My Beloved Mirrors

Nothing like a blog to loosen one's lips--or in this case, my fingertips on the keyboard.

It's been a long journey--this learning to genuinely love all aspects of myself. I had multitudes of "prodigal sons and daughters" within me begging for me to acknowledge them, to appreciate their contribution to my life and then to release them from their old roles.

In my imagination, I see each aspect of myself coming onto the stage, an actor, with a bouquet of roses, taking his/her final bow in front of an audience on its feet, applauding and cheering for a job well done, convincingly so.

Those previous two paragraphs make it sound so easy, for it was as simple as that--but I had an ego who had been protecting me and running the show for a very long time.

My ego was the left hemisphere of my brain, the part that thought myself separate from God (my tiny-feeling human survivor--my identity), and when my more negative prodigal children started coming to the fore, my ego did everything in its power to deny their existence, to squelch them, to avoid them in shame. It was afraid I wouldn't survive my acceptance of them.

At first, I was ashamed of my ego and I tried to kill her off, but I eventually realized that she, too, was an integral part of the human experience--that amazing gift given to me by God--for without her, there would be no distinguishing myself from all of God's other gifts (other humans and Creation).

Early on, back in my "judge not, lest you be judged the same" days, I had an idea surface that I still use as a tool today. I used it as my mantra:

"Thanks to all who touch my life, for you are the mirrors that reflect back to me my own thoughts, beliefs and perceptions."

I am the projector of everything I perceive in this life, and it doesn't change anything if I'm out there trying to adjust the mirrors (fix other people).

I discovered that true change in my reflected outer world starts with changing what's going on within me. It's a whole lot easier and much less dramatically, traumatically messy. And it allows me to honor everyone else in their own journeys while honoring myself.

The outer world was simply a tool to help me see the struggles going on within me--struggles that could be resolved when I was aware they were there.

That's enough for now. I think the next part will be on breathing through the gift of pain...

My Big Ah-Ha!/Yahoo! Moment

I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes asking God, in total frustration and desperation, why the heck I was still judging my neighbors--literally. I had taken Jesus's admonition to "judge not, lest you be judged the same" completely to heart and I'd been trying to adhere to it for several months, only to fail miserably at the endeavor. It felt like I'd spent more time judging than actually living--and I hated myself for that.

What caught me by surprise is that this time god actually seemed to reply the moment I asked the question. It wasn't audible (I didn't actually hear a voice), but I had a comforting tingling feeling and a knowingness of the conversation that clearly came through.

That voice within me said, "Penny--how do you expect to love everyone else without condition if you don't love yourself first? Love yourself first, and all the rest will come easily." It said, "I love you. I have always loved you--in all your ways."

I liked that response, but then I thought about some moments when I had really seemed to have done some bad things. And I had to ask, "Well, God, did you love me when I did such and such?"

And the reply was, "Yes, Penny. I loved you even then."

And I asked, "Well--what about this time...?" Because, I thought I'd really screwed up that time.

Again the reply, "Yes. I loved you then, too." I'd think of other shameful, guilty moments, one after another and it would unfailingly respond, "Yes--that time, too. And, yes, even then...always I love you..."

This back and forth testing of God's depth and height of love of me continued on through the remainder of my dishes and through a walk through my neighborhood. The tears flowed along with the greatest relief and joy--all out astonishment--that God loved me even when I seemed so unlovable, so unworthy, so--human.

This was just the beginning. My ah-ha! moment has been growing ever since, for, you see, I had to walk through all my past shames (layer upon layer) and unconditionally love myself for all those ways of being, just like god, my soul-self, my "I am that I am."

Accepting Full Responsibility with Self-Compassion

The Word of God—supposedly the only words God ever spoke to humanity were written in one book, the most recent being somewhere around 2000 years ago. When did The Bible become synonymous with the only word of God? Somehow that doesn’t make much sense to me anymore. At one time it did—back before I’d read the whole thing through and before I’d delved further into the history surrounding the times the passages and letters were written and who wrote them, before I knew how to use a concordance. Before I started a personal relationship with God myself. Before I daringly read books others called all kinds of heretical names in order to discourage me from finding my own answers my own way.

