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I am still rather amazed at my ability to flip a switch and be bathed in light. Light and light bulbs are truly wondrous inventions.  Power is such an important commodity in our world.

The really powerful Light, however, comes from within.  It is the Light which illuminates truth.  It is most helpful to see the stack of books on the floor so you don’t trip over them, but how much more can you gain from seeing that you’re not feeling appreciated! With that information you can be aware of the ways that you’re not appreciating yourself.  There are simple things you can do to appreciate yourself more like acknowledging yourself, or buying yourself a gift for a job well done.  And before you know it your steps are a little lighter and maybe more sure. You might just be able step over those books without flipping a switch.

The insights we receive from shining our own light inside our heads can change our lives completely.  The effects of it can be profound.  Far more than shedding light in a dark room.  In A Course in Miracles they call this Light a Miracle. Seeing what’s really going on in your head is the beginning of forgiveness.  Leading to nothing less than salvation.

Professor Cox would tell you that the Earth could not sustain life without the light of the sun. Personally, I would be deeply depressed if I lived in one of those countries where it’s dark most of the day.  We thrive on sunlight.  But we blossom by the Light of our inner knowing.

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This came from A Course in Miracles lessons.  It was speaking about how we are “at one” with the creative process and therefore have limitless “power and peace.”

On the surface they appear very different.  Power is strong and forward moving.  Maybe even a tad aggressive.  Whereas Peace is quiet and to itself. Seems an odd pairing.

When you think about it, though, what else do you need?

If you have Power (especially of the creation sort, but the energy as well) you can manifest whatever you need.  All that Power can make you feel empty inside. Sure, I’ve got all this, but what does it really do for me?  Where is the meaning?

Peace keeps you grounded and happy.  With the addition of Peace, simple, unassuming Peace, you are able to see the true effects of your Power.  Experience it on a deeper level, you can nod your head and say, “Ahh, I see now.”  How well they work together!  And how truly powerful you can be with both.

The Vastness of the Now (from the book that never was)

The Universe is what holds us all together, makes us one. The Universe is composed of everything, all of us. We are one with the Universe.  The Universe is so big, now must be our frame of reference.  Something we all share.

What’s already happened is past, what will happen is dependent on what is done now.  As Dan Fogelberg said, “We are fettered to the future, we are prisoners of the past.”  But all we really have is now.  Trying to live anywhere else is like straddling a wide stretch of water. You’ll either be jumping back and forth or spend your whole life immobile.

In order to fully accept and allow, you must be in the now to see what it is you’re accepting. Anything else is insanity. It’s all happening now. You cannot say you accept something if you don’t know what it is. And trying to pin down the past or the future is nothing more than futile. There is nothing else but the now.

All the power is stored right here in the present moment.  Anything you want to do starts right here, right now.  It would be nice if you could skip to the future and have what you wish. Or sit down and wait for it to come. But that’s not how the Universe works.  It’s all about energy. And the secret to using energy is to know that it all starts now.

All the answers you seek are here, now. You won’t find them scraping around in the past because that’s done.  You won’t find answers in the future, either, because you just can’t get there.  Most of us do not have the ability to see clearly into the future.

So, if we wish to live sanely, we must fully inhabit the now.

This felt good on the second night of the Snow Storm. (I see why Murdoch was a little concerned about Scott’s fascination with nylons.)  One more from Alan Scott ~

Hello, this is Alan Scott saying things about this and that: This edition really ought to be called “Notes Written by Candle Light” or some other such eighteenth century essay title. Because, in fact, that’s what happened. The Scott household pulled a two century backflip last night and it was a strange and . . . in a way . . . exhilarating adventure. I hope you will forgive this personal bleat, but it’s this way.  When you’re backed into a corner where you must read through your papers and jot your notes by the flickering light of a candle, you find it hard to groove your attention to anything but. Through circumstances, as they always say, beyond our control, there was no electricity at the Scott residence yesterday . . . nor was there this morning when I left home. That is far from being the toughest of all breaks. I mean to say, people have, and still do, in many places get along nicely without an assist from Ready Kilowatt, but when you’ve been leaning on a source of power to make your house light and warm for a number of years and it’s suddenly yanked away, you find yourself on your ear and anything you have to say sounds like a lament in A flat minor . . . except that this isn’t a flat, but a one-and-a-half story semi-bungalow. If you have been exposed to this column for more than a few weeks you know that the Scott family has . . . like so many others . . . been faced with the problem of finding a permanent fox hole. 

 When I was separated from the service last December all we could get was a six month rental proposition and beating the deadline was a very-nearly thing. We made it finally . . .  last Friday. And on Thursday, I telephoned to the business office of the local utilities and thought I had arranged for the service of gas and electricity. Faults no doubt on both sides . . . but something conked out in the arrangements. When we came into the new place on Friday and made ourselves as comfortable as we could on packing cases, the lights were there and the gas range functioned. And incidentally, it was right about there that I caught a renewal of my awe and admiration for the resourcefulness of woman.

