Every day in the spiritual magazines and newsletters I read about people, enlightened beyond imagination, who by great conscious choice and willingness to sacrifice have descended to this earth plane to help us all. Despite years of spiritual reading, workshops, consultations, I know I’m not one of them.
My Spiritual Defects
I haven’t, with pleased shock, discovered I’m an empath, intuitive, sensitive, or indigo. I haven’t studied with Sri Ram Ramaramadananda or Don Miguel Luiz Ruiz Belize Trapize. I don’t channel an archangel named Jophial or a spirit guide named Lucille. I don’t feel the Heart of Love overflowing for all humankind or radiate an all-pervading glow of Oneness. I’m not a clairvoyant, clairaudient, telepath, telekineticist, psychic surgeon, or remote viewer (except on my TV).
Too often, I get annoyed, irritated, or downright enraged at my significant other—and life. Too often, I burst out in anger and sarcasm, cursing under my breath or louder. Too often, I wish I could be taken care of like a pampered princess.
I love the things of this world—ice cream, fried chicken, television spy and murder shows, a pounding hot shower, my husband’s touch, the old quilt’s comforting smells, sleeping too late, a Mozart symphony or McCartney serenade, the air after rain, a football player’s butt.
I’ve never received midnight visits from a gold-and-blue-robed saint smiling beneficently at the bottom of my bed.
Jesus has never come calling.
I’ve never seen a blinding flash of Light that impelled me to weep.
I’ve never opened my inner door to a legion of Light Beings.
I’ve never been moved to prostrate myself on my nonprayer-rug floor at the sound of ethereal mysterious bells.
A deceased grandfather has not appeared in a startling, so-real vision to advise me whether to go or stay, say yes or no, buy
The Harmonic Convergence of 1987 passed me by as I struggled to earn a living.
I rarely have a lucid dream, and if I do, I awake finding my hand in the freezer on the Klondike bars.
The only out-of-body experiences I ever had were a few great orgasms.
But yes, I’ve sometimes thought of a friend I haven’t heard from in weeks, and a day later she calls.
I’ve found parking spaces after a moment of internal pleading.
When an inexplicable pain attacks, I somehow know what to do without running to the Internet search box.
Daily I have morning quiet times.
Daily I write a page or two of affirmations.
Daily I meditate for at least two and a half minutes before the day’s to-dos crowd in.
And some days I feel blessedly free of money worries, anger at others, and hatred of my extra pounds.
Some days the answer comes almost before I’ve formed the question.
Some days my work flows with perfect pleasure.
Some days I no longer fear death or Muslims but look forward to ongoing consciousness and no laundry.
These are the days—as I remember to keep practicing and adding more of them—when I know I’m not spiritually deprived.
© 2021 Noelle Sterne. For more information visit http://www.trustyourlifenow.com