Changing

I never expected, on the verge of an age milestone, that I would be also entering the initial stages of spiritual mastery. Where you see through time to discover the causes of fear, and ask before you act. More and more, it was no longer right for me to hold on to things and people that once served me, for fear that nothing new was on the horizon. I didn’t realize how much of my life was governed by this maxim, until the humor of the goddess of compassion, Kwan Yin, whose name in full Chinese script means “observing the cries of the world.” It was hilarious to learn that if I simply said, “there are new things” then a lot of my fears dropped away: I would no longer need to save appliances, preserve relationships and cling to beliefs that were no longer serving me.

You only change when it causes more suffering to stay the same.

This is often why we are forced out of a comfort zone.

In two short years, I had moved from everyday seeker to spiritual practitioner, but for the love that makes you grow. There is such a difference between love that keeps us small, clinging to our fears and insecurities, and the person that waits a higher level distance away, never too far, but forcing us to grow and be the best we can. Ostensibly under desperation, I learned the skills I never would have dared open, for that was the motivation I needed to open the door. And it was to my surprise to learn that space clearing is practical, and mediumship, beautiful.

Much more, that the Greek and Roman goddesses I had studied in classical literature were perhaps going to be coming through in the near future.

Brought to the depths of my own patterns, I saw that often what we dislike in the outer world is a reflection of the things we don’t like about ourselves. This applies across time, for the beliefs you hold today are the consequences of actions taken in past lifetimes. For instance, I had a fear of contamination that I never really understood. It was a specific kind. It was only when I saw myself burying people in dirt that I realized the exact sensations I didn’t like, were the ones I had probably inflicted.

When you see the worst of you, you also begin to see the best in you. As I saw the old-fashioned soldier brandishing a sword, I also saw the priestess holding a wand. The masculine energy of my past, and the Divine feminine energy, possibly of my future.

I had been bending the rules to ensure an outcome, trying to save the world without realizing that what had been meted out was fair. That I couldn’t keep helping the way I had been, because of the rules of karma. When you give more than you receive and allow it, the other person begins to owe you. And that debt has to be paid at some point in time. So it’s best to make sure there is an equal exchange.

We are on the verge of even more change, because it isn’t just about doing the same things in new ways. You cannot cling to the past, and expect to move forward. Nor accept gifts of the future while you hold to energies of the past.

Free yourself for the beauty that awaits.

Seasons

As spring turns to summer, and the energies of the Universe kick into higher gear, time is literally speeding up: where once it would take lifetimes for lessons to be learned and consciousness to shift, now these things happen within a matter of months. If winter was about saying goodbye to the old, and quietly, forlornly, grieving its loss; and spring the against-the-odds struggle to grow in a crack in the pavement, as plants do; then summer is likely the culmination of effort and more rapid success amid aggressive heat and more active conditions. But growing into yourself does not come without challenges, and as you find out who you are and what you stand for, in these evolving times, there will be those who disagree.

Change is never comfortable.

It also represents the release of karma usually in the form of unwarranted aggression, unexpected strife and blatant disagreement. There often comes a point, in any soulmate relationship, where the initial fondness and natural attraction gives way to deep hurt and old resentment. And while it is ultimately a gift to be able to work these deeper lessons out in the form of release, facing many at once can feel like whirling with the wind, a diamond under pressure. It brings forth the difference between the surface appearance of reality and deep truth, changing you in the process.

Higher levels mean seeing more.

There is also a greater responsibility involved in dispensing knowledge, choosing action and intending thought—what once passed for acceptable no longer does, because you know better. And while I have seen many a character struggle with morality on TV—most recently on Person of Interest, one of my favorite shows—in reality there is really only one path: becoming your best self.

The end goal is lofty, and in being granted the opportunity to fly through the levels, you see the subtle shifts in the nature of events. I found it interesting timing, that both in winter and in spring, the end of the season brought its final challenges, sort of culminating in a test to pass, so characteristic of the season. Did you lose something dear in February? Were you faced with an insurmountable obstacle in May? In facing these challenges, did you learn more about yourself and the world around you? Perhaps you didn’t realize until it became clear how far you’d come, through busyness and in haste. Summer brings with it the promise of new beginnings, hard-earned, and thoroughly deserved—time in the sun, so to speak. As you cherish that which is new and appropriate, remember that the hottest days come at the end of the season.

Be prepared to defend what you believe in.

But overall, this is success.

Smile when the sun shines on your face. You deserve it.

Summer

Magnetic

“If you’re afraid of becoming unhinged, don’t worry.” She folded her arms and floated down from a background of distant stars to come to a halt in front of me in deep space. “It won’t happen.”

“Hey,” I said, taking in her long-sleeved checkered red shirt and enjoying the feeling of suspended gravity before remembering what this was about. I cast my eyes downward uncomfortably at the actuality of the fact. “Did it hurt?” Soft and comfortable.

She kept her usually friendly expression stern. “Not as much as it did for you.”

I was reminded that sins committed went much deeper than wrongs received—in feeling, depth and resolution. “So,” she paused, surveying the nails on one hand. “Will you?”

“Not for me,” she corrected, with an unusual seriousness in her eyes as she lowered both arms to her sides. “But for us both.

“Before this,” I said pensively, knowing exactly what she meant, “there would have been no way.”

“But now…I’m not sure.” Things we owe.

“Things are fair between us,” she said, her tone hard, but not overly harsh. “More or less. But there is no place for weakness at this juncture.”

