For now, however, let’s jump ahead (a few centuries) and take a look at the idea of Christianity.

Christianity grew out of Jewish belief, and was founded not entirely or necessarily on the principles that Jesus stood for; love, acceptance, the need to repent and prepare for the kingdom of God.  Rather, Jesus’ crucifixion, his resurrection and subsequent ascension to heaven, were key factors in the creation of Christianity.  Who he was (versus what he stood for) was more important and necessary to fulfill prophecy of the coming of the  Messiah.

So who the heck was Jesus anyway?  Does his portrayal as human and then later as both human and divine go back to the days he traversed the dusty paths and temple halls?   Why did certain teachings about the energetic prophet emerge as normative?  Let’s assume for the moment that the Gospels are reliable enough to build a hypothesis.  And let’s apply the same reliability factor to the Hebrew Scriptures, for there lie the prophesies that Christians reinterpreted in order to “prove” that their man was the Messiah.

The Gospels Story

The four books written anonymously in Greek decades after Jesus’s death were not written by eyewitnesses of Jesus’ life, but rather drawn through stories handed down in the oral tradition of the time.  Oral tradition was the principle architect – the vehicle by which thought sustained and ideas perpetuated. Stories were handed down generation after generation (not so unlike today, only now we also have a digital footprint).  With each retelling there were certainly contextual references, opinion and innuendo based on political and ideological motivations.  And let’s not forget the mythological influences of the ancient near-eastern world, which looms large, particularly in the Hebrew scriptures.  Creation narratives, flood stories, reaching for the Gods (read Tower of Babel), patriarchial heroes  – those were all common mythological themes of the time.

So what do we know about Jesus?

Let’s begin by understanding that there were numerous contradictions within the four canonical books, including where Jesus was born and when he died.  Three of the gospels, Mark, Mathew and Luke, all portray Jesus as a first century apocalyptic preacher who warned/taught of the coming of God’s kingdom and the need to prepare and repent.  By the time we get to the book of John, the author has reconciled some of these differences and portrays Jesus in less apocalyptic ways, generally speaking, he tones the story down – making it what, more universally appealing?

This hypothesis can be supported through what we know about Jesus’ own teachings, as defined in the gospels, and through an historical understanding of what was going on for Jews in Jesus’ time.  Jesus was a rebel, as were many of his Jewish compatriots.  Breaking away from the status quo was not so unusual.  I mean, imagine what the status quo was like back then!  Jesus became an advocate for the underdog, cavorting with women and prostitutes, pagans and criminals. He condemned the rich and pious, and offered hope to the disenfranchised, promising that a new day dawning was just ahead.   He promised that God would save them from their miserable, sinful, human lives.

Jews – and Jesus lived and died as a Jew – believed that they were God’s “chosen ones.”  Many resisted the idea of having to pay taxes on land that God had given them.  Jews resisted in varying ways, through silent protests during Passover; non-violent protests when they were offended; violent insurrections and armed revolts; with self-styled prophets who emerged saying God would intervene; and through an apocalyptic philosophy that purported the world was ruled by evil forces and that the only saving grace would be God’s intervention through divine judgment – the prologue to ushering in a new kingdom.

Was Jesus an apocalyptic Jew?  He stressed the need for people to give up power, prestige and wealth, and to serve others, foretelling a reversal of fortunes in God’s kingdom.  He challenged the taxpayers, the people in power, and broke from convention  by associating with the outsiders of his time.  Jesus also  urged people to repent, and promised that a new kingdom of God on earth would be seen in his day.  He painted a picture of good versus evil by the haves and have-nots.  When Jesus took these teachings to Jerusalem and tipped those tax tables over in the temple, Jews of high authority, being politically tied to the Roman government as they were, had no room or patience for a troublemaker.  The fact that Jesus was crucified in and of itself was not outstanding.  It was a commonplace occurrence.  It was word of his resurrection that ultimately inspired a cadre of believers.  Jesus’ resurrection marks the beginning of Christianity, and the beginning of the debates about who he was and what he represents today.

