I M Perfect lady

Tag: reality

  • The Raw and Perfect Truth.

    As I thought about the way we paint people, how we are taught at a very young age to temper our truths, what we see and how we feel, how we not only learn to paint ourselves in false colors, but others as well. 

    We tell little children it is ‘not nice’ to call a fat person fat.

    It is not nice to say that someone who is mean is mean.

    That it is not nice to say grandma made you feel bad.

    We are teaching them, It is not nice to speak your truth…

    And, speaking your truth will make others feel bad.

    Is that right?  How can that be?  How in the world are the child’s words and feelings put aside to protect the mean or fat person?

    And then we wonder why they don’t come and tell us when a mean Uncle so and so did bad things to them.  They have been taught that their feelings don’t matter and that the truth is not kind.

    I am quite certain the fat person knows she/he is fat.

    And perhaps it may be better for us to engage in a conversation about it. 

    When I began speaking my truth, it felt like I was doing something bad.

    Like I had broken the ‘golden’ rule of kindness, that I had turned a corner into the forbidden territory, and all hell would break lose.

    And it did, the pretty painted picture shattered and crumbled.

    I lost friends and family when I spoke out loud and became like a very very stubborn child. I refused to give up what I had seen, how I felt and how the other person’s actions affected me.

    For once in my life, I looked at me in truth and how the world around me felt to me, looked to me…and my coloring people crayons disappeared.

    And the paints I used to tone down what I saw and how I felt…completely dried up. 

    I then discovered an incredible freedom and how easy it was to not have to come up with an excuse for others or worry how my truth would make them feel.

    Byron Katie’s book, “Loving What is” showed me how it was okay and actually a very sacred place to be.

    I was walking with God in reality. 

    I saw what God saw.

    He didn’t paint a sunset over to make it into a bird, nor a tree into a river.  He kept them all in their natural states.  I could then see the perfection in everything. 

    A mean person is mean.

    An unhappy person is unhappy.

    A homeless man has no home.

    A biting dog bites.

    A pedophile abuses children.

    A drunken person drinks.

    A neglectful mother neglects her children. 

    I didn’t try to make any of the above different, it was impossible and not my job.  I retired as the painter to make their lives appear kinder and feel better to me.

    Instead I felt them as they were…I opened myself up to feel all the things I had previously painted, I stripped them down so only their truths shone forth.

    I felt what it feels like to have a pedophile father, a neglectful mother.  I felt it all wash over me removing my own paints of being normal and okay.

    Stripped bare I stood with a family minus the pretty paint.

    Its unvarnished rawness of glaring truths…

    It wasn’t pretty but it was my truth…and I didn’t have the strength or the desire to pick up a brush and cover it up.

    I let it lay there in all its ugly perfect glory… the raw and perfect truth. 

     

     

  • The territory of God, Reality.

    From David Hawkins’s book “Truth vs Falsehood”

    “The limitations of religion have been analyzed by historians from secular viewpoint and by theologians in their criticisms
    as well as by great philosophers over the centuries. The intrinsic problems arise from the canonization of interpretations of spiritual truth that are the consequence of misunderstanding by the spiritual ego of ecclesiastics. Much is lost in translation of teachings that were not written down until centuries after they were spoken.

    “While the above are well-known limitations (as reflected by consciousness calibration), less attention has been paid to the relationship of the follower to the religion itself. The most obvious error is the worship of the religion instead of God (an error not made by the truly enlightened mystic). While religion provides inspiration, spiritual facts, and important information, it is only linear, time-located body of concepts and not the Reality itself. This results in the commonly observed violation of the essential truth of the religion in the name of religion itself. (e.g. Christian and Islamic Crusades, the Inquisition, putting nonbelievers to death, slaughtering innocent in the name of religion, political piracy of religion by theocratic totalitarianism, and rationalization of nonintegrity in “the name of faith,” etc)”

    “In the manner of speaking, religiosity is a subtle form of idolatry that puts the Church as an institution above God. The current slaughter of the innocent in the name of Allah the All Merciful is the glaring example. A more subtle example is the exaggeration of the external trappings and the ethnic peculiarities of the primitive tribal customs that become the focus instead of the core of spiritual truth. Thus, distortions result in oppression and violation of basic religious premises.”

