Certain things in my life feel inevitable. What’s going on with my diet right now feels like one of them. Some of you know I have a long list of food allergies that keeps getting longer. The frustrating part for me is if I eat something frequently enough, I become allergic to it.

The other week I noticed when I eat figs, now my mouth burns. Never mind that I’ve eaten figs for YEARS without any problem. Suddenly, they’re a problem. If you know anything about health, you might be saying, “It’s sound like you have leaky gut.” You would be correct. However, following the leaky gut diet (i.e., no gluten, cutting out carbs, low sugar, etc.) hasn’t made a lick of difference and in fact I’m only getting worse.

Yeah, not eating any of this right now. Photo by Waranya Mooldee on Unsplash

I called my doctor in frustration and she recommended the Elemental Diet. The Elemental Diet is food broken down into its most elemental form. It’s a powdered meal replacement. It’s something physicians give to patients with Crohn’s disease and to recovering anorexics, among others. The recommended procedure is to eat only the powder mixed with water for two to three weeks to give the digestive system a break. That means no solid food. I cried when my doctor suggested the regimen and also freaked out, worrying that I’d feel hungry. It’s only been a couple of days, but surprisingly, I feel good. My body doesn’t hurt after eating. The powder is filling. My mood has improved. Will I do this for three weeks? I don’t know — it’s one meal at a time for me right now.

What’s interesting is in my yoga and meditation group we’re supposed to fast 11 days after the full and new moon. Concessions are made for people who don’t have good health, but if someone can fast, they are encouraged to do so. And fasting runs the gamut from consuming absolutely nothing, including no water, to merely abstaining from rice and fried foods. The reason fasting is encouraged is it gives the body a break and also the time spent eating, cleaning, and prepping can be used for spiritual pursuits. I’m finding the same is true for me. Thus far, I’m meditating more and feeling closer to my higher power.

The reason why this whole thing feels inevitable is I’m finally engaging in a practice that is a big part of my spiritual tradition. My life is oriented around spirituality, around moving closer to something bigger than myself, and fasting is allowing me to do that. It feels like I would always end up here. That I would always see the benefit of fasting for my body, mind, and spirit. Because as I’ve seen with other practices, like yoga, eventually something happens to get me to come around. I’m not sure I’m doing a great job explaining myself, but that’s OK. For me and for everyone there are certain things in our lives that feel inevitable, and that’s what I’m speaking to.

I dream of a world where we accept the inescapability of certain things. A world where we recognize we were always going to end up someplace or doing something specific. That there are some things we can’t fight and instead we give in to them. A world where we feel at peace with the inevitable.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

A close friend of mine used an analogy the other day that’s stuck with me. She said her higher power has closed a door in her life and hasn’t opened another one yet. So for now she’s stuck in the hallway, waiting for another door to open. Yesssssss. That’s so my life right now. I’m in limbo, in the hallway, waiting for something new, for a door to open, but it hasn’t yet and it’s uncomfortable.

I hate this phase. I think most people do. And at the same time I recognize this is a part of life — it’s filled with speed and then pause. Even when breathing we inhale, pause slightly, and then exhale with another slight pause. When we walk, we put one foot on the ground or we can’t move forward. The left foot makes the next step only if the right foot prepares by being placed on the ground.

I live here now. Metaphorically speaking. Photo by Runnyrem on Unsplash.

My spiritual teacher says, “This is crucial for successful movement. Thus if we wish to say something about speed, or the characteristics of movement, we will have to acknowledge the necessity of the state of pause otherwise it will not be possible to move into the next stage. …  This speed and pause will continue. Pause means gathering momentum for speed in the subsequent phase. If one closely watches the effect of speed on a particular community or the entire humanity, one sees that generally people eulogize the period of speed. However, we cannot afford to ignore the state of pause, because by judging what the previous state of pause was like, we can discern the speed of the next phase.”