The Christology Debate and the Development of the Trinitarian View

By 429 A.D., Christians were debating the divinity of Mary as the “Christbearer.” Every aspect of Jesus’ humanity and divinity was scrutinized until a consensus was established with the Council of Chaldedon in 451 A.D.  Here, the teachings of Councils of Nicaea and Constantinople were affirmed, and the role of Spirit based on scripture was expanded.  Jesus was “consubstantial with Father in Godhead, consubstantial with us in manhood, and…his birth is ‘from the Father before all ages as touching his godhead,…from the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos, as touching his manhood.’”    It’s interesting to note that compromises were the name of the game in coming to consensus, compromises that allowed and affirmed that Antiochene, Alexandrian, and Roman theologies, all of which contributed to the understanding of the nature of Jesus.

The principals created with the Council of Chalcedon “remained largely unchallenged throughout the Protestant Reformation.”  But it remains controversial, for its perceived limitations by some, and precisely because it is affirmed, officially, by others, namely Roman Catholics and Episcopalians.  Albert Schweitzer, in The Quest for the Historical Jesus writes “when at Chaldedon the West overcame the East, its doctrine of the two natures dissolved the unity of the Person, and thereby cut off the last possibility of a return to the historical Jesus.  The self-contradiction was elevated into law…by a deception the formula kept the life prisoner and prevented the leading spirits of the Reformation from grasping the idea of a return to the historical Jesus.”

Hall, writing in the nineteenth century, notes that “as biblical study has encouraged concrete historical research into the origins of the faith and Jesus himself, one great theologian (Rahner) has suggested that only now can the Church begin to exploit the Chalcedonian principle of his full humanity.”

The Question Remains

Such debates were the central catalyst for the development of Christianity, and the debates persist today.  Where faith and history have no meeting place, the question of who Jesus really was can never be answered definitively.  Religious organizations will claim ownership of such knowledge, and believers, looking for something more to bet the house on, will choose faith over fact.

And through our beliefs we create history.

My daughter, Katie, was five years old that day we walked down to Joe B’s Candy Store.  The sidewalk was brimming with swirling skirts and blowing leaves.  Fall had come early. Something about weather patterns and winds aloft and hurricanes.  Katie was ten steps ahead of me, slipping through long legs and shopping bags.  The barrettes in her hair were coming loose.  She didn’t hear me when I called to her. 

What was it about being a mother that I loved so much?  When my husband wasn’t resenting me for being one, he loved me more because of it.  My kids loved me when they needed something. There were days when I was only on the planet because I had an extra five dollars, could drive a car, or was a pretty good cook.  My family had options.  They could ignore me.  Love me.  Hate me.  I had only one option.  Live with it. 

My marriage to Bill wasn’t spectacular.  We loved each other, plain and simple.  After a while, we forgot exactly what that meant.

Every now and then  I embraced the crazy notion that I could create my own happiness.  It was an awkward thought.  I didn’t have time.  I didn’t know how.  I had lived my whole life waiting to for happiness to find me.  When I was younger, it happened more frequently.  There was more time to plan.  There were parties every weekend, new boyfriends to meet, parents who would always be there. 

The crowd was beginning to thicken.  I called out to Katie again, but there was no stopping her.  She ran up and pushed against the glass door with both hands, stunned when it didn’t budge.  Looking back into the crowd, she straightened into all seriousness and I wondered if she might start crying.  I waved my hand, but she didn’t see me.  She stood looking for a few more seconds.  Then, pulling both arms back over her head, she gave that door all she could muster.  A man dressed in a three-piece suit walked out looking just as surprised as she did as the door flung open.  He laughed out loud as she ran past him and into the store.  She was already living an independent life, I thought.  It wasn’t enough armor for all the bad the world would dish out to her, but it was a good place to start. 

I thought about all I had left to teach her, the disappointments I wanted to see her through, the happiness I wanted to share.  How could she know how precious our time together was that day?  Her world was the candy store, and she was going to get everything she wanted because it was her birthday.

                “Can you hear me, ma’am?”  A silhouetted figure stood above me and for a split second I thought it might be Jesus himself.  The voice was urgent, yet gentle and the hair was wild and looked like birds circling.

