Dreamer

I Dreamed the Wind and Danced Its Edges (Chantel)
I Dreamed the Wind and Danced Its Edges (Chantel)

I read today that Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy are breaking up their relationship.

I feel sad.

And then I laugh because Miss Piggy and Kermit are Muppets, not human beings. They are imagination and dreams, fabric and foam. My head tells me this, laughing at my silliness.

I laugh again, because my heart knows full well that the divine Miss P and her equally heart-elegant Kermy are very real. They are dreams made true.

My heart is wiser than my head. My heart doesn’t care what the world says about dreams and dreamers and imagination and pretend. That they are not practical, don’t exist, all airy-fairy silliness, false.

Dreams and dreamers and imagination and pretend are real. They are the spark, a bit of light peeking through that opens into something new. They are love, passion, and joy playing at what is possible. When I daydream about what I love and gives me joy, then ask what is possible, I am always answered.

I see my dream open up, adding to itself here and there, growing in detail. Possibilities. Spark attracting more sparks until the dream becomes idea. A true possibility that I can act on, step by step, create real in this world.

Start here, try this, Source whispers to me.  And I do.

This is where Kermit and Miss Piggy come from. Sparks. Jim Henson and all who worked with him and all who continue to be Muppet dreamers believers creators. The sparks that keep popping into dreams, into pretend and play. That are seen and felt, loved and laughed over, imagined bigger. Step by step created real.

This is why I know the Muppets are real, and why I am sad for Miss P and Kermy and their break-up. Why I hope with all my heart they get back together again. They are friends and family. All the Muppets are. I love them. They are a gift, given by dreams and dreamers and imagination and pretend.

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Mentioned in this post:

Jim Henson, 1936 – 1990, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Henson  Thank you for your spark!

The Muppets, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Muppets

 

 

Mirroring Love

Coyote Sings to a Broken World - detail
Coyote Sings to a Broken World – detail

This morning I look into the mirror and what do I see?

I see love.  I see big, fat, wonderful, cushiony love.  I see care.  I see kindness.  I see compassion.  I see forgiveness.  Passion.  Joy.  Play.  Love in all its shapes.

I never realized love had so many faces.  I could have guessed.  I know love is Source,  everything, all.

The version of love I have been is not like this.  It’s limited, conditional.  I’ll love you if you’ll love me.  You love me first, and I’ll control the situation and decide if I want to love you back.  If you love me enough or in a specific way (which you have to guess), I’ll love you too.

This is not love.  This is being closed and cautious and afraid of getting hurt.  This is not actually loving you here in front of me, and not loving myself either.

I am discovering that if I love myself, no conditions on it, it is easy to love the other person, you.  When I love myself unconditionally, my love spills over into the space around me.  Yes, the space where you are standing.  And then you feel love, too.

I love love.  It never runs away or runs out.  It’s always here when I open to it.  Constant.  Waiting for me.  I open to love, and it hugs me back fiercely.  So excited, so happy I am here too, and let’s play!  Love as a four-year-old child sharing all in her toy box.

Unconditional love mirrors me.  It shows me the true me.  It makes me the true me, when I stand in love and only love.  Other things—judgment, limits, holding back, hiding, control—cannot root here or live here.  They need something to push against in order to exist, and love gives no resistance.  They try to push against love, assert themselves, and instead they fall through and away.

In the mirror of love, I see you and me as we truly are.  I see all we have to offer.  The best.

Bright shining stars.  This is us.  In love’s mirror.

Postcard #1 – Permission

Counting Crows
Counting Crows

Raven, who came by five weeks ago to tell me to play, has come to Camp Nanowrimo with me.  He is whispering in my ear right now.  Say yes, he says and dips his head up and down, Give yourself permission.

I have been writing steadily since before last summer.  First my book draft, then the blog, now the book revision and blog at the same time.  I am writing.  I am a Writer.  Really, I have been writing stories since Grade Three.  But apparently I have not actually given myself permission to be a Writer.

I didn’t know that.  I thought if I was doing this, permission was implied.  Not, according to Raven.

My family and friends all know what I am doing and creating.  I have their steady support and interest.

Not that I asked for it or needed to ask for it, but I have full permission from the Universe, from Source.  I experience it every day in the gifts that come my way.  Time, resources, inspiration, support, response to what I create.

So I have permission from all except myself.

I love to write, draw, create.  It is joy and play to me.  It is my work.

Some old pattern in me thinks that joy and play cannot mix with work.  Work has to be serious.  Work has to be hard.  Work is not to be enjoyed.

Well, I say crap to that.  I am making a different choice and creating a new pattern for myself.

I choose that my writing is my work.  I choose that my work is play.  I choose to keep writing and playing with love and joy and passion.  I give myself full permission to write, to play with my writing, to love my writing, to enjoy my writing.

This is my place in the world, at my work table in my studio.  Paper, pens, laptop.  Head, heart, words.  The view out my window.  This is permission.  I am a Writer.

I have all I need.

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Mentioned in this post:

Camp Nanowrimo    http://campnanowrimo.org    campnanowrimo