but we fail to see that perhaps we may have been party to the problem.  "Mary" grew up with her childhood friend, "Elizabeth" well into their late forties. They raised hell, laughed hard, loved hard and shared secrets. One day, as a result of many conversations with a mutual friend of Mary and Elizabeth, Mary concluded Elizabeth used her as the brunt of jokes in front of other people, ridiculed her, demanded her to stop being emotional and Elizabeth talked about Mary as if she were not present. Mary found the courage and resolve to restore her dignity and take back her life.  Defining her new boundaries, Mary made the difficult, but necessary choice to love herself more than she loved Elizabeth.

     With heavy sadness Mary parted ways with Elizabeth and moved on. Mary remains unaware of the silver lining in this act of self love. At that time, Mary could not and still does not see that Elizabeth was and is a mirror of her own behavior.  Mary, herself, behaves in the same manner toward those she loves in her close friendship and family circles.  She judges actions and motives, ridicules, shares secrets and divulges vulnerabilities. Mary prefers making many new friends over cultivating a more trusting and loving relationship with those who love her. She forgives friends and overlooks their faults, but is unable to do the same with family.  Choosing sides as she did in childhood in the effort to fit in still continues for Mary, but in a more subtle manner. She has changed, but being conscious and questioning the meaning of her daily interactions with others eludes her as it does for most of us. 
    
     Unfortunately, without the mindful considerations of her suffering by Elizabeth;s actions; the very same actions that she herself commits, Mary will suffer the same scenario again and again. .Like all of us who do not see ourselves in the mirror, Mary will continue to have friends that betray her trust in the very manner in which Elizabeth hurt her. As Mary learns more sophisticated and invisible acts of attaining power and protecting her image through harmful words and actions, her Soul will continue to remind her of what she is here to overcome and learn by arranging for new situations that mirror Mary in the faces of others. This is not to say that Mary's most wonderful, compassionate and loving deeds will not be returned to her, they will, tenfold. The intention is to be mindful as to whether the source of our own frustration and pain is indeed our own Self's actions being reflected through our Magical Mirror.

     As you live, you shall receive isn't just about karma, it is also about learning and rising above human nature.When we forget why we are here in physical form and what our Souls need to heal, we are reminded through our experiences and quite often than not, painfully so. It is imperative to acknowledge that when we are on the receiving end, we may be learning our own lesson or we may be in a mutual agreement to help each other rise above an experience .  Quite often, we become frustrated, angry or hurt at the person who is acting out the very behaviors we are most guilty of.  we cannot or in some cases, will not see ourselves in this magical mirror provided for us to overcome another obstacle for our Soul and Higher Self to rise in standing with our Creator.

This Time I Said, "I Love You"

So many people live days, weeks, months  or even years angry at someone, losing the precious time that could be spent creating joyous, loving memories. We misunderstand or ignore premonitions or gut feelings and when it is too late, we struggle to forgive ourselves. Sometimes, we learn from those painful lessons and we do it right the next time. The next time has arrived.

While in college, Dad and I created a special time for us before going to work and school.  Each morning, Dad would get up at 4 A.M. and begin the percolator and then sat at the end of the table in his Captains chair, lunch packed, and a cigarette in his fingers. His arms would be crossed across his chest, legs outstretched and his ankles would be crossed. On the mornings I had to open the store before classes, I would come out of the darkness into the kitchen and Dad would sit up, smiling and face me at the table, and  ask me about my life. Instead of giving advice, Dad had just the right way of asking questions and Immediately I would find the answers I didn't know that I needed before I sat down.
One morning, I woke up unusually exhausted. For some reason I had been sleeping on the sofa for the last few nights.  I pushed myself off the sofa and slowly walked into the warm kitchen and slid into my seat and slouched back. Dad asked me what was wrong. I answered with confusion and honesty, "Nothing."

"You can tell me anything. I am concerned about you. Why don't you trust me?" he pleaded. His voice shook as he tried to hold back emotion.

