Remembering Infinity

Spirituality | Metaphysics | Consciousness | Life


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Remembering Infinity: Spirit Signs


Does the "Spirit World" really communicate with us through subtle signs?

Does the “Spirit World” really communicate with us through subtle signs?

I find it interesting that so many others who have an interest in spiritual and metaphysical study seem to have such astounding experiences that encourage them along their way. So many others report having profound visions during meditation, an ability to connect directly with loved ones who have passed and beings from other dimensions, or witness paranormal activity with their own eyes.

Me? Not so much.

I, it seems, am a very tough case! Sure, I believe in many things I can’t see. I believe in many of the accounts others share of otherworldly beings and contacts. I believe that many other forms of intelligent and energetic life exist even beyond the farthest reaches of our Cosmos and our understanding. I believe that our consciousness lives beyond the grave—and that we are eternal souls. But without actual firsthand proof of these things, it seems I only have my faith in the accounts of others to go on.

Then there are days like today. I experience yet another synchronicity that subtly suggests that many worlds exist beyond ours—and that spiritual energies help nudge us along to the exact places we are supposed to go.

Before I share my account of today’s rather mystical events, I suppose I must explain that my paternal grandmother was a very spiritual person. She considered all religions as valid and wonderful pathways to personal discovery. Although raised under the umbrella of Western Christianity, she studied and deeply appreciated other religious paths, particularly those which touched the Eastern philosophies of Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism. She meditated quite often (although she often told us she was “just resting her eyes”) and spent much of her life in deep contemplation of Source, Our Universe, and our place within the Unity.

I was born and raised for most of my younger years in San Francisco and, since my grandmother lived not far from us, she spent a great deal of time exploring the city with me in tow. No matter where we went, whenever she spied a church or house of worship of nearly any kind, she would be drawn to it, much as a moth to a flame.

“Oh,” she’d exclaim, “what a lovely little church! We simply must go inside for a visit.”

Even at five or six years of age, I must have rolled my eyes and grinned—much as I do now when I recall those precious moments.

“Yes, Grandma…” I’d sigh with resignation. But I really didn’t mind. Our visits to these old churches, with their heavy wooden doors; cool, dark, and echoing interiors, and peaceful energy, left me feeling happy and at peace with myself. We’d go in, sometimes light a votive candle or two, and sit for a few moments on the smooth wooden pews. Grandma usually wasn’t much on ritual, but she’d sometimes make the sign of the cross and close her eyes in meditative prayer. I’d do the same, but instead of making a connection with Spirit, I’d pretend to pray and sneak peeks at the beautifully crafted statues and stained glass windows instead. I’ll always remember how beautiful my grandmother looked at those times—her wrinkled hands resting peacefully upon her lap and her softly lined face a perfect reflection of heavenly bliss.

When my grandmother was here in the physical, she loved butterflies. Well, she loved butterflies and ladybugs, but butterflies were her favorite. Especially the Monarch Butterfly, with its bright orange and black wings. She’d always point them out excitedly, every time she saw one. In the many years following her passing, I’ve come to understand that butterflies are “Heaven’s Messengers”. A great many psychic mediums have identified these delicate, colorful creatures as being used to convey messages from the spirit world to us, in our dense 3D-ness. I’ve even noticed myself that, many times, shortly after thinking of my grandmother, either a butterfly will flutter by very closely or a ladybug will land on my arm. To my mind, the frequency that this occurs is far beyond the statistical margins of “chance”.

But I digress.

Since today was one of the last few days before my teenage son starts school, I had offered to take him and his lovely girlfriend on a jaunt to Chinatown for lunch. They agreed, so we headed into the city from the suburbs. We hopped off the train, trekked through the downtown financial district, and found ourselves seemingly in another part of the world. If you haven’t seen it, San Francisco’s Chinatown is a mystical feast for the senses. Established in 1848, it is known as the largest Chinatown outside of Asia and the oldest in North America. Handsome, multi-story brick buildings line the street and strings of brightly colored lanterns, banners, and even drying laundry hang from balconies and light poles. Large glass windows offer expansive views into quaint, old-fashioned storefronts. Bright, colorful wares are often stacked floor to ceiling—and some goods even spill out onto the sidewalks to beckon the throngs of shoppers in.

