Meditation and the ability to seek solitude for our healing, well being, and self-awareness cannot be something we are afforded when we can go to the mountains, or create a special room with lots of crystals and incense. It has to become a practical application of daily life that fits seamlessly into our busy schedules and pursuits.
Peace is not something we find or create, it is a way of being. It comes to us when we stand with integrity in truth. It comes when we are who we are meant to be. It is a reminder that we are connected to the source of all knowledge and power. There is no cheap imitation for peace. Peace only comes when we are one with our source.
Accepting myself as flawed and imperfect was one of the most loving acts for self I ever committed. It took me out of the realm of expectations for perfection that I gathered as I grew up. I will always make mistakes. I have hurt people as often as I have been hurt by others. I hope that has lent me further understanding instead of harsher judgments.
I know that I am capable of anything that others have done, given the right circumstances and that while that knowledge does not excuse some things that people do that should not be excused, it does allow me compassion. I have learned that I can hate the act and still love the sinner. I can know that someone cannot be in my life without needing to harm them or cause them pain.
I look to other’s lives as teachers because I can see myself in them. I try to remember that others see themselves in me.
Of all the moments of my husband’s last 3 years of his life, suffering with a painfully debilitating illness, I remember most an older man who came to visit him at the hospital. He was not a close friend or a relative, just someone who we both knew and had talked to from time to time. He did not bring flowers or gifts. He was not chatty and full of advice. He did not attempt to entertain. He simply walked to my husband’s bedside and took his hand in his. He looked at him. He ran his hand over his forehead and down his face and sat down, holding my husband’s hand. He simply sat there with him.
No-one else had done that.
My husband was in such pain, and everyone either denied it or ignored it. This man sat with him and the pain.
I was moved to tears.
Pain is a teacher. It speaks to us of our most vulnerable parts. It opens places we do not want to go. It tells us things that we might never be able to explain to another human being. Sometimes surrender is the only answer that makes any sense.
My husband taught me this more than anyone else.
He is one of the most spiritual people I have ever known. He has no religious upbringing but he lives his understanding 24/7. The example of his life has taught me to deepen my own spiritual journey and to make it, even more, a part of my life.
It is not religion that makes us spiritual. It is not our beliefs. It is our connection and how that impacts our lives, especially when no-one is looking.