I have a "Manual of Prayers" from which I read almost daily. One of the prayers has to do with becoming aware of the very simple messages and clues that come our way daily, clues that are so simple and obvious that I miss them: my stomach in knots, general malaise for no apparent reason, indifference, apathy, validation from others or the withdrawal of validation, or a sense of determined and resolute intention to make things different.
What would those events be if articulated as words" "Get off your can and do something else. What is it with you? Is your heart blind? Is your soul asleep? Notice what is around you; just what do you think the messages are?"
Of late, I have been dealing with job issues. Lo and behold, my friend Jane's blog today was a reflection on peace, and that maybe creating peace or being peace could be our job. Then, I proceeded to the idea of a peaceful job; I do believe that such is out there, as I have experienced it. Usually I phrase such as "I'm in my element" or "This is where I belong". No, it may not fit another person's idea of a job, occupation nor have the same goals. How could this be my job? It's too easy! Well, could someone else do my job with such ease?
It appears from the fatted parking lots I see as I drive past stores where many of us shop not only to sustain ourselves and acquire basic needs (food, toilet paper?), but to gather all possible. I often say under my breath as I pass these consumption centers, "When will we have enough?" I'm no different. For years, I have collected stuff; I had to have "it" and now all of the "its" sit on shelves, rarely noticed. As I've gotten older, the stuff has begun to be suffocating.
I knew a gentleman years ago who had an Estate Sale. An Estate Sale in my book of connotations means that someone died, and now that person's family is ridding themselves of all the stuff they don't want. But, this gentleman was fully alive, just ridding himself of years and years of collected things. Ironically and humorously, he sat in the backyard of his home, sipping tea or wine (don't remember) and had someone else run the sale. There he sat, knowing that many people, all unknown to him, were rummaging through his things, but how refreshing that others found new value in those things, just as he found new value in being rid of them. Who knew he was the owner? Who knew he wasn't dead?
How liberating to dismiss things so that just maybe peace can become my goal, redefining myself not by things, but by myself alone. (It's time for a yard sale - I've been saying that for over a year. I should pretend I'm dead maybe.) I'll end this missive on a more reflective note.
Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair; hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, let me sow joy.