A couple of things jump out at me from that quote. First of all, the pause is temporary. It feels like I’m going to be stuck in this hallway forever but I won’t be. Worse comes to worst I’ll get a job at an ice cream parlor or a grocery store or something. Things will change, they absolutely will, even if a part of me doesn’t believe that. I’m reminded just because I may not believe something doesn’t make it any less true. For instance, some people still believe the Earth is flat, but regardless, the Earth is round.

The other point that jumps out at me from the quote is the last bit, about how the state of pause can help discern the speed of the next phase. What I’m taking that to mean is my life is going to go off like a rocket. All of this momentum, this angst, is going to catapult me into the next phase and my life will move at warp speed. I cannot express how much I’m looking forward to it. And at the same time, I’m recognizing the necessity for this state of pause, this place where I’m spinning my wheels, revving my engine, and getting ready to zoom ahead. Pretty soon a door will open and I’m going to bolt through it. But for now I’m here, in the hallway.

I dream of a world where we recognize the importance of limbo periods. A world where we understand in order to move ahead we also have to pause, to gather momentum. A world where we recognize even when it seems like we’re standing still it’s all in service of what’s next.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

Belonging is on my mind a lot these days. I think in part it’s because I’m still unemployed. I interview somewhere and they assess whether I’m a good fit for them and I assess whether they’re a good fit for me. Thus far nowhere has been a match. It’s tough to be rejected so many times, especially when the stakes are so high. The way our society is set up you have to have money to survive. I realize there are workarounds with bartering and such, but my electric company isn’t keen on receiving an astrology reading in lieu of payment for my electric bill. So. Gotta have that green.

You know how some people talk about eating rejection for breakfast? Or how some authors kept all their rejections from publishing houses as an “I’ll show them” gesture? Yeah, I’m not one of those people. Each rejection stings and with each rejection I take it as a personal affront there’s something wrong with me. “What did I say wrong during the interview? What was bad about my résumé or writing sample?” Everything becomes about me and a reflection of how I’m terrible.

An apropos sign. Photo by Amer Mughawish on Unsplash.

This shame-based place culminates in feeling like an outsider because if I’m wrong then someone else is right. There must be a “correct” way to do things, right? Except what keeps knocking around in my head is my post from last week — how the universe comes to know itself through me. If that’s true, can I truly be wrong or right? Can I really be an outsider?

While watching a youtube video of Charles Eisenstein talking about the burning of the Amazon, he said there’s a larger intelligence that knows where to put you in its healing. As soon as he said that, my eyes welled up because it reminded me my life is so much bigger than me. Maybe I’m right where I am meant to be, even if that’s jobless. And also my placement at a company is not only about my skills and talents, it’s also about where I’ll be of the most use, the most service, the most healing.

Where I fit, where I belong, is not only where I want to be, what I want to do, it’s also about the universe or my higher power. Where does higher power think I should be? Where does the universe think I’ll be of most use in coming to know itself and also for its healing? I belong where I am. If I’m here, now, that’s where I’m meant to be. It’s a hard pill to swallow because sometimes the present moment is painful but that doesn’t mean something is out of sync. After all, just think of childbirth.

I wish I could say after writing this post I suddenly feel completely at home and at ease in my self, my body, my life, but I don’t. What I can say though is I feel marginally better that’s good enough for me.

I dream of a world where we realize we’re exactly who we’re supposed to be and exactly where we’re meant to be. A world where we realize the universe puts us where we’ll best aid in its healing and that means even if it doesn’t feel like it, we still belong.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

A friend of mine shared a quote recently that keeps kicking around in my brain. In the book Journey of the Universe, Brian Swimme and Mary Evelyn Pope write:

“[J]ust as the Milky Way is the universe in the form of a galaxy, and an orchid is the universe in the form of a flower, we are the universe in the form of a human. And every time we are drawn to look up into the night sky and reflect on the awesome beauty of the universe, we are actually the universe reflecting on itself. And this changes everything.”