When I left home Friday the place looked like a chapter out of the boy scout manual on ‘camping in .‘ What little furniture we have . . . which is far too little to spread around . . . was piled undecoratively in odd corners and from the look of the place you would have thought it would be necessary to rub two frankfurters together to get a meal. But by Friday evening, when I got back .  .  . the house was neat and orderly, if still rather grimly empty . . . and we had a cooked meal by candlelight. I don’t know how Maralene accomplished all that. But that’s part of the genius of woman. The magic touch.  However, little did those candles know that night, that though they were just being used as additional light to lend a festive touch, it wouldn’t be long before they were serving a basic utilitarian end. 

On Saturday we had a hard blowing storm in these parts and damage was sustained by some of the wire supports or something. Service failed for about an hour and then was resumed. That’s why when, yesterday morning, the radio gasped into silence, Maralene thought that it was another temporary failure in power. She reasoned that perhaps make-shift repairs had been made during the storm Saturday night and now the men were back yanking off the adhesive and doing a permanent job. It did occur to her once or twice during the day that she might do well to phone the lighting company and make sure . . . you see she couldn’t see lights in any of the other houses . . . but then it was a bright enough day . . . and lights ordinarily aren’t turned on at this time of year until knee-deep in the evening. But she couldn’t call anyway because (a) the phone has not yet been installed and we have been cheerfully advised that we won’t have one before the end of the year. There is a new classification of priorities. There are eight grades, I understand, and a returning veteran, who is the head of a family, rates the eighth grade priority, and (b) She couldn’t go out to phone because she couldn’t leave Jeff and besides we don’t know the neighbors well enough to be bothering them by borrowing their phone.

I mention those details because they form the hitch that rendered us electric-less last night. By the time l got home, the utility business office was closed and all we could reach was the emergency repair fellow who was affable enough and perfectly ready to be helpful but powerless to do anything. What had happened was this: The previous occupants of the house had not been in it for some time and on several occasions the utility man had called around to shut off the electricity and had not been able to get in. So, an order had been put through which they call a No Access Order. That means that if next the man goes around and can’t get in he is to cut the wires at the source on the pole outside the house. That order was carried out yesterday. There was someone home all right, but the cut off man hadn’t bothered to see and had just carried out his orders. What had happened to my last Thursday telephone order to reestablish service, I haven’t yet discovered.

Well, there we were . . . no electricity, no telephone . . . no nothing . . . and it was a bleak, gray chilly day to boot. That’s no excuse for this long broadcast wail. But did suggest a possible topic for the column. If I can do this without sounding like one of the minor poets with a cherubic message  . . . I’d like to propose that all families institute frequent days, or at least moments of concentrated thanksgiving for the many conveniences which are never noticed ‘til they’re absent. So many things around the house depend on electricity these days. There’s the refrigerator, for example. You keep forgetting that with no electricity . . .  no refrigeration. You open the door and are astonished each time anew that there is no light on the inside. And of course you worry about the dwindling butter supply. The little you have left you are husbanding carefully . . . not knowing when you can get more . . . and how it’s going to keep with no refrigeration. Of course the good old refrig will coast along for some hours . . . taking cold from the ice cubes or the stored up chill within . . . but not for long.

And then, the heater operates in some way I don’t understand, by electricity. So the house is too cold for Jeffery’s bath. And besides, there is no hot water for his bath. Or for his mammy’s or pappy’s, for that matter. The wild idea occurs to you that you can heat enough water for Jeff’s bath at least on the gas range . . . or possibly you can just give him an oil bath. Sure, that’s it. Lug the bathinette into the bathroom, warm up the room with the electric heater and you’re all set. What’s that again? The electric heater? What electric heater, bub? Well, we’ll skip the baths and sit around by candle light . . . and since we can’t read the papers anyway, we’ll just listen to the radio and go to bed early. Listen to the radio, hey? What radio? And that’s the way it goes. All the things you take quietly for granted are suddenly swiped. If I can talk the Long Island Lighting company into patching up those cut wires today I think we will have a small thanksgiving ceremony at home tonight . . . and make ourselves realize how good it is to have heat and refrigeration and light and hot water and the radio going again.

But that realization didn’t do much to solve my problem of note-making by candlelight last night. I finally gave up and decided to fall back on a few items I had had in mind for emergency use . . . except that they were very few and at that I had already destroyed at least one. There was a yarn in the late issue of the New Yorker I had vaguely lined up for possible use in one of these editions . . . but when I went to look for it this morning, I discovered it was in one of the flock of magazines we had burned in the fireplace last night to take the chill off. Our predecessors left no logs and we haven’t had a chance to shop for them. When you move into a house at the tail end of May in forty degrees of latitude . . . kindling and logs are the last thing on your list.