As we walked down the street, smelling the wonderful aromas of incense and food being cooked in nearby restaurants, I noticed a tall, brick church that looked familiar. The sign in front read, “St. Mary’s Church” and I remembered it as one that my grandmother and I had visited nearly fifty years ago. I grinned at my son, mentioned that she and I had once been there, and suggested that we go inside “for a visit”. He wasn’t really interested—in fact, he and his girlfriend wanted to go play “Pokemon Go” on their phones at a park, just across the street instead. :rolleyes:

I was somewhat disappointed at their not joining me, but as a parent, I get it—after all, who would want to go in some old boring building with your dad when there are lots of wild virtual creatures to catch with your girlfriend, outside, in a bustling city?

So we parted ways momentarily and I disappeared into the nearly empty church. Just as my grandmother and I had done so many years ago, I lit a candle, found a quiet pew, and sat for a few moments. Now, much older, I did meditate for a few moments—but some things haven’t changed. I must admit that I stole a few glances at the stained glass and the familiar figures in alcoves along the walls. I thought about my grandmother, somehow just trusting she was there with me, and wondered if I would ever really feel her presence as I have done on a few very rare occasions.

Sadly, not feeling anything in particular, I shrugged my shoulders and got up to leave. I walked out of the church into the sunshine and walked across the street to the little park where my traveling companions waited. I found them on a bench and, much as I had expected, they were deeply engrossed in their technological adventures.

“C’mon guys…” I encouraged. “Let’s visit a couple of more shops and head to lunch. The place where my grandma and I once ate is right across the street and the food is fantastic!”

As they got up and we turned to leave, something caught my attention. There, out of the corner of my eye and behind some trees, I had noticed a brightly painted mural on the bottom floor of a very old apartment building. Once can scarcely imagine my surprise when I saw, much larger than life, two monarch butterflies painted on a garage door!

Now it didn’t escape me that, because of the position of this mural, there is absolutely no way I could have seen it from the front stairs of the church. The only way I could have seen it is to walk over to this park…and if my son hadn’t wanted to play his game there, I wouldn’t have seen it at all.

I laughed aloud, pointed out the mural, and told them both why seeing the butterflies meant so much to me. Although they may be young and somewhat skeptical, I don’t think the significance of the finding was entirely lost on them. My son’s girlfriend even mentioned that sometimes her family has seen what they too interpret as “signs from above”. She and her family have noticed on several occasions that, just when they are thinking or talking about her grandparents, lights or other electrical appliances will turn on for no logical reason.

So, once again, Spirit has sent me a “sign” that we and our loved ones are never truly gone. And once again, all I have is a wispy “inkling” in the place of rock-solid proof. But that’s OK. I suppose it’s much more fun that way…when Spirit plays a mystical game of “hide and seek” with us incarnated human beings.

One day, when my son has a family of his own, I hope he returns to Chinatown and recounts the story of the day his dad received a sign from Spirit. Perhaps then, if I’ve moved on to other realms, it’ll be my turn to send him a sign of his own. And I’ll just bet he’ll be awake and aware enough to notice it.

Hey, it’s now 5:55 as I’m writing this!

That just reminded me of what comedian Jeff Foxworthy used to always say in his show…“There’s your sign!”

What signs have you received from Spirit or your loved ones?

With Love,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: All Lives Matter


All are loved beyond measure--even the tiniest house finch.

All are loved beyond measure–even the tiniest house finch.

Several days ago, I had the privilege of rescuing a tiny young house finch whose feet and legs had become tightly bound together by several strands from her own nest. She had been flapping her wings in a desperate attempt to escape for quite some time and was hopelessly trapped, a dozen or so feet above the ground, under some solar panels where I work.