                “I’m fine,” I said.  The sky was full of billowy white clouds, some of which stretched out into fine, thin cottony strands.

                “She’s unconscious,” I heard him say. 

“No I’m not,” I said, looking around for my daughter.  Was he talking about Katie? 

                “She’s not breathing,”  A voice rang out in the distance. 

                “Where’s my daughter?”  I asked the man who refused to leave and whose hair was tickling my face as he bent down to kiss me.

                “Breathe,” he said, covering my mouth with his.

                He filled my lungs with his hot air.  I felt my chest expand.  It was as though I had known him forever.  I saw the pain he stored up in his heart, for a woman who died in a car accident and for whom he loved like the earth loved the sky.  I felt a smile well up inside of me.  How fabulous, to love so deeply.  I had not known that it was possible.  I had always wondered, but I never knew for sure. 

                “Thank you,” I said, reaching up to smooth his hair.

                “She’s not breathing,” he said frantically to someone behind him.

                “Of course, I am,” I said, slipping my hand through his tangles.  The sun had warmed his head like a rock on the beach. 

                “Where’s the fucking ambulance?”  He stood up and faced the crowd like a warrior.

                His breath lingered inside my lungs.  I could feel my ribs spread to welcome it through.

                “Damn-it, breathe,” he shouted, leaning on me with both hands. 

                My skin was tingling.

                “She’s not breathing,” he said, standing up. 

                “Where are you going?”  I asked, pulling at his shirt.

Several people crowded around me.  I tried to find Katie. 

“Mommy,” Katie’s voice sounded far away. 

“Katie,” I said, waving to her.  She didn’t see me.  She was twirling her red licorice strands with Mr. B, who owned the candy store.  She looked happy. 

“Get back, damn-it.”  The man with the wild hair was pushing the others aside as he knelt down beside me.  He covered me with a jacket and pressed on my chest again. 

“Don’t die on me, please,” he said, trying to catch his own breath.

“It’s not so bad,” I said, touching his face.  His skin was soft and warm.

  He started crying.  His tears splashed onto my face.  I could taste his salt.  He had incredible compassion.  His heart, though scarred, was enormous and I knew that he would love again and that it would be a love beyond his wildest dreams. 

“How lucky you are,” I whispered. 

“I didn’t see her,” he said, standing up quickly to talk to a policewoman.  “She just fell in front of my car.  I didn’t have time to stop.”

“It’s okay,” I said, reaching up to them both.

“The paramedics are on the way,” she said, kneeling down beside me.

 “Isn’t she beautiful?”  I took her hand. 

“Oh, God,” the man with wild hair said, crumpling into a heap next to me. 

“It’s okay,” I said placing the policewoman’s hand on his back.

When I was born, I cried, while everyone around me was smiling.  Now as I lay dying, I’m smiling, while everyone around me is crying.  The policewoman and wild haired man looked at me.  I saw for the first time that he had blue eyes.  I always wanted someone with blue eyes to look at me that way. 

“How lucky I am,” I whispered.

Waiting.  In community.  Remembering the taste of fish, the sting of salt water, sun drying their wings.  Below, through sixteen inches of rock-hard ice is the promise of spring and then summer. But today, through tears of snow, they listen for a heartbeat, a ripple, a splash that says the world is not ending, it’s just lives on hold.

Can you be love-sick for your enemy?  Why not?  Your enemy sustains you. Fills you with a symphony of emotions, not the least of which is adoration. It’s age old really.  Adversaries, locked in battle.  Hate tainted by admiration. Love hinging on madness. The promise of meeting one day, regardless of what fate will dictate.  The promise being everything and nothing.  How often do you feel such passion?

One must swim.  One must fly.  As a carburetor is essential to a car or truck.  So it is with the seagull and the fish. And the knowing binds them.  There is no deception in the darting of fin through water. There is only beauty and grace in the gliding on expanded wing. They are in it together. The game of life. One will die.  Maybe both. But now, on snow-filled earth and ice-clogged water, the heart stirs more then the belly.  Survival may breed hate, but lonliness, whatever the reason, induces love.  It may be false. But it’s real in the moment, when the long wait for winter’s end seems light years away.