But the New Yorker yarn, I believe I remember fairly well. It was about the tragic-comedy of a Mrs. Adams. Mrs. Adams maiden name had been West. Helen West, I think it was. And as Helen West she had remained on the charge account lists of a downtown department store. At a meeting of her bridge club or somewhere Mrs. Adams learned that said department store had received a shipment of nylons and was notifying its charge account customers of long standing to come in and avail themselves of the precious commodity. Mrs. Adams called the store . . . she’s one of the lucky ones who has a phone you see . . . and demanded, indignantly, to know why she had hadn’t been notified. The department store representative told her that the establishment was taking all customers in turn and was sending out notices alphabetically . . . What was the name please? And then Mrs. Adams remembered with considerable shock, that she had never advised the store of her married name and was still on the lists in the W’s. She hurriedly explained that her name now was Adams and that ought to rate a pretty high alphabetical priority. The store clerk just laughed hollowly . . . really, Madam, don’t try that gag on us . . . And there she was . . . shut out. I realize as I tell it now, that it’s not much of a story except that it’s a touch of irony whose vintage can only be the mad postwar scramble. But you see, ye olde editor is reduced to nylon stories. That’s what comes of having no light to read by the night before.  Come to think of it, today’s edition should be called, Once over no-light-ly.

Traveling Hopefully with Libby Gill

This was a fabulous journey! In “Facing Your Flaws and Embracing Imperfection,” seeing my flaws laid out in a line, I saw how interconnected they are, all stemming from the same fear. Once I’m afraid, I start to doubt myself. I procrastinate and consequently, thwart my efforts. It’s an easy slide into being overly critical – after all, if I had just done it, instead of getting distracted by that silly paranoia. . . This throws me off balance and I’m not always as clear as I’d like to be with others. I feel bad when people don’t acknowledge me the way I’d like them to. Wow! That was some good insight.

Krista and I both found the two rating scales a little confusing – How problematic on a scale of 1 to 10 and how much perfection was required on 1 to 5 scale. If you didn’t read it carefully, it was easy to mix them up.

The Perfection Rating, was a breeze. I was surprised to see how little perfection I need, even in areas where, on second thought, I “should” be more concerned. So, instead, I listed 5 Key Projects that I run from when I get scared and play out this Parade of Flaws. This gave me a picture of what I might do to be able to pay more attention to those projects and get past the flaws. As always, having Krista to share and bounce ideas off, paved the way for deeper understanding.

“Crossing over to Compassion” was an interesting side jaunt on our journey. The Vulnerability is Power visualization was a tricky one for me. Going over the bridge to compassion, I kept wanting to leave my flaws on the other side. Did I get some forgiveness? Probably, but I just wanted to dump them.

Libby offers these words of encouragement: “Knowing that your flaws, insecurities, and vulnerabilities will not shut you down gives you the power to take the necessary risks to keep moving toward the life you want.”

The clarity from seeing my flaws has opened up new ways to get around them, And, I hope to find more understanding and forgiveness, without having to struggle so much.

I leave with these parting remarks from Libby, “Like any other skill, risk-taking is something you build over time . . . soon, risk-taking is addictive, a self-perpetuating cycle of taking chances and reaping the rewards. You will fall fat on your face occasionally, which no longer seems so earth-shattering.”

I wanted to write about the Solstice, so I thought I’d wait until I was under its influence.  I learned recently that solstice means the sun stilled. Every day, the sun moves a little bit across the sky through the astrological signs. But on the solstice, it is in the same place it was the day before, preparing for its journey back to the shortest day.

I’ve always felt it was a point of power. Where energy comes together. I use the solstice like New Year’s – a chance to re-evaluate and dream of where I wish to go next. What do I want to do for the summer? Setting those intentions can be fun and impactful.

The longest day feels good to me. In the winter, when it gets dark at 5, I feel the day is over. At 7, the sun is still going strong. And it’s just gotten dark enough to chase me in after 9. That’s a sign of possibilities!

It is said you should note the day – the rising and setting of the sun. Just note it. That’s a lovely, simple acknowledgment.

In some places it’s midsummer. But for us, here on the East Coast, it’s only just the beginning of summer. Most of the celebrations around the world contain some aspect of bonfire and revelry. It is a time of joy. Summer is my favorite time of the year. (Though I have been known to claim Fall as my fave.)

I love the lushness of summer and the longer days. The smells, the colors. Only in summer does the grocery store parking lot explode with color! The sun doesn’t dapple quite like it does in the cooling afternoons of summer. Someone gave us a book of photos called, Finding Summer. I was disappointed that it doesn’t show my pictures of summer. So, I’m on a quest this summer, to find My Summer. (I am but a novice at digital photography – I tried to shoot the last vestiges of daylight on this longest day of the year. I could only figure out how to turn it on!) I want to take pictures of the long days, the June bugs, the waves of flowers, the sunlight playing . . .

June is my month. It is my birthday, so there are presents to be had, but also good things to happen.

May you have a fun and prosperous summer and find ways to acknowledge its beauty.

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