As soon as I heard about the bird’s predicament, I knew I had to help. I borrowed a tall ladder and soon found myself perched rather shakily at the top, sweating in near 100-degree heat. It was no easy task—trying to free her gently without causing her further injury.  Her little legs were crusted with dried blood and a part of one of her wings was rubbed raw by her struggles, but she fought bravely against her unforgiving bonds and me as well.

Working to free her, I was impressed by her incredible will to survive.  As I felt her frantic heart pounding wildly against my hand, I suddenly felt an intense Love and Compassion for this small, seemingly insignificant creature.  I was instantly and profoundly humbled, for she had reminded me that the gift of life should be cherished—in all its many forms.  It occurred to me that this is an important lesson many human beings must still not understand, for so many of us still continue to harm one another (and so many other of Nature’s creatures too).

While I carefully pulled the nest apart and gazed into this little bird’s frightened black eyes, I thought about the reasons so many humans seem to have such little respect for life. I came to realize that, in many ways, this callous disregard is just a dark shadow from some very old and clearly outdated ways of thinking and reacting. For thousands of years, mankind has somehow come to see itself as being completely separate from everything else. Like this little bird, from our earliest roots the drive to survive has taught us to be suspicious or even hostile to those who are not familiar to us.

In our troubled human history, it hasn’t been unusual at all to see new neighbors fear, compete with, and even kill one another—simply because they perceived themselves as being different from one another. Unfortunately, even those with close familial ties had (and still have) no guarantees. Those who’ve had disabilities, behaved differently, or somehow failed to meet “cultural standards” were often ridiculed, beaten, shunned from society, or even killed. In some situations, this habit of discrimination may have been seen as a way to limit the spread of illness or disease, but in far more cases these primitive fears and their resulting brutality were completely unnecessary and utterly baseless.

As shards of glass will scatter when a window pane is dropped upon a hard surface, humanity itself has become shattered. And, while the human population has grown, so it seems have our differences.  Tribes became clans, clans became villages, villages became cities, and cities became states and nations.  Instead of seeing our differences as beautiful and unique expressions of Creation and accepting them as such, we continued to cling to our old, familiar biases.  Today, people allow themselves to be eternally divided by their own beliefs and allegiances.  When we aren’t divided by national origin, language, or culture, then we’re divided by race, skin color, religious belief, or political philosophy. If these differences aren’t enough, we divide ourselves by age, physical appearance, sexual orientation, and gender.  We’re even judged and segregated by the kind of cars we drive, the brands of clothing we wear, the sports teams and celebrities we worship, and the type of “smart phones” or technology over which we obsess.  And the lists of things that separate us just goes on and on…

To make matters worse, recent tensions between some members of our community and the police have led to even greater divisiveness.  Resulting slogans of “Black Lives Matter” and “Blue Lives Matter” seem only to have fanned the flames of conflict, as do claims that the phrase, “All Lives Matter” somehow disrespects or minimizes the feelings of those who are suffering from the violence on both sides of the issue.

Seriously, has it come to that? Have things gotten so bad that even those with the utmost respect for life are now vilified and attacked for their Compassion?

I would suggest that if we are to evolve as a species, we must stop looking at one another through the myopic lenses of ignorance, prejudice, and fear.  At some point we must begin seeing each other as fellow travelers, all sharing a life together on this beautiful Earth home of ours.

It’s now well past time for us to wake up!  It’s time for us to end this insanity! It’s time for us to see that generations of insecurity, competition, and conflict have left us all struggling to find common ground and the understanding that, when it all comes down to it, we are all one race.  Differences are wonderful, of course, for they make us each stand out from one another–just as the individual grains of sand appear different upon a tropical beach. But in the end, we are One Tribe.  One world.   One people.  One Spirit.

