I am here, sitting on the sofa in my office. It’s time to write, on this quiet, cloudy day. The mist is drifting through the trees, the summer temperature more than thirty degrees lower than just three days ago. My space needs cleaned, since the blooming pine trees have coated everything with yellow dust. Around me there are a few piles of papers waiting to be dealt with, creative projects in the corner by the sewing machine, a comfy chair used mostly as a cat bed, shelves filled with binders and labels and printer paper and CDs and boxes, trash cans on the floor, a salt lamp, metal sculptures and a little water fountain on my desk and, of course, my very busy computer and all its accessories. This is where I spend most of my time, here in this comfortable, slightly messy and quite productive space.
I am here, in a house I love, these walls a silent witness to many, many changes. I share this home with others – my kids and their guests, an occasional friend or two and, for a few days, the one I now call “my ex.” Together we made this house our home, collaborating on its care and keeping, until the day came when it wasn’t “we” anymore. It’s a strange experience to remain in a place while the foundation it is built upon seems to shift beneath your feet. Everywhere I turn, things remind me of the past. But, funny enough, that past is evolving and changing as well, showing me how it was more and different than I thought it was. I am grateful for the new perspectives that illuminate when I relax my focus on the most obvious layer. There is always a gift in losing something, always joy encompassing the heartache, always something new to fill the void of old – if one can truly let go. Life is confusing sometimes, indeed; intense now and then, absolutely. But here I am, and all is well.
I am here, playing the roles of mom, homemaker, handyman, editor, writer, friend, counselor, secret angel and ridiculous fool. I love them all, for each act of my consciousness brings its own unique experiences. For example, when I adjusted the role of “mom” from trying so damn hard to get it right, to simply providing a safe and nurturing space, everyone seemed to relax and somehow manage live a little better. Sometimes my idiot self sneaks in when I thought the wise friend was needed, but then somehow things seem to turn out even better. The handyman and homemaker roles overlap and support each other, managing to keep things in relatively good shape around here. The writer and editor sometimes squabble and often take turns; one either having a whole lot to say or gone completely AWOL (usually just before a deadline), the other hopefully bringing things together in some coherent semblance of intelligent prose (although I think she failed right there…). Successful or not, by whatever standards such might be measured, these and my many other roles provide ways to be, create and express, right here within my life.
I am here, in the temple of my choosing, be it abundance, joy, serenity, excitement, confusion or anything else. In Master’s Life 3 Adamus says, “The Master enters the temple with no effort.” He talks about it a lot, explaining how you, the Master, are simply there when you choose it. The funny thing is, you don’t go there to the temple to enter it; in fact, you don’t go anywhere. My experience of “entering the temple” was that the temple simply actualized itself with me in it. Apparently, entering the temple means acknowledging it as already present, and therefore it is. I’ve had many quiet moments of being in a temple of my choosing, and many more moments of forgetting to choose and therefore being in some kind of mashup temple without any clear layout, design or purpose. But the moment I remember that I am here, I become aware of the temple I’m occupying, and that awareness allows me to immediately remodel, if I so choose, right here where I am.
I am here, mostly alone with myself. No lover, few friends, minimal family, yet oddly feeling more content than I have in a long time. Curiosity prods me into new experiences, into trying things I haven’t done before, but there is always the eagerness of returning to the company of my own sweet self. Here with me, I am never misunderstood, betrayed or forgotten. I’m no longer lost and therefore no longer need to be saved, for I’ve found my abandoned compass, stowed away for safekeeping eons ago. It doesn’t guide me to some promised land like I thought it would; rather it helps me go toward whatever adventure I choose, embarking each time from the Home I never actually left. It’s kind of like going to a movie so compelling you forget where you are, thinking you’re part of the story and then realizing, “Oh! I’m not lost on the open sea – or jungle or desert or ghetto or wherever – like I thought. I am in my own Home theater, right here where I have always been.”
I am here, lost on the way to enlightenment, having completely forgotten my Self while living lifetimes of torment and joy, love and loss, chaos and simplicity. It’s been exhausting and exhilarating, educational and redundant, stupefying and satisfying. But here I am, reveling in it all, coming up for air now and then, and snatching up the bits of wisdom as they splatter through all the adventures. What an amazing creation!
I am here, in my own special wing of the Ascended Master’s Club, looking “back” on all my adventures, replaying some of the big ones again and again. Sometimes I get so focused in on the details, so caught up in the (re)experiencing, that I forget where I am. Sometimes I even forget my Self, sitting here in my very own Home theater section of the Club, as I gape in awe. “Wow, that was an intense few days… years… lifetime! What a bunch of insanity my dear human put herself through. What deep heartache, what amazing love, what craziness all around. But oh, how I love her for it!” You see, I’ve never lost sight of her, even though she forgot about me, looked at me through strange God-colored filters, and even cursed me at times. When she wanted to play hide and seek, I eagerly played along. When she wanted to go off on her own, I kept my distance. When she wanted me close, I was right there, looking deep into her eyes... through the mirror, in the quiet times, in her dreams. She usually didn’t recognize me, but I was always here, knowing the day would come to realize she was the one in the mirror.
I Am Here, wherever, whenever I place my awareness. I am here in limitation, I am here in freedom. I am here in loneliness, I am here in love. I am here in sorrow, I am here in joy. When I remember that here is where I am and what I’ve chosen, then I’m free to experience it, revel in it, and maybe choose again. But whether I remember or forget, I still am always here. I can never not be here, and all of here is true.
Where are you?