HOME

 How will we move through what may be the most polarizing time of recorded human history?

Two of the biggest barriers to unification seem to be a refusal to examine our beliefs, and our inability to see how our emotions can be exquisitely manipulated to give a response. The need to be right seems to outweigh the possibility that there is more than one truth, or that another person’s truth cannot possible be true if it conflicts with our truth. We must understand that we are all Spirit, Creator, God, Source - whatever you call the divine spark within - and we are all simply aspects of that one thing. God, or Source, is telling stories, and each of us is a story. Creator isn’t interested in right and wrong stories. Creator is interested in experience. Imagine at your death you arrive in the most beautiful space imaginable. Maybe for you it’s a crystal cave, shimmering with auroras of every color. Maybe it’s an opulent palace. Maybe it’s a meadow, or a planet with a purple sun.  Wherever it is, you are met by your soul tribe, laughing and crying as they hug you and pull you into their embrace. “Tell us!” they shout. “What did you do? What opened your heart?  What made you afraid?  Tell us how your story went!  We want to hear the juicy emotional experiences!” And so you share with these other aspects of God, or Source or the One or yourself,  the story of YOUR time here on earth. What stories are you most proud of? What stories make you cringe? How well did you live in integrity? Where did you trip up, make mistakes, lose your way? How did you find your path? What brought you back to love, over and over again?

Can you see how if we are all one, and we all get to have our own unique experience, there is no right or wrong? There is only story.  How boring would it be if we came home to Source and all had the same story to tell?  

There is no such thing as one reality, there is a reality for every living thing on this planet, and we weave in and out of each other’s realities, but no story is any better than another. And this, THIS is what I believe is the hardest for people to swallow. We appear to be unable to allow others to have a story that conflicts with our own. This then insures that all of our creative energy goes into trying to be right. What a waste!

So here we are. On the cusp of extinction or evolution. What will it be? If we can’t find a path forward that honors each person’s story, Nature will calmly wipe us out and allow the next species to have a go.

This is our time to grow up. As a species, we are quite childish in our beliefs, our desires and our emotions. While fiercely defending  childish beliefs, we have lost our childish imagination - the part of us that could believe the most outrageous ideas, the part that is clever, innovative, resourceful - we may still have those qualities, but they have been channeled into a reality that is getting smaller and meaner and crueler. Do you really believe your whole existence here on Earth was to work at a job your entire life, then retire and maybe have a few years to travel?  To wear designer clothes and get a new car every 4 years? To compete with others over whose story is better? What is your soul saying?

I am you and you are me. So when we talk, I am not interested in where we disagree. I am not interested in who is right or wrong. What I am interested in, is tell me the juicy parts of your life that I have not experienced. Tell me about the grief you have carried for years, tell me your regrets. Tell me the adventures you have taken, even if they are in your imagination. Tell me so that I can experience what another part of me is doing in the multiverse. Tell me what you are proud of, what you are ashamed of, what gets you up in the morning. Tell me of your random acts of kindness. Share the magic you have hidden deep inside, and allow me to marvel at the ways in which we are different, and the ways we are the same, and how we express the same ideas in such different ways. Show me your art - whether is is painting, sculpting, decorating, gardening, organizing fun events - we all have art bursting forth.  (If you’re having a challenge expressing your art, check out Jane Evershed’s new book SPLAT!)

I have been teaching the art of using emotion to guide us through conflicting stories for 20 years. This is the critical moment of using those skills. We need to absolutely trust our heart to guide us through these turbulent times, to know what is true for us at any given moment and take action to move along our own soul path. We need to grieve at the loss of many who will not be traveling with us. We need to empty ourselves of all expectation except for the idea that we are on the cusp of something that has the potential to enslave our souls,  or else catapult us into a future more beautiful than we can imagine.

And that’s why ALL of our stories are necessary.  We each carry some magnificent vision of what life COULD be. If we could bring all those pieces together, what a world we could create. But that requires that we talk to each other. We all know divide and conquer is the tried and true method of enslavement. Will we be strong enough and smart enough to recognize that dynamic today, and refuse to be manipulated? Will we seek out those who think differently from us so we might acquire new perspectives? Can we meet and talk to each other without the need to be right, but simply to ask, “Tell me one thing that would make the future delicious to you.” Each “one thing” when collected together, at some point shows us a world that collectively, we could be excited to commit to.

And because we are at a singularity, and all possible worlds are overlapping right here, we can trust that each person is going to go forward into the world BEST FOR THEM.  We don’t have to try to create a world for everyone; only for ourselves. Then how delightful  to discover who will be in this new world with us!! Some old faces, many new faces, but all of us in a soul tribe that reflects our commitment to that world.

I spent most of 2020 grieving. Grief, as you  may remember, opens space for something new while letting go of that which no longer serves. That allowed 2021 to be, for me,  a year of emptiness and quiet anticipation. Slowly my soul tribe is gathering. Magic, excitement and anticipation accompanies all our gatherings. We spend much more time alone than before, and that makes the get-togethers more delicious. We challenge each other, ask hard questions and listen closely to the answers, and put energy into the vision we are choosing for our future.

I hope you see the times we are in as a magical moment of potential.  We have a unique opportunity to partner with Nature and transform the 6th great extinction into an evolutionary event, as full co-creators.

Happy Solstice!

Blessings!

Cat

I leave you with a poem about Grief.  

GRIEF

by Matthew Dickman  2008

When grief comes to you as a purple gorilla

you must count yourself lucky.

You must offer her what’s left

of your dinner, the book you were trying to finish

you must put aside,

and make her a place to sit at the foot of your bed,

her eyes moving from the clock

to the television and back again.

I am not afraid. She has been here before

and now I can recognize her gait

as she approaches the house.

Some nights, when I know she’s coming,

I unlock the door, lie down on my back,

and count her steps

from the street to the porch.

Tonight she brings a pencil and a ream of paper,

tells me to write down

everyone I have ever known,

and we separate them between the living and the dead

so she can pick each name at random.

I play her favorite Willie Nelson album

because she misses Texas

but I don’t ask why.

She hums a little,

the way my brother does when he gardens.

We sit for an hour

while she tells me how unreasonable I’ve been,

crying in the checkout line,

refusing to eat, refusing to shower,

all the smoking and all the drinking.

Eventually she puts one of her heavy

purple arms around me, leans

her head against mine,

and all of a sudden things are feeling romantic.

So I tell her,

things are feeling romantic.

She pulls another name, this time

from the dead,

and turns to me in that way that parents do

so you feel embarrassed or ashamed of something.

Romantic? she says,

reading the name out loud, slowly,

so I am aware of each syllable, each vowel

wrapping around the bones like new muscle,

the sound of that person’s body

and how reckless it is,

how careless that his name is in one pile and not the other.