THE MENTAL RESISTANCE TO WHAT ARISES AND THE TRUST TO LET THEM BE

Here is an inspiring and insightful book that has touched my inner and outer world: “The Rogue Scorpion” by Lynda Faye Schmidt

 

— Thoughts of the previous evening bubble up in her head. She smiles, remembering how happy Catalina looked when she shared Kamila’s apology with her on the way to church, how being at peace with her sister, finally, felt like the most beautiful gift of all. Isabella forces herself to resist the temptation to think and relaxes into stillness. Less than a minute later, a line from A New Earth comes to her mind: “The greatest difficulty is the mental resistance to things that arise, and the underlying assumption that they should not.”

She sits with this wisdom and smiles again. She wonders, without self-judgment, only curiosity, if she will ever be able to feel at peace with all things. She thinks about how impossible it felt to accept other people’s ideas and judgments about her and Catalina, and how she struggled to be okay with it, despite knowing that other people’s stories are not her concern. Her smile broadens. With a tear of joy in her eye, she accepts herself as she is, with all her imperfections, knowing she has time to learn, and that she’s only getting started on her path. She tiptoes into her bedroom and quietly retrieves her sketchbook journal, then plunks down on the couch to draw.

Isabella feels like her pencil is being moved by divine intervention. She watches as though a bystander as the blank page transforms into a scene that depicts herself embodied as a sunflower. Her arms are branches that reach for the sun in the sky above. Her feet are roots, supported by the solid, moist earth.

— Dearest God, Creator of all things, it’s me, Isabella. I come to you in prayer, seeking your guidance, needing your loving strength more than I ever have before. I don’t know how to do this. I want to trust the process of life, and yet, I don’t know how to let my father go. I’m not ready. My father is the mirror in which the reflection of myself is the closest to perfection. He sees me with total unconditional love and acceptance. His love has been the rock of my foundation, and I’m afraid without it, I will crumble. Where will I turn to without his fatherly presence to comfort and guide me?

Even as I think these words, with you as my witness, I know the answer. I know that you are my father and my mother too. With your spirit in my heart, I’m never alone. You are with me, for eternity. You are with him too, and he will always be with me in spirit. It doesn’t mean it won’t be hard. It will likely be the hardest thing I’ve yet had to endure. But I know I can do this. I’ve got everything I need, including my beautiful Catalina. The people who love me will help me. We’ll all support one another. I made a promise to my father, and I plan on keeping it.

Thank you, dearest God, for giving me this awareness. For filling my earthly vessel with the strength, courage, and wisdom to live my life in faith. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know what lies ahead for my father, or for me. But I trust that life will unfold according to your divine plan, with a purposeful design, beyond my comprehension.

Amen.

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DISCOVERING, REDISCOVERING & REDEFINING THE MEANING OF HEALING AND LOVE

Here is an inspiring and insightful passage in “The Holding: Prequel to The Healing” by Lynda Faye Schmidt

 

— …Cate walks into a quiet house. Lady hears her and comes padding out to greet her, tail wagging. She seems to sense Cate’s heaviness as she presses her muzzle against Cate’s shin. Cate bends down to pat her and Lady licks her hand. The simple gesture brings a flood of fresh tears. Cate throws herself on the couch. She doesn’t know how to do this. She retrieves her journal, still in her purse. She looks out the window at the sky. The stars twinkle. Cate hopes to spot her father’s spirit ascending to heaven, but all she sees is space. She turns to a fresh page and begins to write.

“Looking out the window into the dark night sky,

I glimpse the beginning of a new and spectacular dawn. The sky in the east transforms from inky black to

rusty indigo, to majestic magenta, to a soft cherry pink. It seems to speak to me of promises and dreams, of someplace I recognize but feels like so long ago.

I don’t see my father’s spirit out there, but I picture him in my mind, playing baseball. I see him standing

at the plate, legs planted firmly, his expression deadpan. I see him looking over at me, sitting in the bleachers— a conspiratorial wink. The pitcher releases the ball.

It sails through the air. Dad swings the bat. Crack.

It makes contact. Dad drops the bat in the dirt and starts running.

I pray that somewhere in that forever sky my father is running free, watching over me, proud of who I’ve become. I pray he will always be with me, bonded in spirit, in our hearts, for eternity.

I don’t know how I’m going to do this, how to carry on without him. God knows I’ve endured one hell of a lot of hardships in my lifetime, but this feels like too much. My father was my rock, the one true thing I always could rely on. He was a simple man. He didn’t change the world, but he changed mine. I felt witnessed, accepted, perfect. His hands have always held me as I laughed and cried. My father’s hands, they were my refuge. I always felt safe in his arms, with him only a phone call away. Where will my strength come from now? How will I manage, stuck in an unhealthy, unhappy marriage? How will I be the good mother my children need me to be, deserve me to be?

I don’t have the answers. All I have left are the memories, of the holding. I suppose it will have to be enough. “

Cate is crying so hard by this time, she can’t write anymore. Her tears fall onto the page, smudging her words. She closes her eyes. She sits in silence, for how long she doesn’t know. After a while she stirs as if aroused by divine inspiration. She has the strongest urge to write a poem for her father. She goes into the office and sits down at the computer to write. The words flow out of her with lightning speed, her fingers on the keyboard barely able to keep up….

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