    “The underlying defect in all the above is the downside of the ego itself, which then utilizes religion to its own ends; pride, control, gain, prestige, wealth, adoration, social image, and narcissistic gain. Religion is the means, not the end; it is the map, not the territory; it is the cover, not the book. Thus hyper religiosity itself, which appears as piety, can and does become an error as exhibited by scrupulosity. The great teachers taught the Truth about Divinity, not religion, which came centuries later. While the veneration of religion and scriptures is understandable it is their truth and God that are meant to be worshipped and sought.”
    David Hawkins

    I found reading this very affirmative, in that my experience of religion wasn’t about the relationship with God, but rather the ‘faith’ in the religion.

    I didn’t know God, until I left the religion, for religion had covered Him up, had danced a variable amount of rules and regulations, of fears and judgments that stood between me and Him.

    I love that religion is the cover, not the book…the map and not the territory.

    I have asked others who have left my old religion what they now have, and many will say, they took the faith. I am not sure what that means, Faith in what?

    When I left my old religion, I didn’t take anything from it, for there wasn’t anything tangible to take I had a belief in the map, but not the territory.

    Now I feel that I am walking around in the territory… Of God, Reality.

  • What you see and say.

    I am reading David Hawkins book “Reality, Spirituality and Modern Man” and here is something I found fascinating…

    “The mind automatically assumes that it is continuously aware of reality, and it is unaware that what it considers to be reality, is actually own presumptive inner processing function that has been termed ‘the experiencer’ (Hawkins, 2000-2006).”

    “Thus the data has already been automatically processed and edited via ego mechanisms within 1/10,000th of a second that have thereby added or subtracted value, meaning, and importance as well as emotional tone and shadings of memory and significance. What the ordinary mind presumes to be “truth” is actually a processed composite of thousands of variables of differing degrees with superimposed editing, selection, distortion, and emotionalized, preferential evaluation. This editing is done unconsciously in 1/10,000th of a second and is not eliminated or bypassed until one reaches Enlightenment (cal. 600 and above.)” David Hawkins

    What I am extremely intrigued by is that our minds are already programmed to see that which we see and it is near impossible to interject a new idea especially in an old image.

    Which explains why most folks will not change their minds about fathers/brothers/uncles etc that become abusive. Even if their bodies carry the emotions and fears, their minds will not allow them to change the words from father to pedophile, to change the truth.

    What I am asking is for folks who don’t have this ironclad confused mind leading the charge, for the ones who can see and can speak to do so.

    To speak up against this criminal behavior of child abuse, to step in front of the unseeing eyes and see the truth of what is going on and to alert someone.

    We somehow sit in the position that someone in the family would speak IF something were going on. I am here to tell you it is near impossible for the abused and confused to stop this from the inside.

    The rumor mill on the outside churns and spews forth lots of data, but rarely offers the details up to the Child Protective Services, we don’t want to ‘ruin’ a family.

    Let me tell you a family that is riddled with sexual abuse is diseased and needs to be rescued. It needs the light of day to shine in and to halt the actions of the abuser; it needs you to say something. You are not ruining a loving family, but stopping the abuse from going on to generations upon generations. An abusive family isn’t a loving one.

    You may not awaken all the folks within the family, but perhaps you can save one person, one child…

    What I know to the dept of my soul, if you on the outside treat the pedophile as normal, then we believe we are nuts.

    If you on the outside would reflect what we know, “that something is wrong” then we are set free…we are looking for another view, one that honors the fear and yuck factor we feel.

    When you continue on as if nothing is wrong, as if this man is okay, if you continue to perform ‘normal treatment’ of him, we are left in a sea of abuse.

    We are counting on your clear eyes and words to set us free…

    Some will be awakened and others will be incapable of finding the space before the mind takes over and eliminates your truth, but speak it anyway, for you never know if there is one there that can and will be saved by what you see and say.

  • Who you are.

    ‎“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Maya Angelou

    What are the untold stories, what is it that we are too afraid to speak of, which part of our lives begs to be hidden, and who is asking this of us?