It took a chance encounter with a small bird for me to fully understand that all are important.  All are equal.  And all are loved beyond measure—even the tiniest house finch.

So please…let’s learn something from the struggle of this little feathered creature.  Let us remember that all life is precious and irreplaceable, all life is sacred, and all lives truly matter.

With Love,

stargazericon

PS:  In the end, I was finally able to free this little bird and take her to a local wildlife facility for treatment.  Several days later, I was disappointed to learn that she didn’t survive her difficult ordeal. While I am saddened by her loss, I’m profoundly grateful to her for reminding me how wonderful, fleeting, and precious life is. And I’ll continue to honor her gift every each and every day by appreciating the Life Spirit in all things—no matter how great or small they may be.

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“Motherly” Love


Happy Mother’s Day to all who unselfishly nurture and care for others—just as any mother would.

Happy Mother’s Day to all who unselfishly nurture and care for others—just as any mother would.

On this Mother’s Day, as we think about, acknowledge, and honor all the beautiful souls who have brought life into the world, I’d like to express my gratitude and appreciation to all women—and indeed, the sacred aspects of femininity that exist everywhere!

Whether or not they have physically conceived, carried, or given birth to a child, there have been countless examples of blessed beings (both men and women) who have embraced what many perceive to be expressly feminine or so-called “motherly” traits. These often include such virtues as empathy, compassion, acceptance, and creativity. We see examples of this every day—when people (and even animals) care for, nurture, and share unconditional love with others.

I’m reminded of a pond near my home where a large goose has, for several years now, taken on a role as protector of many young ducklings. The goose, who is clearly not the progenitor of these youngsters, follows them and their mothers around, keeping a wary eye out for would-be predators and fearlessly warding them off. Although the goose is not a mother herself, it has quite unselfishly taken on such a role. To me, this exemplifies the finest qualities of motherhood and unconditional love.

It’s important for us to understand that, although our physical bodies may reflect a certain gender, we humans are most spiritually balanced when we embrace and honor both our Divine Masculine and our Divine Feminine sides. This simply means that we can allow ourselves to freely express whichever aspect is needed and most appropriate for a given situation, regardless of any preconceived notions about gender or any perceived societal role.

For far too many millennia, humankind has denied, persecuted, subjugated, and suppressed the feminine. This has resulted in a patriarchal modern society where women and the Divine Feminine must struggle to find equality in religion, government, industry, community, and even family. Although much progress has been made, particularly in the past few decades, it’s high time for all women—indeed, all human beings, to step forward in their power as Divine, Sovereign Individuals. All must be free to become the highest expression of themselves, regardless of gender.

So on this “Mother’s” Day, I’d like to recognize and honor not just all the moms out there, but the beautiful spirit of “Motherhood” that beats powerfully in the hearts of so many others. Whether you’re a grandparent, parent, aunt, uncle, or any other caregiver, it doesn’t matter if you are male, female, or someone’s biological mother. If you’re caring for someone as any mother would, you serve as a shining light and nurturing example of all that is right in the world.

Motherly Love. It isn’t just for mothers anymore!

Respectfully,

stargazericon

P.S.: Thanks, Mom!

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The Christmas Truce (1914)


angel

Let there be Peace on Earth!

For many, it is difficult to imagine the unspeakable horrors of war.  The bitter stench of cordite, explosive rending of earth, air, and sea; and indiscriminate destruction of all that would stand in the way of victory are just the beginning.  There is the inconsolable and heart-wrenching ache of homesickness.   There are the inescapable miseries of Spartan living and the tempestuous wrath of nature.  There is an arrogant fury, fueled by an illusory sense of righteousness that drives combatants to commit unspeakable acts.  There are the lies, manipulations, and raw determination of the brutal and ruthless powers on both sides of the conflict.  Finally, there is the bare and abject fear that shivers through the veins of all who witness its atrocities.  While the horrors of war are experienced to some extent by all, they are disproportionately reflected in the blank faces of the young–for it is most often they who must bear the burden of orders to fight and kill, suffer, or die.

