Traveling the Path of the Soul (Meb)

          Lately I've been working on trying to hear the quiet, persistent, nay shall I say, impatient whispers from my Soul. I don't mean the kidney-shaped soul of my Catholic school youth that turned grey over time, but whitened up brilliantly after I made a good confession. (That's how I imagined my soul: how did you imagine yours?) This soul is at the core of me, the deepest part of me, my true self, the who-I-am-born-to-be. It may seem like it's a little late in my life to be listening for my path but the truth is, for the first time, well, really ever, I am not responsible for anyone else's happiness and well-being but my own. Other nudges telling me to pay attention right now include that I am going to be celebrating a big birthday in a month; that March 1 was my mother's birthday and the day my father passed away last year; and, as if to underscore how important it is for me to stop and listen, one of my dearest friends was in a serious, life-threatening accident this week, hit while walking in the crosswalk with the light, by a shuttle bus! How short, how changeable, how fragile life is! My soul purpose calls me, of that I am sure, but to what direction?
 

          In Miracle Chase language: "Everybody has a Job" and perhaps, we have more than one in a life time. I believe that we each have a Divine purpose on this planet. So, I get quiet and I ask myself, "Meb, what is your true calling, your job right now?" Silence. There  is no Miraclevision, no two by four on the side of the head awakening. Life feels like fog. Never a good navigator, relative to this soul-searching question, I'm clearly driving around in the dark.

          I'm not scared, though maybe I should be. It pains me to say it, but I understand that by some standards I am lost. It doesn't make me feel any less anxious or more secure to see that many of my friends seem to be finally at the top of their professions or retiring. Others are planning weddings; some even have grandkids they spend a lot of time with. Lots of folks are taking those exotic trips they've planned for the last ten years. Me? - and I am not whining about this, just noticing where I am - I am single at sixty, longing for the love of my life. I am piecing together a work life after reentering late without the required "social network" and I realize, every day, I have splinter skills that over qualify me in some ways, but lack some basic skills (including a thick skin) that I might have acquired by now had I stayed in. I am the port in the storm for my kids, so my house is like the docking station on the Enterprise (and for you hip readers, the Galactica) - they fly in, they fly out, though landing for shorter periods of time. Is there anybody else out there who is struggling to make sense of this time in life like me? With a nod to Erica Jong, I swear this isn't about Fear of Flying, it's fear of losing my bearing and never being able to land again.

          The feeling of not knowing was getting so painful, so empty, so out of my control because it isn't something that is coming from my head, that I ran out and got a shelter dog. That's right. Now I have something I seriously need to take care of so I don't have to feel all this angst. Cleo, short for Cleopatra, is so traumatized from being on the street that she takes one piece of kibble from her bowl at a time and runs to eat it under the dining room table. She cries when she can't see me, and that's when I am home!

          I get it. I see this pattern of running for cover in the familiar feeling of something needing my attention out there. And I also see how sheltering the shelter dog is in a way an obvious symbol of wanting to shelter myself in here - in my soul and heart. I cry, I whine, I beg when I can't see myself in the life I am living, feel my purpose in the work I am doing, find my true calling. Could someone please take me for a walk???

          As I write this newsletter, it is the day after Valentine's Day - the day I'll call Valentine's Day Recovery Day (You single or neglected people know what I am talking about). If you think about it, life is one mysterious love story. As the mystic poet Rumi says,"Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along." To put it another way, it would be so easy to try to forget about the fog and fall in love, out there, even for just a day. But I am standing firm: I've got to trust that "not all those who wander are lost" (thank you J.R.R.Tolkien). Maybe I just need to wander more purposefully. Finding and falling in love with my true nature and purpose means I'll eventually be my own Soulmate and as Joanie would say, that's a good thing.  (Meb)