Something happened early this morning that reveals a little about how my universe works and why I have the audacity to stand up to my insecurities and procrastinations and launch yet another blah-blah-blog into the “noise.” Yesterday I had a bad very bad day. My inner WRITER’S DEMON had been successfully harping that my writing is lame, self-centered, and pointless. I prayed for guidance. No immediate answer came so I gathered up my personal resiliency tools and moved forward the best I could while trying not to drag my misery along like TP on the bottom of a shoe. This morning, at 5:34 a.m. while delivering a delightful plastic bag of my dog’s poo to the dumpster, I noticed a lovely art frame atop the recycling trash. I picked it up, evaluated that it had not actually touched anything icky, noticed it framed a poem, and took it to my studio to read later. As a poet I felt obligated to rescue and at least read it before re-recycling it. When I nonchalantly started reading the piece I was stunned. This bit of poetry spoke directly and precisely to my current challenge as if it had been written just for me. In less than 12 hours (which isn’t really that long considering the state of the known and unknown realities of the universe) my Higher Power, Aumakua, Shekinah, God, Goddess, Whatever You Wanna Call The Forces that Fight the Darkness and Demons of Despair, my Sacred Listener and Watcher, my Beloved Friend, my Bringer of Light, my Deliverer from the Ravager of All Hope, had, out of the generous graces of the omniverse, tossed a poetic response to my plea for guidance in the dumpster. Ironic. Creative. Whimsical. People complain that there are no “telegrams” from God. Not true!
I’d like you to understand that even in my darkest nights I don’t try to push my way to the front of the PLEASE HELP ME GOD LINE. There are so many more desperate and deserving people than me. I don’t believe that my prayers should get line-cuts in front of anyone sitting with a dying loved one, pleas from war zones, or from any soul in wrenching illness, pain, terror, abuse, or grief. And I have lived long enough to know that an answer will show up, eventually. While I’m waiting, my resiliency task is to keep moving forward with eyes, heart, and mind open for the answers. One of my favorite prayers from the Hasidic tradition goes something like, “Lord Help me, but please help me while I’m waiting for you to help me!”
When I truly need help I sometimes visualize writing a prayer on a 3 x 5 card and mentally imagine handing it to a Volunteer-Gofer-All-Access-Backstage-Pass-Angel. I politely request that they put it in God’s In-Box. If it’s urgent I mentally write 911 on the card to separate it from the prayers of people just trying to find parking spots at the mall. Because by the time I get to a legitimate 911 prayer it means I’m at some sort of end-of-my-rope moment and the answer needs to be a resiliency bungee cord back to hope. At 5:34 a.m. my faltering resiliency needed a boost and a poem in the dumpster nudged this poet to get over my self doubts, come out of hiding, suit up, show up, step out of my isolation, write another bit of poetry to add to my website gallery page, keep working on my new book, and launch my blog. Because even if my contribution ends up in a dumpster, the universe might see fit to recycle it.
What can you do today to nudge your Resiliency 4 Today? I suggest you keep your eyes open for hope whimsy from unexpected places and do your best to contribute whatever you have to offer.
Welcome to Dr. Vali’s Resiliency 4 Today Blog. Please stay tuned.
Aloha, Dr. Vali
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