We are the universe reflecting on itself. We think we are separate, apart, autonomous beings — and we are — but at the same time, we are also the universe. We are the universe in the form of a human. I wrote about that a while ago, the notion that we’re all stardust, but my friend takes that concept a bit further. In essence, the tenet of our spiritual practice is that the universe is coming to know itself through us.

I like this picture because it’s cosmic and it shows an unfolding process. Photo by Mark Tegethoff on Unsplash

I’m not sure how to expound on that concept. It’s not easily explained and instead is more of a feeling or worldview. It’s the recognition I am me — a woman, a writer, etc. — but I am also more than me. There’s a “me” here that will live on after my death. Because I believe in reincarnation that means “I” was once a single-cell organism, then moved up the evolutionary chain to become a plant, then an animal, then a human. As a human, I have made a conscious choice to know the divine, but because I’m already made up of the universe, made up of stardust, that’s another way the universe is coming to know itself through me. I am a conduit, a channel, a vessel for the universe to express itself. We are all of us the universe but we’re wearing different costumes.

I hear frequently that “the world needs the special gift that only you have,” or that we all have our own unique genius. Usually I roll my eyes because it sounds like a trite throwaway, but when I think about the universe knowing itself through me, it takes my ego out of the equation. I’m not sure that makes a lot of sense but in essence I become aware of something bigger than me. My life becomes about more than what I want, what I don’t want, what I have, what I don’t have. My life becomes a spiritual endeavor where I’m dancing and playing with the universe as a co-conspirator. And eventually that play will lead me back to the source of all creation. In the meantime, the life I’m living is like a rose in bloom. Each petal, each experience unfolds and contributes to the rose in its entirety.

I dream of a world where we realize there’s more to us than we’re aware. A world where we recognize the universe knows itself through us. That as much as we think we’re interacting with the world, it’s also that the world is interacting with us. A world where we recognize with each experience we continue to unfold.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

I’ve woken up most mornings this week with swollen eyelids. On Friday I received two job rejections. My unemployment money runs out in a couple of months. I mention all this to set the scene — I’m not feeling all that peaceful, and in fact “anxious” is a better description. Maybe even a little panicked. How is this all going to work out?

When I called a friend and gave him the lowdown, he told me a story about a spiritual master who got caught in a rope while pulling water up from a well. The master stayed stuck for hours until a disciple came by and freed him. The disciple said, “You seemed so relaxed. Were you in pain?” The master replied, “I was in pain, it hurt a lot, but I also felt at peace.”

This picture will make more sense once you keep reading. Photo by Providence Doucet on Unsplash

I spent 20 minutes googling that story and can’t find it so my telling of it is not very adept. What stuck with me though is the moral of the story: that I can still feel at peace in the pain and in the struggle. What does that even mean? I’m not sure but I think it comes down to acceptance, which leads me to a quote I found while searching for the rope story.

Sufi teacher Hazrat Inayat Khan said, “Tagore says: ‘When the string of the violin was being tuned it felt the pain of being stretched, but once it was tuned then it knew why it was stretched.’ So it is with the human soul. While the soul goes through pain, torture, and trouble it thinks it would have been much better if it had gone through life without it. But once it reaches the culmination of it, then, when it looks back, it begins to realize why all this was meant: it was only meant to tune the soul to a certain pitch.”

Before I interviewed for the jobs that ultimately rejected me, I felt peace because I said to myself, “If I’m not employed yet it’s because I’m not meant to be. There’s more learning or healing or something I need to go through that wouldn’t be possible with a job.” When I say that even now I feel better. I don’t know why I’m struggling so much right now. I don’t know why things aren’t looking the way I want them to, but what I do know is one day I’ll look back and understand everything. I’ll see how my soul was being tuned to a certain pitch, but in the meantime, I’m still being stretched.

