Cheryl loving me

Some dear friends said the sweetest things to me this morning. Loving me.
I’m about to ride Cheryl. When the wind whistles through my helmet, I sometimes hear whispers mixed into it. They tell me to enjoy. So I do. Not because I was told. The whispers are just pokes at my consciousness, making me aware that I already AM enjoying the ride. Among those whispers, too, are reminders that it’s ok to feel. They’ll mix together with voices I’ve read this morning, that it’s ok to feel, and express feeling. The mix is like a swirling pot of love. Then I’ll be overcome, and not notice the whispers. I’ll just enjoy loving me

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(More on Cheryl)

Love knows no fear. Only terror:)


[3 minute read]

A friend has a book that speaks to the reader in the first-person voice of Yeshua, Christ, God.

Why is it so striking?

When we read the canonical narratives of Judeo Christianity, they are in the third person, and we are objective observers hearing conversations involving God. “And the Lord spake unto Moses…” “Jesus said…” The third person voice is gentle. It is left up to us to insert ourselves into the story to receive the Word.

I can barely read or hear a sentence from my friend’s book without being seized and overwhelmed. “I have made you this way…” “Let me do this for you…” “Let’s do that together…” Many of the third-person narratives in the scriptures are of course love stories. But I often sense them as the love stories of someone else. Like great movies, yes, they move me deeply to the extent I internalize them. But the direct voice of my friend’s book skips that internalization process. It’s not optional when you are spoken at directly.

The words are a punch directly in the chest. Right at the heart. Like a physical blow to my chest, it takes my breath away, literally. And like recovering from that lost breath, the very next breath is extraordinarily deep, and literally life-giving. It’s weird to me that words can do that.

I suppose it’s not words. To be metaphorical, it is the Word. Piercing my hardened sentinel—my ego. It hurts. Literally. It’s incomparably terrifying. I suppose it’s how the Word brings action to this world.

Some people are terrified by blood. Some pass out at its sight. Even those of us who stomach it are unsettled by it. It’s something that belongs “inside.” Not poured out.

Blood only moves through our insides when the heart pumps it. The heart, not mind.

When the direct words of my friend’s book pierce my heart figuratively, taking my breath away literally, and blood figuratively flows out of that piercing, I sense something *inside* that I too often think of as “out there.” I sense an intrusion. Violation. It is terrifying. Something comes into my heart that I am used to keeping out of it.

Yet mysteriously, it feels perfectly right. So natural. It is my nature to bleed from the heart. It is my nature to be free—free to choose what pierces my heart. Free to accept the raw terror of the blood that comes only from insides. And that is your nature too. To bleed in terror. To love FROM the terrifying fierceness inside.

“You only fear Me because you cannot feel and trust the fullness of pure love — yet. My Son’s passion is a show of love’s purity, not a message that you need to fear Us, nor that you needed His sacrifice… I do not command you by any other power or authority except love… Fearsomeness is false power, and I am not false. Love holds no space for fear. And I AM love…” (source)

The rawness of love’s fullness is terrifying.

Friend, fear no one or anything today. Cause no fear. Instead…

Terrorize someone today.
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Neil D. 2020-06-05


There’s something happening here… Stop, children, what’s that sound?


[5 minute read]

Excerpts from “For What It’s Worth”

There’s something happening here
What it is ain’t exactly clear
[“Authority” stands] over there
Telling me I got to beware
I think it’s time we stop, children, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down

There’s battle lines being drawn
Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong
[The child inside is] speaking their mind
Getting so much resistance from behind
It’s time we stop, hey, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down

What a field-day for the heat {of Satan’s doubt fire}
A thousand people in the street
Singing songs and carrying signs
Mostly say, hooray for our side
Everybody look what’s going down

Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you’re always afraid
You step out of line, [judgment] come and take you away

“There’s something happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.” How do we sense the happening, and why is it unclear? As we grew up into adults, we progressively suppressed the innocent optimism and flighty, energetic spirit of youth. But that child-sense remains within, beneath the rubble of adulthood.

“[‘Authority’ stands] over there, telling me I got to beware.” Where is this “man with a gun”? He is “over there,” not right here, within. He is not even part of us (“over there”), but his voice “telling me I got to beware” is louder inside our head than our own child-voice. That man and his warnings are institutional religion preaching judgment, government mindsets that make us feel threatened, today’s bitter divisiveness of political partisanship, fear of a pandemic microbe, or righteous anger and rebellion. We are mistaking that voice from “over there” as our own heart: “It’s time we stop, children, what’s that sound (not from children). Everybody look (inside, with a child’s eyes and heart).

