The good thing that makes the other ones bad

Sometimes I can hear your thoughts, but don’t worry about it. It’s not my intention to be nosy or to find any deficiency within you. When I hear a thought now, I know it’s instructional.

It’s getting a little easier. Now I can feel the flavors a bit better and know when the thought came from someone else. In the beginning, it was a chaotic mishmash in my head, so I needed to find a way to get clarity.

This is about peace in the grocery store. I had to find a way to be around people without chaos in my mind, so I’m learning to tune into the peace and joy deep within each person. When I stay tuned into that radio station, I don’t hear things that derail me or disturb me. My feelings calm down.

One of the things I’ve learned about our shared mind is that when I’m tuned into something within you that I would judge, it’s merely a reflection of something within me that’s coming up for healing, but I’m not seeing it clearly within my personality yet. I get an opportunity to usher it up to the surface for release by seeing it in you first.

On the other hand, if I’ve done my healing work and am aware that others are struggling with thoughts that don’t serve them, I’ll be called to do, say or even just radiate/communicate that which will be truly helpful.

That means that it’s not really possible for you to disturb my experience. You’re always an opportunity–either to heal the dysfunction brought on by my reliance on ego and fear or to bring forth the flow of communication and relating that is always a joy.

Or if you’re in your happy place, you draw me further into mine. That’s how it works in the grocery store, in life, with our family members, with our friends.

The people who ushered me at first into the land of chaos–extreme awareness of thoughts and feelings–and then through it to the land of stability that was always there beneath it–they’re my daughters. They’re two-year-old twins, and they show me what it’s like for them as they learn our fear structures that are the basis of the experiences we collectively create each day.

For example, if I set a plate of fruit down thinking and believing the thought that it will balance out the brownies we just ate, I don’t fully recognize I’m operating on fear and trying to control outward circumstances to gain some sort of safety.

I can put the same plate of fruit down in a very different state of mind, and it will be happily accepted. But this plate of fruit was firmly rejected and put back on the kitchen counter.

They were getting the message that this was the good food that makes the other ones bad, and they still know that it’s not true. They are young enough to know that a lot of things we think (despite all the evidence we collectively re-create every day in the sensory world) are not true. They are young enough to forget to remember the fearful thought to which they might have attached yesterday.

All this communication is done without words. It’s made me aware that every thought I silently think and believe creates the experience I have, the experiences we share.  It’s made me very willing to allow reliance on fear to reveal itself to me so I can release it. Then I can see you truly in the grocery store, and I know what you are is light–an incredibly powerful light that outshines whatever appears on the surface. Then it’s easy for me to see that all events and circumstances are always poised to work together perfectly, and I relax.

You always appreciate it when I relax, and that’s why you might think you like me.  Seen from this perspective, the liking and the not liking take on a whole different meaning, but that’s food for different post.

 

2 thoughts on “The good thing that makes the other ones bad

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