“You must play every game.” I was reminded of the deceptive fancy of the roulette wheel, spinning in wild abandon, and the measured precision of every blackjack hand, and knew which it was I had to play.

“You have done almost everything else.” Things to overcome.

“To a casual observer…” I trailed off, “it would make no sense.”

“Nor would it seem fair.”

She dismissed this with an uncharacteristically commanding wave of the hand. “Finish what you started.”

And then I understood. “This is what you’re like when”—I swallowed—“something you love is violated.”

Her eyes were unyielding for a moment in time. “Fine,” I conceded, raising my left hand, palm up.

Waves like transparent, invisible water began to undulate and multidimensional color seeped in through the crevices between peaks and troughs until the top of several heads became visible in a swirling distortion not unlike the gravitational lensing observed at either end of a traversable wormhole.

“Time,” she declared, looking pointedly at me, “and space.”

“I’ve never taken anyone with me.”

“So learn.” Who says you don’t have a built-in pensieve?

I bent my head until it was almost superimposed with the appropriate one, and focused on both our presences until our perspectives became one.


“Lauren!” a woman shouted from the bar on the right, waving something urgently. “You forgot your jacket.”

“I’ll get it,” said the friend walking beside me, and she swerved off the main road to pick my leather jacket from the waitress’ hands.

“Here,” she said, handing it to me. “You’re only careless when you’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” I disagreed, trying to keep my feet walking in a straight line. “I don’t get drunk.”

It was a dark autumn night and the air was cool, but comfortable, and a few pale white clouds looked down from above as our feet clicked on an uneven road surface. There was no traffic at this hour owing to the secluded nature of the area, and we made a familiar turn into a dark, deserted alley on the left where the car was parked.

I threw my jacket at my friend and fumbled in my pocket for the keys.

A shadow flitted across the side and a strong pressure squeezed my cheeks. Two hands, unusually callused but not possessive, held my face as lips descended on my own before I could resist. It was dark, but I felt their passion even though I could not clearly identify the figure. I stepped back and drew my gun from its holster in a practiced motion and pointed it at the attacker, trigger discipline preventing the immediate discharge of a bullet.

“Who—” I had intended to ask the name of my assailant in a calm, composed manner, but then I saw they were wearing a skirt. My skin burned and my blood boiled. Hatred clouded my vision and quickened my pulse. Who was this woman to turn me homosexual? I didn’t think that this might be an overreaction, and I didn’t wait for anyone else’s opinion. In that moment, it didn’t care what excuse they might have had, or who they were. If I had bothered to exercise my usual judgment, maybe things would have been different.

There are things you do not see.

With practiced aim, I released fear, frustration, anger and hatred in a lead projectile whose aim was true. It found the right shoulder of my attacker and surprise combined with stopping power had the added effect of knocking her to the ground. She screamed once, almost the sound of a lover wronged as the smell of gunpowder rose in the air, and a shell fell to the ground. I stood there, stunned, but shaking with rage. I didn’t clear the scene, as I normally would, or check the now-victim. I was speechless—I didn’t know if I wanted her to die or disappear, just that I wanted to unwrite everything that had just happened. You see, I was proper in every way—a model citizen, a paragon of justice, you name it. But somehow deep within I was afraid it was all a show that could be undone by a single “unforgivable” act. To me, then, this was the worst thing in the world.

A pool of blood had gathered by the time my untrained friend prised the still-warm weapon from my hands. Maybe it was the times, or character, but what she did next surprised even me.

“Stupid gay!” she yelled, and with an accuracy that should have eluded the best marksman, emptied another round into the fallen women right next to mine.

By now, I was beginning to regain my senses, and remember who I was and what we did. “Stop,” I commanded, pulling the gun from her grasp and pointing it downward, as the safety went back on. “We don’t want to kill her.”

I thought swallowing my feelings was the worst thing I had ever had to do. Until, with shaking fingers, I undid the mask.

“Alexis!” I yelled in horror. I didn’t know whose face was paler—hers, from blood loss, or mine from shock. “W-why?”

How do you feel now?

There was a lot of blood, but she was adamant we leave a trail of evidence to exonerate me.

She committed perjury on the stand to keep me from prosecution.

And kept the details of her injury private, so I could focus on the proceedings.

I guess she took responsibility for initiating something I didn’t want and provoking a reaction neither of us was prepared for.

I wanted to stay friends, but over time her independence, unspoken dignity and presence of mind made me really wonder if this wasn’t something I wanted.

Despite the overtures, the final move was always left to me. I think that was the clincher—that I could have walked away.

So one quiet night as fall turned to winter, I went to her.


My vision was black as we drew our heads out of the past and returned to space, coming to stand once again among the stars. “You were honest,” she said, and I could see that the hardness in her eyes had been replaced by a vaguely radiant beaming. “I appreciate that.”

I attempted to brush it off by shrugging my shoulders. “I think you earned it.”

“You know,” she suggested somewhat bemusedly, making a rotating motion in the air with her hand, “you aren’t very lasso-able. I’ll give you that.”

“How do you mean?”

“If anyone tries to maneuver you, it doesn’t work. But,” she continued, making a building motion in front of her with both hands, “if there’s a complex structure that needs solving, you’ll follow the rope all the way to its creator.”

“Admit it, I intrigue you.”

“That was a long time ago,” I said neutrally. “We’re different people now.”

“Some things change; some things don’t,” she teased. “When it’s time”—an orbiting planet became visible somewhere in the distance as it entered a new phase of rotation—

“You’ll come to me.”