I dream of a world where we understand even pain has a purpose. A world where we sit with our pain, finding peace where we can. A world where we recognize when we’re going through hardship it may be because our soul is tuning to a certain pitch.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

This weekend held a wide range of emotions from the high to the low. On Saturday I went to a bachelorette party for one of my closest friends. We lounged by the pool, chatted, and generally celebrated her impending marriage. It was a joy to spend time with her and other close friends of hers for the sole purpose of having fun. But I had another event this weekend and it was not a bachelorette party.

A family friend of mine passed away a couple of weeks ago and it’s sent shockwaves through my community. I say that because no one could have guessed he would have passed away. He was one of the most healthy, vibrant people I knew. When I think of him, I see him with a huge smile on his face, beaming out joy to the world. He was the same age as my parents so his death has me confronting their mortality as well. Layered on top of that, I grew up with his daughters so his death hits me in another way that’s hard to express. Sunday was his memorial service and I cried through most of the ceremony.

black heart

Seemed appropriate. Photo by Bryan Garces on Unsplash

But here’s the interesting part: joy and sorrow get to coexist within me, within us. Even during the memorial service we could hear his grandchildren laughing and playing in the background. It reminded me both emotions can be present. That joy and sorrow can be like the yin yang symbol with a little bit of white in the black and a little bit of black in the white. In my experience life is like that. Attending a wedding can bring up grief about being single. A funeral can bring not joy, but appreciation at reconnecting with friends, even if the circumstances are sad. This weekend was a study in that for me — pairing joy with sorrow.

Two years ago I wrote a poem about a similar experience following the death of a coworker called “Big Enough for Both:”

Big enough for both
Grief and celebration
A funeral and a wedding
Loss and gain
Hurting and healing
All at once

That’s what life is like for me right now, maybe for all of us. It’s heartbreaking and heart-gladdening. It’s happy and sad. It’s frustrating and peaceful. It’s everything all at once. I want to parse things out and say, “Now is a happy time and now is a sad time,” but my life isn’t like that. It’s messy and chaotic and unpredictable. As I contemplate how to end this post, I can see my friend with a big smile on his face saying, “Don’t worry, it’s fine,” as in, I don’t have to make sense of it all, I don’t have to try to change life or circumstances. I can be here, in the moment, accepting everything.

I dream of a world where we understand life is messy, chaotic, and unpredictable — not only in terms of circumstances but also in emotions. A world where we realize the yin yang is an excellent portrayal of our experiences. A world where we understand that oftentimes joy is paired with sorrow and vice versa.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

This weekend I surprised myself. I did things I’d consider out of character — things other people do, but not me. I flew up to Ashland, Ore., for a quick up and back trip and started chatting with the woman next to me on my flight. During the course of the conversation I told her I didn’t have a car and wasn’t sure how I was getting to and fro. She said, “Well, let me give you my number and if you need a ride while you’re out there, give me a call.” I said, “Actually, what I really need is a ride from the airport to my hostel.”

She told me her parents were picking her up but she was sure they wouldn’t mind dropping me off. “Really?” and she replied in the affirmative. So I got into the car with a stranger that I didn’t pay to transport me. In my world you don’t do that sort of thing because it’s dangerous. Even getting into a lyft or a taxi provokes anxiety within me so trusting a total stranger is antithetical to my normal behavior. My whole weekend was like that. I made conversations with strangers. I stayed in a hostel and socialized in the evenings. Even staying in a hostel is unusual for me.

I looked for “character” and this is what I found. I like it. Photo by Антон Воробьев on Unsplash

Normally I stay in hotels or airbnbs because I enjoy my personal space. I’m highly particular and want to control as many variables as I can. However, due to financial limitations, and also the desire to stay close to town, I slept at a hostel. I’ve heard stories of people making friends with strangers or the magic of connection during travel experiences, but my magical experiences tend to involve thinking I missed my train but the train was running late. I barely ask strangers for directions much less make conversation with them.

