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Love-In

In my green city, I am finding love note graffiti chalk-scrawled across sidewalks: “We have grown enormous just by knowing each other.”       “I am simply happy that you exist.”    And my friend Russell came across a utility pole with a flyer reading “Take a Wish,” with those little tear-away tabs on the bottom that read “Granted.” And more and more people are smiling in the streets, and talking about the spirituality of love and listening, and making art about it.  And this is evidence,  for me, of the global awakening. Don’t you feel the quicksilver slide of energy shifting around you? Within you? I do.

I try to carry joy like water into my encounters, because we’re all so thirsty. And we need to raise the cup to each others’ lips. I heard this story once about the difference between “Heaven” and “Hell.”

So the story takes place in a large banquet hall, where a massive table is stacked high with the most mouth-watering, scrumptious food you can imagine. People are arranged around the table, and the only utensils they are given with which to eat this lovely food are gigantic chopsticks. Chopsticks like roof beams. Huge, unwieldy things. So in Hell, each person is scrambling to maneuver these things around the table, the platters of food, the yummy entrees–but they just end up knocking each other over, smashing the dishes, and cannot for the life of them steer those chopsticks into their own mouths.

And now for Heaven: Rewind the tape. Everyone is finding their place around the table, making eye contact, delight playing across their faces at the prospect of the feast they are about to enjoy. And when given their enormous chopsticks, they discover that they are the perfect length of the table, the perfect length to reach from where they sit to where the person across the table sits. The perfect length to feed each other. And they do.

Take heart, my beloved community! Transformation is stirring. It really is!

There’s this massive sorrow and horror at things transpiring: the Gulf oil spill, the wars, Arizona racism, the Tea Party, violence against women in its epidemic proportions–and denying that or shoving it aside or stuffing it deep deep down will cause my wounds to fester. These things are my wounds. We are all wounded because We Are All One. And so I remain aware, and I have moments of silence, and I’m learning how to Forgive. And to cleanse my wounds with the water of love. To heal with love. And to turn my cheek toward you, to soak up your radiance, and to hold high the Chalice of kindness, to offer it as a Vision, and to drink in the visions of all the healers around me.

The healers in the streets with their chalk.

The healers on the stage with their poetry.

The healers stapling granted wishes onto utility poles.

The healers who meditate, raising the  vibration level on the planet, for all of us.

The healers who revel in their bodies and worship at the altar of desire.

The healers who read holy books and translate them into knowable heart-food.

The healers who Listen.

The healers who are Just Being.

The healers like you.

I love you.

Thank you.

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Poet and Tarot Reader, specializing in Water Cartography
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