Once I started having my own relationship with my source of life, no one else’s words could compare or compete with the unconditional love, infinite compassion, gratitude, celebration and ease and comfort and true grace I found with the God who loved me—all of me, humanity and Creation. And He/She was right here inside me, ever present, though I went through much of my life thinking I was separated from that Most Loving Parent. Funny thing—the Bible has all kinds of stories that tell that very tale: The Song of Solomon, for one. The groom searches all over outside of himself for his beloved bride (his feminine divine self that completes his masculine divine self) only to discover she was always there within him the entire time. It's all over the place in the New Testament—God’s omnipresence was one of Jesus’s basic teachings, from what I’ve read.

I listen to the conversations going on around me and I hear scriptures from that "Holy Printed Word of God" being used in the most unloving, cruelly vicious ways. We all know how words can be twisted—and I have to say, that is probably one of the most perverted things I’ve seen done. God’s House should be a place of comfort, mercy, compassion and grace—and always LOVE. I don’t see it filled with human judges or a god or other entity that judges, period.

Yes, I do love the scriptures. I love Jesus reminding me, "Judge not, lest you be judged the same way." I’ve found that to be personally true. I’ve found that ignorantly casting a stone at someone without getting to know them or imagining myself in their shoes is going to end with me being the one conked in the head with the rock when it’s all said and done.

I’ve also discovered that the answers I find in me are meant for me only, my way is only my way—not intended for anyone else, not to be forced upon anyone else. If God isn’t forcing His Way upon me, well, doesn’t that mean maybe it might be a good idea to follow His/Her example? Good Parenting 101.

I just realized recently that I’m not seeking to be the shepherd of a bunch of sheep—way too much responsibility—and I don’t want to force someone in a direction they don’t want to go. I’d rather empower them in their own ability to discover their own answers and ways within themselves, totally free of charge. The only cost is that each of us must be willing to accept the consequences of the choices we each make—and sometimes the consequences can be wonderful and sometimes they can be painful. But, really, isn’t that part of the package of life experienced fully?

Recently I’ve been the reluctant recipient of forwarded petitions that I can only see as "hate mail." Seems the latest conspiracy is that homosexuals are taking over the world. The only thing is, so much of this is coming from people who consider themselves Christians—and I can only liken them to the Crusaders, the ones with a really bloody history of killing off "lesser non-believers" all in the Name of God. Gee, who else in this current world of ours is committing atrocities in the Name of God? Is one set more right than the other?—both supposedly have God on "their side."

And here’s the kicker in this whole story—I was once a stone-throwing homophobe, too. Back when the news media had the population convinced that AIDS was a homosexual disease, back when I didn’t know anyone of that persuasion personally, and back when I hadn’t truly allowed to let myself consider the subject on my own. I used to tell gay jokes, too.

But I did have a teacher who planted a seed when some classmates were in the midst of playing a spoof about being gay while in one of his classes. He told us the story of a guy he knew in college who realized he was gay. The man was so ashamed of himself and so distraught that he committed suicide. The teacher, who I respected deeply, told this story with compassion and no judgment. And while I went on several more years with my prejudices, that story stayed with me. My ego didn’t like it when my heart kept reminding me of it. After all, didn’t someone tell me that The Bible (God’s Word) said that was wrong?

About a decade later my soon-to-be husband and I were graciously given a temporary home in Minneapolis by a friend of his (and his partner) from college. I found those two men to be some of the most encouragingly supportive people in our lives at that time. We occasionally touch base through the years with my husband’s college friend, and when we do, I walk away lighter of heart. It’s always an uplifting conversation with him.

One other thing that has since come to mind is that I’ve realized that in my own relationship with my husband, sex is only one small aspect of our relationship—there is so much more to the two of us together. And we all see how our human sexuality has been misused and abused through the media—we’ve all heard the phrase "sex sells." Well, I’m inclined to consider that the relationship between a same-sex couple may be a great deal more than just sexual, too, especially if they’ve been together for awhile. I recently saw two men who had been together for 37 years—to me, that means there has to be much more than sex involved.

As the years passed, other friends and loved ones have come forth sharing their personal secrets. I have a friend (a cousin, actually) who is the son of a Christian minister/missionary—I can’t imagine any human LESS likely to just decide he’s going to "try out the homosexual thing just for the hell of it." What human would consciously choose to be gay (not that there is anything wrong in being so) when coming out meant that he might lose the family--blood and church family--he had? Not only that, but according to some—he’d also lose that personal relationship with God unless he denied what he knew deep inside. What kind of god would enjoy seeing one suffer in misery that way?