I have attempted to write a novel for a very long time.  Started and stopped more times than I care to admit.  Even let myself wander off with the idea that I should write a screenplay instead.  Started and stopped a few times while on that road, too.  I have maneuvered through life chasing goals, creating new ones, and jumping from project to project, certain that I am on a sustainable path that will lead to creative fulfillment, while all the while harboring great thoughts about finishing my novel.

I have felt like an unrequited lover. But I am wrong about that.

The urge to write is always with me.  The energy is always there.  The spirit, the madness, the temptress, the angel never surrenders, is never disloyal.  Even though I mostly ignore her.  I love her (the idea of writing) from a distance.  A thought, a character trait, a phrase will pivot in my imagination, wake me up in the middle of the night, tap me on the shoulder while I am driving, and I am reminded of what is really in my heart.  I write the ideas down, and each time imagine for a moment how the story – our story: the spirit, angel, madness, temptress – will look on the page.  But the little notes get tucked here or there, and another project compels me to take notice, and I am off to the races, looking in the rear view mirror as she waves goodbye.  This long-suffering goddess who smiles every time I share my intentions with others, knowing full well that I will falter and fail.  She dutifully waits for me to reclaim what she has noted over and over again is mine.

Perhaps I have a trust issue!

I was recently hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, a place that is holy to me on many levels.  Walking along the boulder-strewn path, I would spot a tender green sprout reaching up through last fall’s brown and brittle leaves.  It knew of nothing else to do but grow.  And so it was, full of intention and instinct and divine self-awareness.  Nothing else mattered.  No one even need see this young sprout, or her flowers once she bloomed.  She simply was.

Writing is a lot like that sprout.  There is simply the act of writing, of reaching through fears and procrastinations.  There is only the doing.  The angel knows this, she persists because that is what angels do.  That is what creative intention does.  I could spend my whole life in denial, and it wouldn’t matter to her one bit.  She is only doing what she knows to do.  She reaches through the dried and brittle years of abandonment and neglect.  And I am  brought to my knees, filled with gratitude and shame.

How many of us feel this way about a passion, a person, a place?

Here is where the story turns.

I am going to write the novel, once and for all.  People around me are falling ill, while others are soaring doing what they love.  There is simply no excuse for not following my heart.  Life as it presents is full of Facebook and Twitter and cable television news and NPR and a myriad projects I refuse to delegate.

Enough already.

I can either be addicted to my goals or devoted to my writing.  I can either be an acquaintance to the idea of writing or accomplished at the task. There is only now.  This is all we have.  Now is the time to write my novel.

Angels around us

Below are two blog posts from two separate sources that, combined with other forces in my life, have enabled me to finally see so clearly that which has been in front of me always.  I hope that you may find your way, and follow whatever speaks to you.  If not now, when?

Accomplished or acquainted?

Posted: 09 May 2009 06:17 AM PDT

Taking a piano lesson doesn’t turn you into a master.

Strapping on skis doesn’t qualify you for the Olympics.

Buying a router doesn’t make you a carpenter.

Becoming an accomplished person isn’t about what you do. It’s about how often you do it and how much effort you put in. It’s about making new habits, sticking with whatever you choose to do. Otherwise, you’re just someone who’s acquainted with activities, foods, ideas.

Can you make the commitment to be accomplished? Or will you only ever be acquainted with the concept?

_______________

Goal Addiction and The Cult Of Productivity

Posted: 11 May 2009 08:17 AM PDT

Society wants you to be a goal addict, because it’s good for the economy.

It’s a cycle.  Spend money on those motivational tapes and seminars now. Spend money on antacid later when you’re not getting the results you want.  Blame yourself for sucking.  Spend even more money on booze, drugs, and mindless entertainment to take your mind off of your failure to achieve everything now (or, for the more sophisticated, buy the technological gadgets which will finally help you get more organized).  Lather, rinse, repeat.

