Blessing

Grace

Another time... in another place

When everything is running smoothly, 'just how you like it to be', it is easy to believe that life is indeed, blessed. But what if it goes a bit pear-shaped, what if your vision of perfection is shattered, and suddenly, without word of warning, you are plunged into a 'landscape that is bleak'?  Would you still feel the same? Would you embrace the sacrificial lamb, in you, and surrender all to the inevitable or would you fight to preserve what you believe to be yours, by right? In short, does your belief that life is blessed still hold true?

The script sets a scene in which, in an otherworldly reality, a 'sacrificial lamb'  prepares to meet her destiny; all the players - elders, those skilled in the art of deliverance, and those whose purpose is to orchestrate the timing of such momentous events - are gathered to conduct a ceremony of great import, one that has been set since the onset of time, and one in which the receiver of the gift is assured of her redemption. You might say the results of this seed-sowing on the inner planes are destined to bear fruit in surroundings that are a little bit closer to home. Ordinary life for instance. Before going further, then, let's shift the reality to one that is more familiar - no bells and whistles everyday 21st century life without any hint or knowing of spiritual dimensions.

Two neighbours, George and Olive, were good friends and neighbours for a very, very long time. They rubbed along quite nicely, respected each other's personal space, and easily resolved any issue concerning their respective boundaries with the least amount of fuss.  You might say their lives were blessed. Then Olive, with no malice aforethought and with the best of intentions, did something George didn't like. Far more than that, the perceived offense made him angry, extremely angry. Olive, naturally, was to blame and she took the full brunt of his rising fury.  She was shocked to her core, visibly shaken, but, above all else, she was deeply saddened that a relationship rooted in beauty had been ground to dust in such a short space of time, over, to her, something that was relatively trivial. It hit her hard.

Retreating to a place of safety she watched George stomp about - backwards and forwards along the boundary line, he paced, grabbing every unsightly object he could find, that he might build a vision of ugliness to soil hers of beauty, and venting his fury towards her with every step. The pain beneath his anger was tangible - but it had nothing to do with her. She knew it. Olive bathed in the presence of peace as she continued to watch, somewhat mesmerised by this strange turn of events. The sadness, however, lingered... echoes of a long-forgotten melody played upon her heart-strings to return the past once more into the present. The lullaby of the lost had come home and as she opened her heart to its sweet melody a peculiar juxtaposition took place in the vicinity of the boundary line. She no longer saw George acting out his fury - she saw herself. His paranoia, his obsession with privacy, his fury at his lack of power to direct events and, above all, his need to inflict pay-back. All of this was her. These patterns of behaviour and reactive programs were hers - how often had she acted upon their dictates and created equally destructive, dramatic and 'ugly' performances. A great window in the sky opened to reveal multi-layered timelines and realities in which the movie of her life was laid bare before her.  It made to swallow her up, but it didn't... wonderment, instead, took the place of judgement and as the mirror obscuring Truth from false  - shattered - a shower of blessings... many, many blessings...  rained down upon her...

Clarity

Blessing, one of three visions that chart a course from separation to unity, marks an act of grace, without which any transformative way of redemption would never stay the course. Allow your eyes to move beyond the structure of tree and prostrate figure, to the lighted beings upon which her gaze is fixed and you will see, cradled in the arms of an emanating presence and suckling upon its ample breast, the subtle outline of an unborn child. Less obvious is the connection between these outer and inner forms. When the sacrificial lamb, habitually chained to an altar of desire, relinquishes its hold, when the lullaby of the lost is heard by the starved and when the wounded soul is as a foetus in the womb of creation, all deliverance is blessed… When Olive, in our story, opened her heart to hear the sweet tones of the lullaby of the lost she distanced herself from the unfolding drama and outcast, disowned, parts within herself were able to come home; blessing was the only possible outcome. In a moment of letting go the sacrificial lamb was whole and complete... she was redeemed...