I can only imagine how that felt to play at being someone I knew I wasn’t inside, trying to be, and do, the "right" thing—only to have it all blow apart.

Oh wait—I DID have that happen to me! Yes, my story took a different tour—my sexual orientation wasn’t the story—but I, too, played at being someone I wasn’t, all in an attempt to keep from being rejected by those I loved and respected. And that wasn’t pretty either—it all looked a bit messy for awhile and sometimes I felt like a blind, cornered creature just attacking and lashing out at whoever and whatever came close to me. And in the end, I had to come out of my own boxy little closet—and I had to let go of some suggestions made by others outside of me that no longer resonated as truth. I had to be my authentic self—a really good thing, come to find out.

And yes, it’s scary to consider that those past choices I’d made and followed as my truth turned out to be hurtful to others—and yes, I’ve felt the guilt and the shame because of that.

But in that process, I discovered the importance of practicing self-compassion that enables me to accept responsibility for all of my life’s experiences and perceptions in a way that turns that personal shame into celebration and gratitude for the wisdom gained.

I could use my story to accuse and shame another (which is likely to earn me a stone to the head) but I choose instead to share it to show that we can always change our minds--our choices--if we don’t like their consequences. And we can do so with self-compassion and appreciation of that one inside us who played that "dark, ignorant" role that lovingly gave us the personal experience that has so much more value and oomph to it than any words preached at us by another. And the scraped up knees and elbows that I acquire along the way do heal up.

And honestly—I choose to do no harm—to anyone. Creating intentional harm ultimately hurts me, because everything that goes out from me (that which is spoken or done) always finds its way back to its originator--me. And that is how it should be—for that includes the intentional kindness and compassion that goes forth from me, as well.

Don't be afraid to let go of suggested truths that don't feel appropriate anymore that you've maybe accepted and held as your own for a good portion of your life. Once again--truth changes and evolves along with an open and expanded awareness. You never really did anything wrong. Your conscious awareness was just limited--you can't play the human game and not have had that happen.

When we share with one another our own stories of personal guilts and shames, and how our perspectives change, and how we decide to simply let old ideas and stories go--we create a safe and sacred space in our world for others to allow the same thing for themselves. That goes so much further with me than any finger-pointing lectures.

P.S. Below is a link to a 16-minute YouTube video with Adamus Saint-Germain talking about the 13th Strand in our DNA, not visible to science yet. It's the one with a balanced Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine--both of which are found in every single one of us humans, regardless of gender. We have a split brain--right and left hemispheres. The right corresponds to the feminine and the left to the masculine. It makes sense to me, and maybe it will to those who read my stuff.

LGBTQ + Origins and Challenges

With this Body...

I recently attended a family reunion where I observed myself taking part in conversations revolving around our bodies. I found myself caught up in the hair discussion—how I wish my hair was more this way or that, that nobody is pleased with what they have (curly-hair wants the smooth, straight stuff and the straight stuff would like some more curl), blah, blah, blah…and there I was right in the thick of it, wholeheartedly chiming in with my hair woes.

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I thought, "Penny! This is not how you truly feel about any part of your body or yourself anymore! Ahem—honey, you lied to these people."

The previous night the discussion was surrounding southerly-headed, less-than-perky boobs and flabby arms. Regarding the boobs—my contribution to the conversation was that I was still "in training." I wasn’t feeling ashamed or ugly about my boobs though—it was just a joke. And it was a funny and fun conversation, but it was also a moment when I realized how critical we have become about our bodies—this truly amazing gift from none other than God!

Thanks to profit-motivated production and marketing, we’ve allowed ourselves to be convinced that we need "improving on."

It feels like all the while I’ve been staring at the mirror cringing over an acne scar, receding gumline (I keep hearing the phrase, getting long in the tooth), broken vessels and varicose veins, cellulite, stomach and butt excess, flat chest, are my teeth yellowing or is it this lighting?, and so on--I’ve been in fact saying to God, "This gift you gave me stinks!"