    Where did the term, “airing your dirty laundry” come from and who finds comfort when we tuck away our imperfections, our unsightly wounds, the places where we lost ourselves… the roads that led to nowhere?

    To whose benefit is it that Reality’s clothesline be free of the so-called dirty stuff?

    What do they consider dirty and what is so unsightly for the line?

    Again I can see the two sides of airing, who is letting it out and who is seeing it.

    Which person is the one stopping this and who decides clean from dirty?

    What is dirty laundry, period?

    Is dirty laundry only the things that go against a previous image? Are they things that will not make you ‘look’ better, but rather be cracks and crevices, lumps and bumps?

    Do people actually make it off the planet without a crack?

    Are there perfectly whole and unbroken people out there?

    I would like to see us celebrate the imperfects in the world, where we are applauded for showing our cracks, and for the greatest person to be the one who has the most.

    To be busted a million times and still want to live and reach for another tomorrow, another hope, another breath, to have the faith to go on…shattered.

    Shattered and soiled were the untold stories of me, their truths lay hidden in the basket of dirty laundry, and it was I who had to rescue them and air them out.

    Unfurling their truths and hang them up for the entire world to see… crumpled unsightly and smeared with my bloody childhood wounds, all unraveled and exposed… my history, my storyline.

    Perhaps I would like to challenge Ms. Maya Angelou and say, there is a greater agony, it is having people turn away from you as you tell your untold story.

    To have it fall on deaf ears, to have it challenged, to stand with all your dirty laundry and have them no longer interested in being with you, to be rejected for who you are, to feel their indifference again, hurt much more than the original wound.

    To me the greater agony was not being believed of them not seeing me in all my broken spots…in being rejected for my truth.

    I can understand why people don’t speak of the untold story and bear the agony of its silence, for it is worse to speak of it and hear only silence and feel the wrath of defense against you.

    As I stood defending my clothesline and all my dirty underwear, I found it wasn’t shameful or something to hide, it didn’t weaken me or break me further, in did the opposite.

    It made me stronger and deeper, more complex and introspective, my views broadened and my heart expanded with awareness and my indifferences melted. I learned how to become caring and loving towards myself.

    I had to love and defend the darkest parts of me in order to know what love was.

    I recall reading that the opposite of love isn’t hate, but indifference and I now believe that you become indifferent when you hide parts of you away.

    You become careless with parts of yourself, and slowly you lose who you are.

  • Standing Strong.

    “If you recognize the UNreal with any sincerity in your heart, you need not look for the real.” (Mooji)

    What a simple idea to recognize the unreal…and yet I was born onto parents who were unreal, so my real was unreal and there was no place to find real.

    My parents lived their lives hiding their real and so we lived hiding our real, in fact our religion had the perfect tool we could use to hide real, it was called forgiviness of sins.

    These sins then are no longer part of us, they became unreal and our real is minus all sins.

    The real you has no sins…you have repented and handed them over to Jesus, so you can remain whiter than snow and your sins have been washed away.

    Anything that was dark or off color could be washed away.

    I lived in this washed out world of unreality.

    It was washed so many times, you lost sight of what was real and what was unreal. In fact the real you had to keep forgiving to make it unreal.

    I am not sure you can follow along, but the main theme of my childhood religion was to keep forgiving all that wasn’t right, and in doing so made it right once again.

    In this fluid ever changing landscape nothing real ever stayed real long enough, I lived thoroughly in a moveable reel.

    Incredible the way this works for the deviant.

    In fact I was raised to believe so much in the magical power of forgivenss of sins that no reality was ever too great to forgive, to make right again.

    Most will concentrate on the feelings of forgiveness but not in the actual application of it.

    To apply forgiveness is to wash away an action you have done, it leaves you standing as if it never happened.

    Where does this sin go?
    How does it magically not be part of you anymore?
    Can you literally delete that part of yourself?

    My childhood religion concentrated highly on forgiveness and did have sins as well, but it was the application of applying forgiveness upon the unsightly deeds that created havoc in my world.

    For it allowed all kinds of behaviors that were harmful for a child.

    My incredulousness of this leaves me with no words.

    For I lived 46 years in unreality that they taught me to create.