It may seem like a small thing, but for me it’s indicative I’m trusting myself and the universe more. I’m starting to view the world as safe and friendly as opposed to scary and antagonistic. It’s for many reasons — the chiropractor I’m seeing, the work I continue to do in therapy — but what stands out to me is the way we experience the world and ourselves can change. How the world appears to us is not stagnant or stale. It’s dynamic and vibrant and we are the same. The title of this post is “out of character” but it’s just as true there are many facets to my personality and perhaps this Rebekah is someone I hadn’t met yet, but she’s been here all along.

My spiritual teacher speaks to this through his words and actions. His first initiate was a dangerous criminal who tried to rob him. That criminal completely turned his life around and became ethical, sincere, and devotional. No one would have predicted that person existed inside that criminal, but he did. And the same is true for all of us. There are internal people we know and internal people we don’t know, but it’s all us. And maybe “out of character” is like the people I met this weekend — strangers that become friends.

I dream of a world where we recognize there is more to us than we think. A world where we understand acting out of character just means a part of us is unfamiliar and unknown. A world where we realize we all have many parts and facets to our personality and perhaps it’s time to say hello.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

The word to describe how I feel right now is “churned.” I feel a swirl of emotions both due to my personal life and what’s taking place in society. I’m angry and sad and scared. I have compassion fatigue. I feel overwhelmed. I want to retreat to a hidey-hole. I want to punch certain people in the face. Did I mention I’m feeling churned right now?

I think a lot of people are feeling churned. The purpose of this post is to say first and foremost, you’re not alone. Second of all, I’m thinking about the reason behind churning. One of the definitions of churning relates to butter, as in milk or cream is stirred in order to separate the oily globules from the other to make butter. The churn creates something new.

Maybe this churn, this agitation, will create something new personally as well as in the world. I think about another time in my life when I felt churned. One such period was at 15; I went to Camp Anytown, which is a camp sponsored by the National Conference for Community and Justice that works to break down prejudice and promote diversity. Before attending the camp, I didn’t think of myself as a racist or prejudiced person. I was nice to everybody. How could I be racist and prejudiced? Well, I was and am. As many people have said, racism is embedded in our environment. It’s the air we breathe; it’s baked into the systems we operate. Our country was literally built on the back of racism. Of course that trickles out to other -isms too. They usually go hand in hand.


Really wish I could find a picture of churning butter, but a food processor pic will have to do! Photo by Irene Kredenets on Unsplash

The only way to root out those -isms is to confront them. To bring them in our face. To get churned up so they transform into something else. That’s precisely what happened at Camp Anytown. We shared our snap judgments of different races. We talked about media portrayals. We held panel discussions about our own experiences. And we changed.

I wonder if that’s happening for us right now. If we as a society are transforming into something new and this is part of the process. We’re in the painful part where the oily globules are separated from the other. We’re in the unsettled part where things are strange and disorienting because we can never go back to how it was before. The U.S. will literally never be the same after Trump’s presidency, for better or for worse. People may try to go back to the status quo, but it will be impossible after so much has been revealed.

That’s the role of struggle, according to my spiritual teacher. He said, “Just as all-round physical exercise makes the body fit, similarly appropriate psychic and spiritual exercise … leads to one’s psychic evolution and spiritual elevation. If one is keen to advance, if one wants to attain expansion as well as bliss in life, one must continue to struggle.”

I’m there. I’m struggling. We all are. And maybe it’s a sign of our evolution and elevation. How we’re all going to be better for it.

I dream of a world where we recognize struggle can lead to something better. Where churning means we’re in the middle of growing into something new. A world where we have patience with the process of transformation. A world where we understand churning leads to change.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

Womb Time

A note about the audio this week: I ran out of space on Soundcloud and haven’t transferred over to a new location yet. The audio has been recorded but not posted on the new platform. Stay tuned.

This week as I thought about my job search, the image and metaphor that came to mind is being in the womb. A fetus needs time to develop, to grow, to gather strength for the outside world. And if the fetus enters the outside world before that process has completed, well, we all know what happens.