And then I cast the package on the floor and stomp all over it in tantrum mode! I buy creams and clothing to conceal or enhance, do a stint of squats (butt and thighs) and windmills (for the arm flab) and sit-ups (or some convoluted version of them to flatten that stomach)--and I used to "diet" (shudder).

And while all that is going on, I’m continually consulting my progress (usually it’s failure) in the mirror, and then that other part of me kicks in and says, "God—what did I do to deserve this? Am I that sorry of a case? Did I really screw up so badly that you’re punishing me by putting me in this body that breaks down and is SO NOT PERFECT?"

And then eventually I get to that realization that as GOD’s own child/children, how could we possibly be anything less than perfect in our being in His/Her sight? What parent hasn’t taken a picture of that toddler with birthday cake smeared all over that smile, and felt their hearts melt with pride and joy at this gorgeous and funny little being?

And how many times have I secretly turned my head, trying to hide my laughter and delight when some little boy or girl or pet has done something kind of naughty or mischievous?

Heck, even the prodigal son got a welcome home far beyond anything he expected. I know it surprised me, but it’s always been one of my favorite stories. Personally, I catch myself wondering if maybe he actually gained a bit more wisdom than the brother who stayed home with his dad, doing it all "the right way." I have a sense that maybe hopping off that pedestal of perfection, and experiencing life as we each choose to experience it is maybe the point of why we’re all here—everything, no matter how bad or good it was, adds to wisdom. And that’s how I see God looking at it. And growth has to start somewhere.

As for this body—I’ve definitely changed my perspective on it. Without it, I’d never have known what a hug from Mom felt like. That was always the first thing I got when I walked into Mom and Dad’s house. If they were eating, another plate was put at the table—and even the simplest of fares at Mom’s had a special something about it, never to be duplicated, just like snowflakes.

And without those moments of giving each other home perms (back when curly was in), I’d have missed out on some of the best conversations EVER with my mom—they were the really good kind, too. The ones where we hoped for the best for loved ones, celebrated the uniqueness of individuals and his/her triumphs and shed some tears over the sorrows.

With this body I got to kiss and be kissed—one of my most favorite things.

And without this body, I could never have experienced the moment that had me nearly on the ground in laughter. I was playing hide-and-go-seek with my great-in-so-many-ways nephew who was two at the time. When it was his turn to hide and for me to count in the shed, I looked out--after counting to ten--to see him barreling full bore up the slope of our yard and around shrubs and trees, with both hands covering both eyes, two fingers split apart on one hand in order to peek through just enough to keep himself from running into something—laughing and giggling the whole while. I’ve never played the game quite that way before or since, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!

And with this body I got air-kissed by his little brother, his eyes squinted shut, still twinkling though, as his nose turned up and his lips smooched me from twenty feet away. Then he grinned, and off he tromped with his brother and parents to visit their great grandmother.

With this body, I got to go wild-flower picking with Dad in search of flowers for my boyfriend’s funeral. With this body, I got to feel an emptiness and an aloneness so deep that I never wanted to feel that way ever again. With this body I got to feel shame and guilt and lack of self-love and self-worth so intensely that I sought out that which gave me peace of heart. And, in the end, I found myself celebrating it all.

With this body, I got to marry a man who knew exactly what buttons to push on me—and he pushed them often. And I got good experience surrounding, at first, conditional love, followed by unconditional love. I discovered I can’t make someone love me, but I can still love him even if loving him means letting him go.

With this body I discovered compassion. Compassion just says, "Live life your own special way. I may go along and play with you when our choices intersect, but when they go in opposite directions, I’ll honor and celebrate that, too. No matter what—I’ll always love us and I’ll always embrace the wisdom gained. I may laugh or cry with you, but I’ll never pity us."

And with this body, I got to dance the waltz with my dad and learned the two-step from my mom. With these ears and this body, I’ve gotten to hear music that brought shivers to my spine and tears to my eyes—and sometimes nightmares—ha! But even those were exciting when sharing them with another.

And with this body has come a myriad of experiences too infinite to truly get all written down. But with this mind, I can recall them vividly because of all these sensations felt by being in a body—the divine gift of life experienced.

With this body filled with the breath of life, I got to hear my dad tell me at least once a day (if not more) for the last three and a half weeks I was with him, "Thank you, Babe. I love you."