It’s a cycle.  It’s a game.  And the house always wins, and though you may be a high roller today, you will always lose in the long run.

Goal addiction is great for the economy – but not so great for you.  And you’re in deeper than you think.

“I Can Stop Anytime I Want To” And Other Bullshit You Say To Yourself

How do you know if you’re a goal addict?  It’s just like other addictions – there’s a pattern of destructive behavior and stuff you rationalize to yourself.  Here are a few warning signs:

• Your default answer is “yes” when presented with a new commitment to sign up for – because you just know you can do it.
• You’re falling behind in the things that matter (your physical health, your emotional health, and your family, for example), but you’re still cranking on things that have temporary value at best.
• A significant amount of your daily stress comes from being behind on things
• You think technology is going to solve your time management problems.
• You are working your ass off, but not moving much farther ahead on your many goals.
• You don’t actually have clear “finish lines” for your goals, so any success never feels like enough
• You think of “juggling” your goals rather than focusing on them.

These are just a few of the signs of goal addiction, and if you’re seeing them in yourself, you need to seriously take notice.

Because if you don’t, a bunch of bad things will happen.

• By trying to do more and more, you’ll also accomplish less and less.
• By trying to please everyone, you’ll please no one.
• Your stress level will continue to spiral upward.
• Your life satisfaction will start to spiral downward.
• Ten years will pass, and you’ll be really disappointed with where you are.

Goal addiction is a life killer – and it’s a sneaky one at that, because the goal addicted lifestyle sounds so attractive when it’s glamorized by …

The Cult Of Productivity

I’m not going to describe the ins and outs of the productivity-industrial complex today, but chances are you have been wooed by them for a while now.  They’re the ones pushing the latest productivity gadgets or web apps or life hacks under the guise of “things that make your life easier.”

But all of these edgy solutions almost never, never designed to make your life easier.  They are designed to sell products.  They are designed to push trendy web services. They are designed to make catchy, “blog candy” top ten posts.  They are designed to get you focused on something other than doing work on your goals, because “something other” is sexy and “work” is not.

Because “doing a million things” is impressive.  “Doing less” smacks of weakness.

Because “optimizing” sounds intellectual.  “Simplifying” sounds like you’re copping out.

If you’re not “too busy” these days, you must be doing something wrong - and while that’s bullshit, that’s still the way our culture sees things.

And the worst part of it is, you can be working for the productivity-industrial complex and not even know it - even your best intentioned work may be destined to help people run faster on their treadmill rather than helping them get off the damned treadmill that’s exhausting them in the first place.

God knows I’ve contributed my fair share.  But I’m slightly older and slightly wiser now.

And I’m ringing this bell to get you to ask yourself the question too – Are you so addicted to achieving as much as you can that you sacrifice hitting home runs in the areas that really matter?

Chew on that.

It’s ok to say “Oh shit, why am I doing this with my life?” No one will think you’re weak.

Ok, that’s a lie.  Many people will think you’re weak, that you can’t hack it in this fast moving society.

But just ignore them.  They’ll go back to their tools, their stress and their antacids, and wonder why you look a little happier than you did before.

That’s all for today.  Chew on what I’ve said so far.  Ask yourself if you’re living the goal addicted lifestyle, and if that’s really where you want to be.

It wasn’t easy for me to admit goal addiction to myself, or my role in the productivity-industrial complex, but I had to face up to it.

Still working through it.  Making some progress, one day at a time.

Maybe we’ll throw together an AA meeting for the goal addicted.  Holla back in the comments if you want in. :-p

Till next time,

Dave

Another solid post by Dave Navarro – get your daily fix at Rock Your Day and spread the word!

Thanks for subscribing to the RSS feed. Click here to download the first chapter of What’s Holding You Back? … or, if you’ve already downloaded it, click here to get the entire book right now!

A.  And then her fourteen year old son walked in the front door, dropped his books on the kitchen table, grabbed his X-Box controller and pounced on the couch.  

