Try Again

Forgive, and Don't Forget.

Dear human soul (self),

The Heavenly Cosmos is an infinite jar of your favorite jelly (or salsa, or peanut butter, or balsamic glaze, or whatever drizzly, gooey thing is your favorite). You are one, perfect scoop of jelly out of that jar.

You’re swimming around now, transforming from a scoop of jelly into a little baby.

You will be born into the world.

You will breathe your first breaths, and it will be so terrifying that you’ll scream.

Try again. It gets easier. Breathe again.

You will have many more experiences. Humans use these time constructs, such as ‘one year,’ to keep track of things. Over many years, you’ll have many more experiences, and they will be so terrifying that you’ll scream.

Try again. It gets easier. Breathe again.

Living in duality (good, bad, best, worst, dark, light, difficult, easy) with other human souls, it’s easy to slip into competition. It’s easy to start counting your missteps and the number of times you’ve screamed, compared to how many missteps and screams other people have had. This can turn into a pile of things you hold against yourself. It might get to the point that you let it all falsely define you. You become convinced that other people are holding it all against you too. You’ll be tempted to count the missteps of others in an attempt to prove to yourself that you’re not the worst. The thing is, all this counting does is make great big piles that will eventually swallow you if you don’t blow it all up.

Blow up the piles.

Each year billions of people from all different cultures and religions contemplate the history of a man who blew up the piles. Many refer to this past week as holy week. Break it down. For the moment, set aside traditions and the limitations of religion, and think about it. Blowing up piles is holy. Whether you believe in the Big Bang or a God of the universe who created everything- isn’t it essentially the same thing? It’s an explosion of LIFE from NOTHING. Blowing up piles is holy.

Piles of what? Well, that’s a good question. I suppose it’s just muck that can build up, the same way muck grows in the stagnant swamp or the way mold grows on bread that sat on the counter too long instead of feeding someone.

Why do these piles of muck exist? Maybe from choices we make or don’t make? Some choices lead to balance, others to imbalance. The beautiful thing about the universe, which includes us, is that it is constantly resetting itself. Greater balance can still come from imbalance.

I think of the lotus flower. Some religions have used it as a symbol of spiritual enlightenment, purity, prosperity, and eternity. You know where that lotus grows? Its roots are in the mud, the bottom of the stagnant pond. It grows up through the murky water and eventually finds the top of the water. Then, it blossoms.

Imagine: roots in the mud and the blossom that opens only after the stem has emerged from the mud and journeyed through the relentless water, which can sometimes make one feel lost.

It keeps going, and finds the air. Even then, maybe it feels like it’s dying because it has only known the mud and water.

Dear human soul, only you can blow up the pile of mud and emerge from it. If you’re in a religious environment, people might tell you Jesus [or someone else] already did it for you or you just have to believe in Jesus [or someone else], and you’ll be better. Let’s look at this way. Maybe Jesus did it for us in the sense that he demonstrated what we are able to transcend through belief and trust that it is possible for us too. The same spirit in him is the same spirit in us.

Photo by Karen Maes on Unsplash

It might happen in pieces. There might be one really big, thick piece of mud that has been suffocating you for such a long time that you’ve let it define you. It’s starting to feel more like clay than mud. You may even tell yourself that the other stems who are making their way through the water are leaving you behind on purpose. Or even more devastating, it’s possible to let yourself believe the ones whose petals are blossoming above water are better off without you.

Their petals blossom because they broke up the mud around their roots. Nonetheless, they ultimately come from the same mud as you. Your pain is their pain. Once the blossoms opens, it is more sensitive to all that is- yes, joy and love, overwhelming beauty and eternity…

AND… the immense darkness of pain and fear, whether it is their own or it is the pain and fear of someone else’s in their orbit, especially someone who they love dearly.

A specific desire is more immense and all-consuming than it ever has been for the now-blossoming lotus. It is the desire for all to experience the freedom and balance that comes from blowing up the mud. It is love for every root everywhere.

Photo by Vishu Joo on Unsplash

I suppose one could think of it like a sacrifice down there in the mud. It’s an end. You leave where you came from. You know you’re supposed to go somewhere. You know your shape might change. You might not break free right away.

Try again. It gets easier. Breathe again.

It is constant sacrifice, leaving where we came from.

Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself over and over until it feels Real. You’ll know you’ve forgiven yourself when you can forgive everyone else too.

Don’t forget where you came from. Because it’s all who you are.

You are not the blossom without the bud, without the breaking stem, without the growing stem, without the pile of mud you broke through, without the roots which were embedded in the darkness of the mud.

Embrace all of it because you are all of it.

You’ll never do it perfectly the first time because that would be boring.

Try again.

Forgive, and don’t forget.