You know when you are not flowing

You know when you are not flowing. You can feel blockages happening everywhere, even as you struggle against the things of the world that prevent the flow from being freed again.

You know those days when you desperately need some kind of outside validation for who you are, and you can see clearly that you are not going to get it. Nobody out there is going to affirm the kind of person you see yourself to be in here.

Those are the days when you absolutely must have faith. Whatever you have left when you remove all of the delusion, illusions, fantasies, nothings of this life, and then remove the very ground that you stand on–whatever you have left, that’s faith. If you have nothing at all but the Void, and you thrash about and grab and cling to whomever is nearest to you, then you may not have the gift of faith at all, though I am hardly the one to be the judge of whether you actually have faith or not.

I will just speak for myself–I always have faith after everything disappears. Is it enough to give me the confidence I need to carry through with these things that I set out to do? Most days, no, it doesn’t feel like it is enough at all. But, it could be that there is an abundance of it, and I just don’t stick around long enough to find out. I, too, go back to thrashing and grabbing and clinging once I’m assured of still having the least little bit of faith.

I certainly could use a lot more faith. Nobody, I mean nobody, out there is validating my decisions–nor is that really their job. Maybe when I was in my teens and early twenties it would have been helpful to find an advocate and mentor outside of the home who could have helped me sort out whether or not this or that choice was the right choice. But, in my forties, I am expected to be wholly responsible for all of the affirmation and validation of my decisions–or, to muster up from within whatever faith and help from God I need to make it happen.

I can’t expect my poor wife to do it for me. Lord knows that I’ve leaned on her enough, probably too much–even too much before we were married. I can’t ask my old, distant dad to go back to being the kind of dad he was when I was eighteen and rebellious, only now I would be more respectful and listen to him. He isn’t interested in playing that role. And, my old dog and my two-year old son would love to help me, but they are hardly equipped to offer sage advice–though there is something to be said occasionally about wisdom from the mouths of babes.

I have to return to flowing and being, and being content in the mold in which I am cast. I tend to overextend myself, because I get caught up in believing that I am blessed with more talents than I really am, or that I am the Prodigal Son returned, and that my Father will hand off to me another fortune to do with as I please. I am not the smartest cookie, nor am I the most ambitious or clever or cunning. I can’t continue to pretend that I can play cards I don’t hold in my hand.

However, I know I still have much to contribute, and that I have to keep pushing something out there of myself until the day that I die.

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