I was dazed and confused and asked him why he asked. Dad had heard me crying in my sleep over the past few nights. He was lost for explanations.  Again, I could not remember the dreams and I certainly did had no idea as to why I would be crying. I promised that indeed  if I had a problem I would come to him immediately.

Not long after these foggy mornings, I found myself changing my routine and arrived home for school much earlier. It was an unusual day and as I stepped over the threshold  I noticed a sink full of dishes and the trail of chaos leading from the kitchen to the living room. Dad had never allowed the dishes to sit in the sink. He had four dishwashers and one of them was going to work if any of the other three were not home or busy. My morning felt emotionally heavy. I had snapped at Dad the night before and I didn't know why. I was not angry with him and had never been angry at Dad. I dug in and began with washing. Lost in the absence of thought, a place of no where, I was returned by a knocking at the kitchen door. Startled, I turned to peek through the yellow curtains. We lived so far off the path, no one ever came over unannounced, especially when my parents were not home.  My stomach sank and a darkness loomed as I opened the door to two men I recognized as friends of my father.

The two friends also worked with Dad. In my mind I insisted they were here for a good cause. Slowly and with their heads slightly bowed, one of the men  asked when my mom would be home. I wasn't sure, but she usually arrived before noon; the men replied it was okay, they would wait for her. I offered them a seat and something to drink and I continued my tasks at a much faster rate. I had to keep my mind and hands busy. Mom sauntered in and the men rose to meet her. All I can remember at that moment is the screaming.and watching her fall to her knees and the men trying to catch her.

There are no other memories until the  viewings and funeral. During the viewings I realized that I had lived the scenes of this surreal experience before. The tears and cries that my father had asked about were the dreams that I could not remember, but now could while standing in the funeral home. I cannot remember anything else of the days following the accident that killed Dad.  The only memories I carry are ofof the night before. I wished that I would have said, "I love you" to Dad instead of snap at him.
It was  on a Wednesday morning, I awoke up and couldn't see. A film  covered my eyes and my eye lashes were stuck closed with the goo. It reminded me of a young baby with a cold. I didn't remember crying in my sleep. I had dreams that I remembered toward morning, but none of them were sad. But, I had cried. I ignored my instincts and curiosity, I did not want to go there. I did not want to remember the nights before Dad was killed.I did not want to remember this was a premonition.

Thursday night I had a vivid dream that was first person, fantasy and yet, real. I opened our back door and o nto the grass to find a large turtle lying on her back. I gingerly picked her up and placed her in the wood. I returned to the steps to find the turtle lying there, again, on her back. I held the edges of her shell and returned her carefully to the edge of the wood and spoke to her and once again, I returned to the steps to find here there on her back.  My mind's eye was now standing behind the room full of the guests inside  who were all dressed in white. I could read their minds, they all could see me and they thought my hands were empty and that I had lost it.They saw me as if I were talking to an empty space between my hands. Immediately, I was behind the the men in the security office watching the surveillance video. The video picked up the turtle on the tape leaving me to wonder about alchemy and magic.

Immediately, my eyes flashed open and I felt  wide awake. I recorded the dream in my journal and slipped downstairs to meditate. I could not clear my heart or my mind. Thinking that I would come back later and try again, I dressed for the day. In my closet, I was pulled to a white tunic that I wear for sacred ceremonies and a wooden necklace with a salamander on the disc; a high school graduation gift that I had never worn. I was not concerned why I felt that I needed to dress in such a way. It felt right. I honored the guides and gently pulled the tunic over my head. I felt a need to gently adjust the necklace over the tunic as if performing a ritual.

It was urgent to use my time wisely and decided to work on one of my continuing education classes when the telephone rang. There were no men at my door and my mother was not here, but the message would be the same  I did not scream nor fall to the floor. I cried bittersweet tears of joy and sorrow. I rejoiced that my sister who in truth was more of a mother to me journeyed Home. The tears of sorrow were for the living.

Now, as I prepare for the funeral, I will prepare to see what I cannot remember of my tearful sleep. It will be easier this time. This time, I had said," I love you."