    My mother’s strengths come from this religion and my father needed this magical wand to return him to being whiter than snow after raping little girls.

    It isn’t the reality of what I endured, but the unreality.

    How insane the ideology of this religion is…how it works incredibly well for the rapist and is extremely unaffective for those of us who have been raped.

    What did it do for me?

    Did it undo my rape or did it make me have to make whiter than snow a rapist, make a pedophile a father?

    There are two sides of all things, and when you see the application of a sin being erased from the sinner, it doesn’t show you how it feels as one who was sinned upon.

    As my father was heaven bound and cleaner than the white driven snow, I was left in hell, dirty and untreated.

    I was left with a father who hurts and who is forgiven by a multitude of Knowing adults.

    Knowing adults who can change a rapist back into a father with a few words, “Your sins are all forgiven in Jesus name and precious blood.”

    And he is once again set upon Heavens path.

    And where am I?

    What magical words can you say to me, to heal me, to make me whiter than snow? Where are your words for me?

    I am speaking for all the ones who have been sinned upon.
    Who are left with the affects of the sin, who go untreated.

    Untreated is to go without the truth being lived out.

    Untreated is to not make real that which is real.

    We are forced to live in unreality when you bless away that which is real.

    Imagine taking away that which is real from a child…

    Making them live in the make belief world.

    My whole childhood was based upon make belief things, creating a wonderful fantasy land.

    It has taken me six years so far to recognize the unreal and it falls away and all that I get left with is the real.

    What I know for sure is that real cannot be blessed away, it remains standings strong.

  • Mold in sight.

    What I didn’t know about writing is that you are supposed to have a plan first, a graph, a map, an idea, an outline, something for the words to fall into, that you don’t just stand there empty handed and catching them as they fall.

    I felt like a neglectful writer, unskilled, untaught and uncaring, yet as I step back and see the overview, I am astonished how hard most writers make it.

    It seems they are trying to predict the unpredictable, like trying to control reality, or planning for an unknown future.

    As I look upon my first 46 years of living, I had structure, I had rules of a religion to follow, and I had to fit into that, foregoing all my instincts and passion.

    My natural spiritual self was whittled down to fit into their mold.

    My mother sculpted this mold, and we had to squeeze ourselves into the walls, making sure we didn’t jut out unbecomingly.

    Our goal was to replicate this mold and make our children to conform to look the same, sound the same, and walk the same, little molds of sameness.

    Kept to the outside were words that didn’t match this mind set, this ideology and beyond their very rigid lines danced wonderful words and ideas in a field of pure potential…forbidden to us congregants.

    We had to disregard all things that didn’t match the mold, and by doing so passed up 99.9% of reality…and lived with .1% of our self.

    This .1% of me is where I began writing from, asking how I had sold so much of myself off and what did I truly believe coming from the base of me.

    From the base of me I ask the question and have no rules as to what comes, or where it takes me, what conclusion we draw, what systems we debunk, there is nothing off limits, there are no walls between me and my words.

    In fact I am tearing down the parts of me that have been crammed into the tight space, and giving life again to the long forgotten parts of me.

    There just simply can’t be a grid to follow, for I have no idea who I am, where I am going or what my purpose is…writing is helping me define who I am.

    I am meeting my words with a blank slate and they are coming from the mold of extreme restriction, so they too are excited not having to guard themselves and their truths.

    We are the clay and the sculptor with no pattern or mold in sight…

  • Meet your Truth.

    Remember playing with magnets as a child, and how they would either click together or be repelled apart?

    I was reminded of magnets as my friend talked about situations we get into in relationships, where we are going along with mutual attraction and then somehow we get flipped around and now are being repelled apart.

    I recalled the magnet’s inner wisdom was much smarter than our strength, no matter what we did; they knew when they matched or when one of them was turned the wrong way, in order to click together they had to be facing the right way.

    And it was fun to feel the push away from these seemingly innate objects, like they had a mind of their own.

    The image of my friend’s hands and how they moved to resemble magnets stayed with me as I looked at my husband and myself and how we seemed at odds, and how we trying to realign ourselves.

    It seemed his truth and my truth didn’t match, and our bodies knew, repelling replaced our old attraction.