“There’s battle lines being drawn. Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong.” Fatal flaws of black-and-white, misinformed religious dogmas by which we feel condemnation. The replacements for Nietzsche’s dead God: Political tribalism and confirmation bias forged by “re-sharing” posts on social media.

“[The child inside is] speaking their mind, getting so much resistance from behind.” What a twist, this resistance… That resistance is the egotism of adulthood that has left the purer child-mind behind. But the child-heart inside us still calls from “behind.” Stop and listen to “that sound.”

Tribalism, fundamentalism, and individually inflated egos… “A thousand people in the street singing songs and carrying signs, mostly say, hooray for our side.” Evil triumphs not only when good people do nothing, but when good people gather under “heat” banners and surrender their creativity for *uniquely* individual powers of love. “What a field-day for the heat.”

As children, our uniqueness flowed out of us freely through everything we did, fearless of whether others were doing or thinking the same. We delighted in how our own uniqueness combined with the uniqueness of play friends. Until the well-intentioned but perditious powers of adult society pressured us to conform to roles and scripts. As children, we feared very unreal things such as monsters. As adults, we have become those unrealities, and live instead by fear of our individual selves, our intrinsic power. We don’t want to be seen by others as making mistakes. Our modus operandi has become fear itself, and we are real monsters: “Paranoia strikes deep; into your life it will creep. It starts when you’re always afraid: You step out of line,” and the unreal standards of adult expectations “come and take you away.”

Today, try to hold in conscious awareness that stopping that happens “here,” and let it become more clear. Take a moment to love another. Let your child-heart reflow through the rubble. With practice at stopping, it will become more clear. What’s happening here, is happening inside of you. Not “over there.”

https://youtu.be/8bl-vbBnJ3I

For What It’s Worth
Song by Buffalo Springfield and Stephen Stills

Neil D. 2020-06-04


Parents, remember? Exercise your soul today


[4 minute read]

Remember when you held your babies, and simply adored them, pouring out your love, as if the loving could be touched tangibly? Why did we do that? Was it because some social conditioning would make us feel inferior if we didn’t? No way. In most of those countless moments, there were no social witnesses. They were private moments between us and our babies. Only you and your baby were the witnesses.

What did you see? Pure, innocent vulnerability. A raw need to which no shame could be attached. An infant’s raw, natural need. That infant did not create the need, nor did you. It was purely natural.

And what did your baby experience? Much of what *you* were experiencing. Raw, innocent, purely natural, shameless vulnerability, being met by loving in a pure form, not motivated by any sense of social obligation, duty, or judgment. Natural loving.

That baby knew nothing about the world or shame or judgment. That infant had no concept of imitating love for the sake of appearing loving or nice or correct. That baby knew virtually nothing, and, at the same time, new almost everything that mattered. Human relationship in its purest and most natural form. Pure and natural loving.

Somewhere along the way, that natural loving got mixed in with imitative love as others watched us parent. We wanted to be doing things “right.” Diapering, bathing, dressing, feeding. We didn’t want to be seen by others as doing it incorrectly. Judgment crept into our loving.

There’s not a thing about parenting that is easy. Except the loving in those private moments. That is all. That was the purest of our nature. We acted from within, from our own fullness and completeness, with no need for guidance to be properly loving in those moments. There was no question of believing in ourselves, and our nature, and our capacity for loving.

Insecure, we tuned our ears to external guidance. “You shouldn’t pick up your baby every time it cries or they will become too dependent and not learn self comforting.” Your baby shouldn’t sleep with you. You should impose a feeding schedule. Etc. Think of all the opinionated debates you had with other parents or guides, even if only in your own head.

Our insecurity with the rawness and natural power of pure loving made us question whether we were doing everything right. That power is mysteriously overwhelming, after all. We excused our self-doubt and self-judgment as wanting the best for our babies. As if the best for them were not our true nature of pure loving. We questioned whether acting from within, purely from our heart, was right, or best. That self-questioning seemed very natural; by the time we are parents, we have had countless experiences of being wrong and doing things incorrectly. Why would we not have the same feelings about parenting?

During our own childhood and adult lives, we learned to defend our egos and appear as good people. Those conditioned scripts were tragically bound to overtake the purely natural loving of parenting. But moments of that natural loving arise occasionally, as our children grow up, and we are moved from within by that same natural loving. And so we rely on those moments — they are, after all, the most powerful experiences — to feed our self defenses…

We think to ourselves, “I am a good parent because I still love my child so naturally and deeply for who they are, not what they do, and not as others judge them.” That is true, but it is mixed in with false and imitative love, just as we have spent our lives defending against our flaws to protect our selves. We find ourselves competing against other parents, and, sadly, almost universally, against our child’s other parent.