While the costs of war are many, there is little doubt that its highest wages are paid through the wholesale slaughter of humanity.  Fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, friends and neighbors; all, regardless of guilt or innocence, are ground under the wheels of martial advancement.  Many lose their homes and livelihoods.  Many must live the remainder of their lives with debilitating injuries of mind, body, and soul.  And many will die.  But in the end, all suffer horribly.  It is this carnage, the wanton waste of human blood, muscle, organ, and bone–indeed, the callous disregard of Life itself, that is the greatest transgression of war.

In our modern world of instant communication and artificial imagery, it is difficult to imagine how thousands of young men must have felt, just over 100 years ago in 1914.  At that time, what was thought to be “The War to End All Wars” (World War I) was being waged on the front lines between France and Germany.  While most of the world lay warm in their beds on that Christmas Eve, two determined armies huddled miserably in muddy trenches, facing one another across a dark and battered stretch of no-man’s land.  Much as pawns in a violent game of chess, these men were trapped between a wet and bitterly cold winter and the relentless grinding of their countries’ military machines.  But in a moment of silence, just when the hour must have seemed darkest, a Christmas Miracle occurred.  Despite incredible odds and the stubborn efforts of the leaders on both sides to stop it, The Spirit of Peace prevailed.

According to most accounts, the uncertain cease-fire began with a song.  German soldiers, apparently overcome by homesickness, began singing Christmas carols.  Allied soldiers on the other side of the lines, fearing a trick of some kind, listened and watched with surprise and suspicion.  Before too long however, someone on their side joined in.   Others soon followed and it wasn’t long before voices rose on both sides of the trenches.  One can scarcely imagine the surreal nature of that moment, for here were two bitterly opposed armies that had been wounding and killing each other for months.  Now, instead of destroying each other in the cold darkness, each side was singing the same song in its own language.  Somehow, and in some miraculous way, these men were connecting to a sense of something–something that was quickly bridging the gap created by the broken bodies of their fallen comrades, the torn earth, and the rigid doctrines that seemed to separate them.

As the night progressed and Christmas dawned the next day, both sides of the conflict came together in a strange new way.  Enemies looked directly into each others’ faces, shook hands, and respected one another as equals.  Each came to understood that his enemy was a human being, much the same as he was–and that each had his own hopes and dreams, a home, and family.  These men, wearing different uniforms, speaking different languages, and representing violently opposing views, found a way to lay down their arms and share something that transcended their differences.  For at least a few hours it seems, humanity returned to the front lines.  All that day, after burying and honoring the dead on both sides, the men shared stories, food, and photos of home. They played soccer and traded keepsakes.  They laughed.  They sang.  Together, in the midst of a war, they found a way to celebrate the season that reminds us that Love and Peace are among the most cherished of all things to blessed with in this life.

Unfortunately, as Christmas passed and the glowing spirit of this spontaneous armistice faded away, the ugliness of war returned.  The peaceful space that had briefly existed between to armies was torn asunder.  It wasn’t long before the crack of small arms fire, thud of artillery, and screams of the dying drowned out the echoes of songs and joyful laughter–but the fact that, for a time at least, songs and laughter could be heard at all among the trenches on that cold, dark Christmas Eve was clearly a miracle.  And it’s one that should always be remembered.

As we look forward to spending this Holiday Season with our own friends and loved ones, perhaps we may find a moment to reflect on this event and look within.  Perhaps we may find a way to overcome some of our own prejudices, the ones that make us feel so different and separate from other human beings.  Instead of seeing only differences and gaps to be bridged between us, perhaps we may begin to see and embrace our commonalities–that is, the things that we share, and begin to accept all fellow beings as our brothers and sisters.  While we may have been taught to see unfamiliar beliefs, geo-political borders, and cultural traditions as differences to resolve or challenges to be overcome, are they not simply opportunities to learn fresh, new ways of experiencing our beautiful world?  And what if we were to begin learning to accept them as such?