    My body has a magnet of its own and the flesh is just a covering on top and beneath my skin is this energy field that knows things my wandering mind misses.

    And my mind has learned that by faking it or pretending to be okay when the body is not, is fruitless for what I seek most is for the body to teach my mind.

    I listen and receive signals of distress or of peace.

    In the past I was the opposite; I turned away from the signals and bull headedly marched on, heedless to the discomfort my body screamed.

    My mind that had been taught what to believe, what was right and what was wrong and it neglected to seek counsel of my body. In fact the body, I was taught, was full of sin and it had the devils magnetic field that would pull us asunder.

    You would go to Hell if you followed your body; Heaven was to be gained by following your mind.

    Your body was your greatest enemy.

    As I write this, I know that my childhood religion was threatened by the wise wisdom of this knowing body.

    Imagine the wonderful creation of God, this highly functioning self-healing living breathing body being the devils property?

    What the religion was teaching was to go against the magnetic pull of my own body.

    With this being my background I as accustomed of turning away from my body, of shunning its desires and passions and neglecting the wise inner gut feelings and focusing instead of following the masses, the church leader and listening to what he and they felt was best for me.

    Stepping away from my body I lived disconnected and out of touch…I worked religiously against my own magnetic pull.

    Imaging going against your own truth!

    It is incredible to me that we all have these wonderful magnets that are infused into all our cells, and they know what is true.

    If you use your body like this big lie detector or treat it like a magnet for truth that it is, your life will be less complicated.

    I watched my daughter and how she appeared physically in our world while she lived a lie. Like a diseased plant she began to fail.

    What I notice about my body is it likes it when I speak the truth, even if the truth sounds bad, it cheers.

    When I was on our local school board and the president of the board lived in another city, but was on our board, it made sense to my body to say, “You have a pretend house in Chassell, so you can be legitimately on our board.” I told him, a man who pretended to live here and who had a fake home in our town were directing me on the board.

    My body felt better being there with the truth hanging out. And I knew better than putting trust or faith in a pretending man.

    So, even if you can’t make moves to get out from beneath the lies don’t lie about your situation; give your body the full report.

    It is not the actual reality that distresses the body, but us telling the body it isn’t really there. It likes to have a well-balanced reality accounting sheet.

    I love that I am aware of my body’s magnet and how its preset to the truth, how I can rely on it subtle and not so subtle readings, how it vibrates at a certain note to gain my attention, letting me know when I am not seeing or being in truth.

    My Universe and this magnet are connected and both dance perfectly in harmony with reality.

    My body thrives best in the reality of truth and I speak reality’s harshest truths with great courage for I now what happens when I don’t. I get repelled away from peace, love and joy.

    My magnet is set uniquely for me and I get anxious and scared when lies pile up and truth seems far away…

    Namaste, means the Spirit in me recognizes the Spirit within you…what I believe maybe more beneficial is my truth wants to meet your truth.

  • Go with the Flow.

    United we stand united we fall, divided we stand divided we fall…are two phrases that ran around in my head as I laid my weary brain down to sleep.

    There has been a humming of difference going on in our home, a vague and nagging two party rule.

    This split difference seemed to be two strong individuals doing what they felt was right for them and it didn’t affect the atmosphere within our home, for our individual expressions were directed to those who did not live with us.

    Sure we had awkward uncomfortable moments, but they would only arrive when say a party was to be attended and we both didn’t go…yet we both could please ourselves.

    Me by staying home, and them by going, two drastically different responses to one event.

    It seemed to be this great wide-open free space of self-expression and allowing, and it was.

    What happens if our differences fall into our own home, where a person in our relationship changes and our responses are different?

    It became crystal clear to me that we were at a cross roads, both individually and as a team.

    The individual harmony of our home is tipping and sliding and churning over the way we both deal with actions that go against our moral code.

    My daughter’s changing actions have set in motion and are displaying our stark contrasts, where we are both sitting in a very tight spot.

    A spot that we both drew comfort in and it allowed us to be ourselves, we may be asked to leave.

    What we are being asked is to stand with that sentiment or to reverse and head in another direction; it truly is a turning point in our relationship.