As we defend ourselves from others, and even from our own self failings, we drift farther and farther from our deepest nature: Loving from the inside, not for the sake of battling judgment. Loving from the mysterious depth of our very nature.

But that nature has not disappeared. That nature remains underneath all of the external masks…

Today, lock eyes with another person, stranger or known. Even if for a moment, listen to them, feel with them, and don’t think. Suspend yourself in a judgment-free vacuum, and that purely natural loving will flow from that neglected or forgotten source deep within you. When you’re conscious that that happens, you can do it more often. It is our nature.
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Neil D. 2020-06-01


I am being loved (2). You. Your Power. A Christface


[1.5 minute read]

My love letter to you (IV)—the many who have touched me so deeply lately…

“If I turned to face my Lover, I most often wouldn’t sense a face, but outstretched arms, meekly calling. Inviting. Longing.”

[— I am being loved (1)]

Sometimes when I am being loved by God, there IS a face.
It is yours.

Sometimes, there are mortal arms enfolding me.
And they are yours.

Sometimes our eyes lock.
Sometimes they mist up.
Sometimes it is a still gaze that can’t be described.

Sometimes you lower your eyes. Sometimes, out of compassion for my vulnerability, you avert your eyes.

Sometimes you gaze into distance searching, for a moment, to feel my feelings, to summon empathy.

Sometimes you avert your gaze to pause in thought and await understanding. To know me more deeply. I am being loved by God. Yours is God’s face to me in the moment.

Sometimes you avert your eyes because — rarely, I hope –- I discomfit or sting you, reminding me that you too are exposing your frailty in trust, via soul-soul relating. It is important to me that you show hurt when I hurt you—a reminder to me that you are not God, but that we are being loved. Being loved by one another. In sacred intimacy, infinitely vulnerable.

Your signal that I have hurt you is a reminder of my power. My power for being loved, and my power for loving. Intimately exchanged power. You are equally powerful. Equally, and differently. Thankfully. I am being loved. You are being loved.

When you give me a hug, a call, or send me a message, I am being loved.

And when no one else is near me, and no one else is communicating with me, I am being loved. By the One who knows all of my weaknesses, failings, and the pain I have caused. Still, I am being loved. Still.
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[More love letters]
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Neil D. ~2019-11-13


I am being loved


(~3 minute read)

I am being loved.

I like that wording more than, “I am loved,” or, “I am loved by God.”

And, “God loves me,” feels like God — as a third-person subject — is an idealization, or objectification, external to me, out there, elsewhere; and I’m just a passive object. Doesn’t feel right.

“I am being loved,” feels more intimate, warm, breathing with aliveness. “Am being.” More present. Has more action. Evokes a sense of arms actively enfolding me, or my head being drawn to rest in a bosom. Passionate, at this moment, in the present.

When joy or gratitude swell up from my heart as a lump in my throat, I am being loved by God.

When I feel uncertain, or am running late, frustrated, I am being loved.

When I feel judged and rejected, I am being loved.

When I want to weep, or am sobbing, I am being loved.

When my ruminations can’t transcend my human frailty, and self-talk overloads my thoughts, or I feel ashamed, abandoned, depressed, or I feel resentment, or regret, I am being loved by God.

It reeks of tender relentlessness. The pursuit never stops, yet never is there chasing. No guilt, no haunting. I am being loved.

My Pursuer is not — when I stop to turn — standing too closely or threatening or exerting a reminder.
The face is not a scowl of disapproval.

Brows are not raised, expecting or awaiting self-indictment.

Eyes are not downcast to spare my shame.

I am being loved by God.

If I turned to face my Lover, I most often wouldn’t sense a face, but subtly outstretched arms, below horizontal, not reaching for me. Meekly calling. Inviting.

Longing.

Palms outward, fingers relaxed, not grasping. But there is no question that those hands will catch me. Not wrestle to hold me up and keep me from falling. Just a perfectly gentle, weightless catch naturally matched to my collapse. A melting into.

My only impulse is to curl up into that bosom, surrendered to a non-conquerer.

If I am feeling gratitude or joy, it is a shared happiness for me.

When I am weak for any reason, it’s an embrace of comforting, warm stillness. No words. Just compassionate presence.

I am being loved.

Not, “I will be loved by God,” with some “if…” attached.

AM BEING.

Not, “if” I just believe, if I surrender, if I work at this, if I stop that, if I meditate more, if I pray and ask… Already am being loved. Then and now. But ‘then’ no longer matters, or matters less until it matters not at all as I rest in that bosom, being loved.

I am being loved.

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-Neil D. 2019-11-13


Sequel: I am being loved (2). You. Your Power. A Christface