What’s funny about me is I came into the world impatient. I was born three weeks premature — so early I didn’t have fingerprints. Normally that’s a little anecdote I drop when I’m talking to pregnant people, conversing about their baby’s due date. This week though, it sunk in how much my entire life I tend to replicate my birth story. I want to rush the process, I want to do things NOW. Don’t make me wait in the dark, the unknown. Let’s get this show on the road!

Sometimes we need to be “in the womb.” Photo by Alicia Petresc on Unsplash

As I’ve continued to feel gratitude for unemployment, noticing what I’m capable of engaging with due to not working a regular job, I’ve felt safer, calmer. I’ve felt myself floating in the universal womb. I’ve said to friends and family, “Maybe it’s not a matter of the right job so much as the right time.” What I mean is the job is less important than the timing of it all. Maybe the universe wants me to sleep in a little longer, or focus on my health more, or finish up my book before I start working again.

Instead of feeling panicked, which yes, still happens sometimes, I’m imagining myself in the womb, understanding during this period I’m developing, growing, gathering strength for my next adventure.

My spiritual teacher says that “whatever happens in this universe of ours is nothing but an expression of Cosmic desire or Cosmic will … when a human desire and His desire coincide, then only does the human desire become fruitful, otherwise it is a sure failure.”

When I started asking myself, “What does my higher power want of me right now? Why is it that I’m still unemployed from a Cosmic perspective?” I felt better. I left the shame-based, “There’s something wrong with me or my résumé” place. I stopped beating myself up and instead realized maybe my higher power doesn’t want me to be employed yet. And this week especially, maybe my higher power doesn’t want me to be employed yet because I’m like a fetus in the womb, not ready to be in the world. But that doesn’t mean it’s not coming, because it will. Eventually all babies leave the womb, and that means me too.

I dream of a world where we understand if something isn’t happening, perhaps it’s not time for it to happen. A world where we realize even though we’re out in the world doesn’t mean we don’t continue to have periods of going back to a metaphorical womb. A world where we understand the grace and importance of womb time.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

Every holiday I think about the one from the year prior. What was I doing? Who was I with? This July 4th was no different. In addition to reminiscing about last year, I also took stock of my life. I was reminded how much I’ve changed, how much my life has changed, and how some of my relationships have changed. There are certain people who are no longer in my life; not because they died (although there are a few of those), but rather because we grew apart. We have become alien to each other and don’t own starships to bring us together.

I cried over the loss of those relationships and all the while a little voice in my head whispered about making space for something new. I have a tendency to cling on to things far past the point of being healthy. Alexander Graham Bell has me pegged with his quote, “When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”

It’s important to leave space for something new. Photo by Dylan de Jonge on Unsplash

This week I’m looking at the open door. In terms of relationships, that means I’m noticing the new ones in my life from the past year. Or the old ones that are new again; in other words, relationships where I reconnected with someone from my past. By clearing out the old relationships, by letting them go, I’m making space for the new ones. I have the capacity to nourish what’s here because I’m not caught up in knocking on a closed door.

We have that saying nature abhors a vacuum. I abhor vacuums too, but not the ones that clean the carpet. Those I love. I abhor the life vacuums but there’s wisdom in acknowledging their importance. Of seeing the beauty in empty space because empty space doesn’t last. Soon it will be filled with something. Maybe saying goodbye to old relationships opens me up to better ones. It doesn’t mean the love died because for me anyway it hasn’t. It just means I’m no longer investing time and energy in cultivating the relationships that no longer serve me.

I’d love to throw in a spiritual quote here or make this post more profound but it’s not. The practice is a simple one that we all must learn. In order to make space for something new, we have to get rid of the old, whether that’s an object or a belief.

I dream of a world where we understand it’s important to grieve the loss of closed doors but also turn our attention to doors that are open. A world where we clear away what no longer serves us. A world where we realize nature abhors a vacuum and thus ultimately we are making space for something new.

Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.

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