    If my daughter continues in the direction she seems to be heading in, she will also change the direction our marriage, it will be the trigger that goes off and we will then be asked to change as well.

    She is the key that will turn this all.

    Our response is the echo and the reply and what I know from past behaviors, we answered differently.

    Can we form as a team and come up with an answering response that will honor both of us?

    I see the looming bends in our river, the rapids that will require each of us to hold to our course and see not one boat called family, but three different canoes.

    I see how the current in each of our lives may lead us down separated journeys, how the potential for parting is strong, how our differences become stronger not weaker, how their forces propel and repel.

    Within each of us lies our sense of self, our value and self worth and that alone is the motor that steers our choices, speaks our voices, and their clamoring for individual power drowns out the unity we once had.

    It isn’t the direction that they are heading in, or the rapids beneath them, but rather the integrity within each boat, the honesty and character that directs these boats in their direction.

    It seems that the Universe pulls them toward like-minded boats; our separation isn’t what the heart wants, but rather what our actions lead.

    The freedom that I lovingly gave that had us all happy in our separate boats, is now coming to bear.

    There is a fork in the river now, a change in the stream, a curve that bends their lives from mine… what I can’t know for sure is will they take the curve or change something inside of them.

    It isn’t me, but the river of life and how you change or it changes you.

    At the end of the day, I am a lady of my own character who has no choice but to follow where it leads…reality wins only but 100% of the time, it is futile for me set my canoe against it.

    This is what happened last time, six years ago, where my canoe didn’t go where the rest all went, where the river bent, and my character simply couldn’t go with the flow against the river of reality.

    I see my daughter’s canoe swirling lost in the struggle against the rivers flow, not wanting what is and lying to make it right, twirling in the swirling waters going against life’s truth, trying to make something right out of what is wrong.

    I have seen this branch of the river before, I have watched as many family members’ canoes got stuck in the madness of seeing an illusion and following.

    My shouts fall short and are lost in the waters of time that race by, telling them it is useless to fight what is.

    Now this time, the illusion has my daughter in its grips, the fantasy that is but a mirage above the river, and I can’t seem to break the spell that will plunge her back into seeing what is.

    And I can’t know the strength and conviction she has with this mirage and how far will she follow it and for how long, and if she does, what will my husband do?

    Will his canoe ride with her?

    Will his words to fall short?

    Will she hear us as we shout; will she trust the mirage or her old reality?

    Where will these three canoes go? Which ones will fight reality and who will go with the flow?

  • The Only Place I Can Be.

    I am wondering about the Bug called Worry and how it can bite at anytime, how it can sneak up and take you out of any enjoyment you may be experiencing or perhaps not even let you go to enjoyment, instead you dance and waltz with Worry.

    My brother spoke of a Panic Attack, would this be an attack from the Worry Bug?

    That out of nowhere this bug sneaks in and steals your peace, attacking this moment of time?

    When I found myself right side up in what felt like my upside down world, it was a world that opposed what the bug dreamed up.

    It seemed like there were two worlds, the Mind Bug and Reality.

    This Mind/Worry Bug was relentless, and what I did was to take that bug and slam it with Reality over and over again, showing it what is.

    I literally had to put pen to paper to see what this Damn Bug wanted me to do.

    Mostly it pulled me away from my life and into lives I had no control over, it ripped me away from my peaceful home doing what I loved to do, to go into someone’s life I had no business being in. It painted people in colors that were so off color from what they were actually like and then had me worrying about letting them go.

    Maybe its nickname could also be Meddling or Hell.

    Even today I may take a quick trip with it and see a future fear or horrid life, a sad and lonely existence, but it feels so bad, I yank myself back and hold on to something in my nowadays world.

    If you had to pick this Worry Bug out of a lineup what would it look like, where does it live, how does it operate and who invented this???

    I am sure some religions call this Bug the Devil.

    What I think it is an untrained mind. A mind that is totally out of your control and one that hates reality.

    This bug lives anywhere but in the here and now.

    In the past six years I have been treating this mind like an unruly child, and find that I can oppose many of its thoughts and when it comes in and tromps into a moment of enjoyment, I can listen for a moment, but can make the choice as to what to believe.

    As a woman who lived for many years in the land of pretend, I find great comfort and peace in the land called reality.