If human beings were always able to seek common ground and respect one another as individuals, perhaps conflicts like those surrounding the Christmas Armistice of 1914 would never again be necessary.  I, for one, know that it can be done.  After all, if the power of a Season and a song stopped a war once, it can certainly do so again!

May all the Joy, Wonder, and Peace of the Holiday Season be yours–not just today, but always. 

With Love,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: Brighter World Press


Brighter World Press:

       Brighter World Press:
“Inspiring your flight to a Brighter World!”

I just wanted to briefly share that I’ve started a new blog called “Brighter World Press”.  While “Remembering Infinity” is more of a personal blog that features my own original writings, I wanted to start a blog that would appeal to nearly anyone–and one through which I could share positive, heartwarming, and inspiring photos, stories, and videos from all over the Internet.

Here’s the address and link to the new blog:

https://brighterworldpress.wordpress.com/

Rest assured that I’m not planning any major changes for “Remembering Infinity” but I hope you’ll enjoy this new venture too.  If you do appreciate the new blog, please feel free to share the positive “vibes” with others!

With Love,

stargazericon

Please feel free to redistribute, repost, or otherwise share this post, providing it is credited to https://rememberinginfinity.wordpress.com.


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Remembering Infinity: BOO!


BOO!  Happy Hallowe'en!

BOO! Happy Hallowe’en!

Hallowe’en has always been one of my favorite days of the year.  When I was a child of 7 or 8, and perhaps even younger, I’d enjoy dressing up in a costume and going to school.  I always admired and appreciated the creativity of the other kids and their families as we’d circle the schoolyard for our annual Hallowe’en Parade.  There were ghosts, goblins, witches, and super heroes.  There were clowns, mummies, princesses, and draculas.  The variety seemed endless!  Some kids would have the usual store-bought costumes, but the ones I enjoyed most were the clever, homemade ones.  I’ll never forget one fellow in my 5th grade class painted a big cardboard box (very accurately, I might add) and came dressed as a big box of laundry detergent!

My mom was always struck by the Hallowe’en spirit too, for she’d always decorate our small city apartment with pumpkins, indian corn, and autumn leaves.  Their bright, cheerful colors always seemed to make things better, no matter what family drama might have been going on.  Before I became big enough to do things on my own, Mom would help me create my costumes.  Whether I’d be in the guise of a swashbuckling pirate, a civil war cavalry officer, or an old west sheriff, she’d sometimes work into the late hours on the night before Hallowe’en, sewing, gluing, and painting.

But no matter what the costumes might be, the highlight of the day would always be when we’d go trick-or-treating on those dark and spooky autumn nights.  We had a wonderful tradition of going to my cousins’ house, where we could scarcely wait for the sky to darken and the moon to rise.  We’d fuss and fidget all through dinner, pestering our parents with every bite.

“Is it dark enough yet?”

“What time can we go?”

“Was that the doorbell?”

“Can we go now, puleeeeeeeese?”

Finally, with an exasperated shake of the head, an eye roll, and a knowing grin, one of our parents would surrender!  Like curled, dry leaves fleeing the cold wind, my cousins and I would don our masks and race from the house.   With empty sacks waiting to be filled with all manner of candy and treats, we’d fly through the neighborhood.  Racing from house to house, the three of us (and many other neighbor cretins) would trample across lawns and stumble shamelessly through any flower beds that might find themselves along our darkened way.

Some homes were “haunted”, of course, and those were the most fun.  Witches and demons crouched behind their doors, all waiting for innocent and unsuspecting fingers to press on doorbell buttons.  Surprised by the frightening spectacles that greeted us, we’d shriek in delight, forget to collect our candy, and run, giggling breathlessly, to the next house.