B.  And then UPS showed up at her door with that new Canon Powershot.

C.  And then she looked out the window and saw the first swallow of the season.

This story isn’t true, but of course it is.  There are myriads of people out “there” trying to figure out how they fit in to the social media scene – beyond Facebook and LinkedIn.  It’s easy enough to gather a posse of friends and chronicle your every mundane move.  It’s quite another to share something meaningful with the world.  

Don’t get me wrong, Facebook and LinkedIn are great networking tools, but there is a hunger from both the contributor and the follower to want more – to share more, to be more.  And that’s where blogs and Twitter and Squidoo come in.  

My imaginary friend has more than her fair share to share.  From being the mom of a teenager, to being an extraordinary photographer, to tracking the impact of global warming on nature, no one sees the world through her eyes, no one experiences life like she does.  And that gives her license and freedom to write about everything.  

Sometimes it’s hard to narrow everything down.  

That’s when you wait for something to sneak up and remind you, “oh yeah, I have something to say!”

What calls to you? What are you yearning to do, but not lifting one finger to make happen? C’mon, there’s likely more than one gift you are neglecting to give yourself and others.

We all do it. We all possess gifts unique unto ourselves that we ignore, or more likely, discard like peeled off onion skins. Often this act brings us to tears, usually when driving alone in your car, or sitting numbed-out in front of your computer at work.

You know that there is more. You know you’ve settled. You’re unfulfilled. And worst of all, you’re starting to forget what passion even feels like.

Then you read about someone who gave up everything to pursue a dream, and now he’s running a $6 billion dollar company (maybe $2B in this economy)! Or maybe a dear friend picked up a paintbrush for the first time in 20 years and staring you in the face is their long lost talent – reincarnated as it were on canvas. That’s when you remember. Oh my God, I want to (fill in the blank).

Finding the courage to take that first step toward restoring your authentic self is not the hardest step. In fact, thanks to that momentary thrust of inspiration, it’s the easiest move you’ll make towards reclaiming your long lost “what if.” It’s easy to download that business plan software and surf through the pages, suddenly feeling like everything is possible. Or better yet, you actually mention to a friend over margaritas that you’re finally going to write that novel. In the movies, days become weeks, weeks become months, and voila the book is finished, there’s an eager editor on every corner, and the brash protagonist tells her boss,”so long.”

In your life, like mine, eventually the blithering idiocy of inspiration fades away, and what you do during those interminable days and months ahead determines how far down the rabbit hole you really are. Depending on your view of the rabbit hole, moving up or down is inconsequential. It’s moving at all that counts.

Keep Moving

Write this down and stick it somewhere: I am on the earth to (fill in the blank). If you don’t write it down, I promise you will forget why you’re on this planet. You may find that you have more than one thing to do while you’re here. Good for you! Most of us have options, but are too afraid to admit it.

Next, really look at the words you just wrote down. What do you feel? What lies beyond the words? Does the idea resonate in a body slam kind of way? Does the hair on your big toe stand on end? Does every fiber of your being light up at the thought of actually doing that thing that is staring you in the face? If not, you’re still hiding. Dig deeper. Let’s roll out the proverbial deathbed. What will you wish you had accomplished as you lie there prostrate to God and the spirits of dead relatives hovering around you?

Write that down!

Now that you know why you’re here, put away the doubts and believe. Look, we all have a higher purpose, and living into that higher place doesn’t mean you have to quit your job tomorrow or abandon the love of your life. It does mean that you need to devote some time, energy and attention to yourself and to your purpose. If it makes you feel better, don’t tell anyone for awhile, just start putting your purpose into motion. I have found, however, that sharing what you know is true and possible for you, lights up others to do the same. Remember reading about that intrepid shmuk who turned his dream into cold hard “look at me, I did it” reality? Surround yourself with people like that. Read about people who have taken risks. Watch movies that inspire you to become more and think differently. (To get you started, there is a list of resources at the end of this article).

The more you share yourself and your purpose, the more energy you displace. The more ripples you make, the more the universe (God, etc) hears you. The more God gets involved, the greater your chances are of meeting people with whom you can facilitate your dream (or at least with whom you can down a bottle of wine during a moment of ‘I’m not good enough’. The energies combine to keep the lovely chaos in motion. It’s up to you to discover what it’s going to take to keep moving.

