Reflecting on the future, right now
Do you ever feel like you’re not meant for this world?
This morning I sat to meditate and that’s what kept coming to me. I’m not meant for this world. I’m meant for a world that exists in the future. But then how do we get to the future without thoughts of not wanting what we have?
In my memoir I write,
I’ve come to believe that the Future calls you forward. Leans into you and whispers your name. Tells you where to walk and what foot to place next. The Future says, you’re on track . . . or you’re not on track. When you think of something and a darkness or heaviness comes over you, maybe it’s experiential insight into how it will feel to walk that path. When you think of another version of the future, and your soul feels light, you’re freely entering the righteous unknown.
I believe we are called forward, asked and guided by our intuition and the senses we feel in our bodies towards the right next thing. We are always giving ourselves feedback.
But sometimes the momentum of life overtakes us and we can’t hear the subtleties of our soul’s calling. We default to pushing off the last wrong thing.
As humans it seems we want to have a wall to kick off of—that stupid old job, that idiot ex, that woman who I would never want to be—why do we have to hate the past to move forward? Once upon a time, it’s exactly what we dreamed of and wanted. Remember when you were excited about the interview? Nervous in anticipation for the first date? In awe of that woman who could do it all? What if we did not have to feel, I’m so done, before we explored the next right thing?
What if we simply kept loving? What if we let all the choices and people who have been part of us, simply stay? Not themnecessarily, but the love we generated within ourselves? How full could we be if we simply allowed ourselves to swell with it? Reconnected to and threaded together all the times we felt excitement, anticipation and joy. Allowed those experiences to be the trail markers of our lives. Isn’t that what happens in the end? When people come to speak upon our deaths, do they not reflect on the interim joys? The ones along the way?
What if we allowed our balloon to rise up and over the house, the block, the city, up into the sky where we can see the landscape of our lives, not at the end, but right now? All of it. Every beautiful thing that’s ever been, even if it’s no longer beautiful, even if after it was beautiful it was full of pain.
We don’t have to kick against the past. We can simply expand with it, be bigger, be in love with all of it… from a distance. We can stand on our tippy toes and lean over the edge of the wicker basket, and look upon all of it and say thank you. Thanks for getting me here. Thanks for expanding who I am and showing me who I want to be. I love you.
I love you.