Now that I’m all “grown up”, my teenage son and I have turned the tables.  It’s our turn to scare the daylights out of the neighborhood trick-or-treaters!  Sometime during the week before Hallowe’en, our front yard turns mysteriously into a graveyard with an abundance of realistic gravestones, creepy creatures, and human remains (all fake, of course!).  A low-hanging fog, flashes of lightning, and some spooky sound effects (mostly thunder and scary music) send scores of the more adventurous souls screaming down our driveway–and I suppose our stumbling zombie characters do a great deal to “help” them along their way!

It’s sometimes difficult for some to imagine, but there are some who truly fear Hallowe’en.  From its history, they feel it is a practice that feeds into satanic or negative ideals.  While there may be a slight element of truth to this, I prefer to think of it as an opportunity–an opportunity to help us embrace and even overcome some of our deepest fears.  When we can face the “monsters” of our own making, learn to make “light” of them, and appreciate the experiences and lessons they bring, we often discover that we no longer fear them.  We find that they no longer have any power–because we are the ones who can choose to not be afraid!  When we find our own power under the light of this Truth, things like darkness, death, and the unknown lose their fearful sting.  In their place, we are often able to discover balance and a newfound sense of peace.

So be not afraid!  Face those “demons”!  Then pat ’em on the head, shout “BOO!”, and toss a piece of candy in their bag.  If one chooses to look at things in that way, Hallowe’en can be a whole lot of fun–for kids of all ages!

With Love (and lots of candy),

stargazericon

Please feel free to redistribute, repost, or otherwise share this post, providing it is credited to https://rememberinginfinity.wordpress.com.


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Remembering Infinity: Born to Fly!


One day, we too may be surprised to find that we were born to fly!

Like a caterpillar, one day, we too may be surprised to find that we were born to fly!

I‘ll never forget one of my grandmother’s favorite stories–one she would often tell us grandkids when we were small.  We’d usually be in the park or her rather overgrown backyard when she’d spy a wooly caterpillar on a bush or a butterfly flitting by.

“Oh,” she’d exclaim excitedly,”look at that!  How beautiful!”  Then she’d laugh to herself and say to us, “That reminds me of one of my favorite little stories.”

As we’d gather around to watch the little creature going about its business, she would begin.

“Once upon a time, there was a little caterpillar.  Every day, he’d wake up, creep out from under the shelter of his little home among the rosebuds, and begin munching away at the leaves.  Soon he’d be joined by several other caterpillars and they’d all enjoy each other’s company as they ate.  Weeks went by and, one by one, the plump and happy caterpillars would each spin a chrysalis to begin their transition into a butterfly.

Before too long, there were only two little caterpillars left.  One day, as the two chatted and ate, a beautiful butterfly floated by, gracefully fluttering its wings in the warm sunshine.  One of the caterpillars stopped eating and stared in awe at the glittering, brilliant flashes of color on its wings.

‘Wow…would you look at that?’ He stared in amazement.

His friend glanced up briefly and returned to his meal, unimpressed.  ‘That’s nice,’ he replied, ‘but you’ll never get me up in one of those things!'”

It was at this point that Grandma would always break out in laughter–and all of us would too, for we all well knew that the silly caterpillar was destined to one day spin his own chrysalis and become a butterfly himself!

As I’ve grown older, I’ve grown to appreciate Grandma’s caterpillar story even more–for it reminds me that, in order for us to truly grow, we must expand our thinking and open our minds and hearts to new possibilities and change.  One of the important things to remember about the nature of Life is that things will change, whether we want them to or not.  If we let our doubts, worries, or fears stop us from trying new things, we may never know how many of Life’s greatest adventures we might miss.  It is only through looking past our fears, opening ourselves to new opportunities, and embracing the idea of change that we may discover these experiences are actually wonderful!

So the next time you see a caterpillar or a butterfly, why not take a moment to appreciate the mystery and magic of Nature?  If you keep your mind open to all kinds of new and exciting ideas and energies, you may one day discover that your own metamorphosis has been just as miraculous as theirs!

With Love,

stargazericon

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