The Bottom Line

Don’t roll your eyes, there’s always a bottom line. So what’s yours? What will you do after you finish reading this article to keep moving? How will you propel yourself tomorrow when the creepy dark thoughts of uncertainty rise up and try to sabotage the essence of your being?

Will you take the easy way out and tip toe back into your droll existence and pretend it’s not so bad after all? Or will you hoist yourself up by the underwire of your bra and find that which inspires and instigates you?

You will have to forcibly and deliberately inspire yourself in order to keep moving everyday. Everyday until it becomes second nature. Everyday until it’s your higher purpose that wakes you up in the morning, not your full bladder.

Discipline is not a scary word. No one becomes great or famous, or fulfilled without discipline. Discipline keeps you moving. Moving takes you to places you never imagined and chucks you one step closer to realizing your higher purpose. So that one day, someone will read about you or hear your story, and remember why they’re on the planet, too.

Resources

SmartBrief on Entrepreneurship

http://www.smartbrief.com/news/entrepreneurs/archive.jsp?brief=entrepreneurs&sid
=1bb43bca-39ed-4fb1-b545-a9966d4a3149

SmartBrief on Leadership
http://www.smartbrief.com/leadership/

Spiritual Cinema Circle
https://www.spiritualcinemacircle.com/scc/ecs/public/register/
featuredMovieMembership.html?utm_source=Affiliates&utm
_medium=Affl&utm_campaign=Affiliates

]]> http://nadinow.wordpress.com/2008/11/13/the-onion-effect/feed/ 0 nadinow http://nadinow.wordpress.com/2008/11/12/a-not-so-sweet-surrender/ http://nadinow.wordpress.com/2008/11/12/a-not-so-sweet-surrender/#comments Wed, 12 Nov 2008 02:30:56 +0000 nadinow http://nadinow.wordpress.com/?p=15 ]]> A couple of weeks ago, upon coming home from Massachusetts, I witnessed the SUV in front of me hit a cat and continue driving.  The cat flailed uncontrollably until coming to rest in the fallen autumn leaves on the side of the road.  There was blood everywhere.  It was dying, and all I could do was bless it and tell it as lovingly as I could, “go, it’s okay, you can go.”

To a feral cat, my words were most certainly frightening and hostile, but it surrendered peacefully, and its final stretch was the most precious of movements I may ever witness.

In the wake of the November 4th election, the metaphor of the cat’s death is not unlike what happened to the Republican Party.  It got hit out of nowhere by a big ole’ crumbling market.  With the smell of fear in the air, many Republicans, unwilling to surrender, unable to muster that final, sweet, vulnerable stretch of letting go, saw November 4th as a fight worth flailing for.  Market be damned.  For others, it was a wake-up call.  Most assuredly, as the Party lies wounded, bloody and tired, the whispers are not about letting go, but about rebuilding.  How the GOP does so, and with whom is of paramount importance.

Many concede that it is not the Party of their fathers and mothers and forbearers.  Sarah Palin, who stands for something no one really understands, seems poised and ready for the next round, ready to illuminate and define a party, or at least herself.  She is a smart lady who understands her capital.  She has plenty leftover from the campaign.  Saavy she is, charisma she owns.  Knowledge is what she needs, and she is a fast learner.  Sarah Palin will return, and with a vengeance.  She will be politically reborn in much the same way she rediscovered God.  Pain and defeat will render her indispensible and a commodity worth protecting and regenerating.  Palin may indeed become the great white hope for the Republican Party.  Left to her rogue devices, she just might prove a formidable opponent to the Democrats.  Four years from now, who knows where and when a big ole’ SUV will appear, and to whom it will render defenseless.

The word nadi comes from the Sanskrit root nad meaning “channel,” “stream,” or “flow.”  Nadi channels through the energies of the higher consciousness.  They connect at special points of intensity called chakras.

This blog is dedicated to the flow of ideas, energies, thoughts, and all that leads to higher consciousness thinking and being.  Your comments are welcome.

- Deb