    It is here that the Bug has a hard time beating; it usually falls down when faced with what is.

    Byron Katie says, “Reality wins only but 100% of the time!”

    I welcome this bug into my reality, but I usually have a dialogue with it before I head out into the land of unknown.

    When I find myself powerless, stressed and out of sorts, you can be damn sure that the Mind/Worry Bug has led me astray from reality.

    What I do to bring me back is grab on to anything that I can hold onto and be with my breath. For where my breath is the bug can’t be.

    Where am I breathing, who is here now, what is going on, feeling my reality as a blind person uses Braille; I settle back into Now.

    For Now…is the only place I can be.

  • My mind’s point of view.

    Byron Katie says, “There are no mistakes” and I have to agree. We do that which we do with the knowledge and awareness we have at the time, when we know better or believe differently we do better.

    It isn’t a mistake it is a level of understanding.

    I even looked up the word Mistake and here is the definition,

    An error or fault resulting from defective judgment, deficient knowledge, or carelessness. 2. A misconception or misunderstanding.

    Some how we were taught that mistakes were bad, yet in reality it is a case of deficient knowledge and defective jugement.

    We can only act at the level of understanding, it is impossible to be above your level of knowing, it simply can’t happen.

    Byron Katie’s passion is to question stressful thoughts, to go after the thoughts that make us suffer.

    Mostly I think we suffer believing we are supposed to be where we are not, doing things we didn’t know how to do.

    We are where we are.

    We know what we know.

    And we can’t know what we don’t know.

    And once we know we can’t not know.

    It seems that life is all about being here and agreeing with what you know now, accepting yourself in this moment fully.

    Looking backwards you can see with your new found wisdom the places you missed the mark, but due to your level of understanding in that moment, it makes perfect sense, so no mistake, just the lack of knowing.

    On that dreadful day when I woke up to the fact that all I knew was not all there was to know, I found that I knew much less than there was to know.

    My greatest strength was being able to let go of all I knew to begin to learn about the things I didn’t.

    I simply sat down in the fact that I lived a life at the tip of the iceberg and it was to my own benefit to get to know me. Imagine living as me but knowing me.
    An incredible frightful place to find yourself living as someone you don’t know.

    My first step was to admit to myself I didn’t know me, know where I came from who the people I called family were, I began looking at my life as a stranger would.

    I began from the stance of I know nothing.

    And by doing so was able to be open to everything.

    I had lost confidence in all I knew and had no pre-sets or standards to adhere to, I was standing naked in an open space willing to see reality without my minds concepts.

    Mindless I stood.

    The landscape I then discovered didn’t match my old mind at all.

    We then danced this dance between reality and my old mind, like a game of old maid, trying to see what matched and what did not.

    In the end my mind lost only but 100% of the time.

    As Byron Katie says, reality is God and God is reality.

    I guess we could say the only mistake is believing an unchallenged mind.

    For I challenged my mind against reality, nothing was too sacred for the test, no family member, no title, no past cute deeds, all I dragged into the game of matching mind to reality.

    My mind was so far off the mark, that I began to understand that I fell into reality with a broken mind.

    Or you could say I went out of my mind on that day when I discovered a pedophile instead of a dad.

    And I did.

    My mind had a story that didn’t match reality, a story that I held sacred was an illusion, it couldn’t walk in reality.

    All my love, my life and my way was poured into an illusion that wasn’t even true.

    At 46 I awoke in the middle of a nightmare, in a play where I was the star but it was based upon lies, lies that I called truth. My fantasy world crumbled and a nightmare slid in place.

    Harsh reality boldly took over where my pretend mind stood.

    Yet this reality was actually kind to me, it affirmed my path, it resonated with my body, and it set me free from the mental mind.

    If your mind is not clear and you can’t see reality, you are then living in a foreign land, once removed from reality.

    You can live there for a lifetime and not touch reality.

    I know this seems insane and it is, to be in reality and not know it.

    I lived for 46 years in a mind that was blind to what is.

    Doing things that no one in their right mind would do.
    Saying and believing things that only an insane person would do.

    Yet there are no mistakes in my past.

    My past life was lived from my mind’s point of view.