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Day 399 – This Special Thing

June 19, 2015

I dreamt of my first Love last night. He showed up out of nowhere. Everything about being around him was easy and natural. My womb and heart opened up in his presence. I had forgotten that feeling: the feeling of being easy around a man: the feeling of being 100% sure that there was no where else I’d rather be.

Of course my first love was a dud. He ended up cheating on me (at least once). He was in the army and he went overseas and secretly married some lady and gave her a child. He was abusive. He threw water on me and pulled my hair. He was nine years older than me, and he would cheat on me with older women, and then turn around and tell me I wasn’t a woman. When I started working, if he got mad at me, he would remove parts of my car, so that my car wouldn’t start and I couldn’t go to work… I didn’t know any better. He was my first boyfriend. I met him when I was 17, and we didn’t break up until I was 24. I used to tell him that I thought he was crazy. Schizophrenic. He had a Dr. Jekyll/ Mr. Hide personality. Years after we broke up, he called me and told me that he had gone to a psychiatrist and been diagnosed with schizophrenia, post traumatic stress disorder, bipolar disorder, and paranoia disorder…

And life goes on. This morning he came to my dreams reminding me of how it feels to love. You finally did something good for me, Ben. Thank you. Even if it was just a dream, it was right on time. I can forgive all of the ugly stuff. I forgive all of the ugly stuff. I just don’t want to hold onto it anymore. I forgive you, Ben. I forgive you for not being the way I wanted you to be, and I set you free. I am free and you are free. Our thoughts, actions and words have no power over each other. Peace is the order of the day. Wholeness reigns Supreme. All is well between our Spirits… I choose to leave the pain behind and I will hold on to the reminder of Love that I received this morning…

Love and relationships have been on my mind these past few weeks. This morning I realized why I’m just not into the men who have been courting me recently. They just don’t make me come alive. My heart and womb don’t open up in their presence, and being with them is not quite right. It’s not quite easy. It’s not quite natural… It’s OK. There’s no need to force myself to be with anyone. I will wait for you, God. I will wait for him.

In the meantime, I guess I’ll get it together… People want to come and visit me for the summertime. I need to make some money and some movies. I’m kind of bored with my life right now. It’s no fun not having a lot of money and not having some guy to fawn over. I think it’s about time that I give this part of my life to the birds. It has served its purpose. But the next part… wow. I went to my healer lady the other day and made a confession: I am afraid of being special.

In order to understand this, you have to understand where I came from. I grew up poor in the South. My parents were immigrants and as we grew up, my mom became more and more religious. I don’t know where I got this belief from, but when I was young, there was always the understanding that rich people were bad. There was the understanding that it was bad to think that you were better than someone else, and rich people thought they were better than other people. There was the impression that material things didn’t mean anything… And for some reason, I always believed that it was never good to stand out. You just weren’t supposed to show off or be proud… As I got older and started to travel and hang out with rich and successful people, I found out that much of what I learned about the richies was true: there were many snobs. They didn’t want to associate with people who weren’t educated or at least successful. They didn’t go to certain neighborhoods. Many of them did think they were better than people from a lower class, and if they would have known me when I was in grade school or high school, they probably wouldn’t have hung out with me either. Although I was at a prestigious school and at one point I had a prestigious job, I never wanted to fit in with what I call the “elite”. I had an alliance with the poor, and I didn’t want them to think that I thought I was better than them. My mom would reinforce this commitment. Whenever I would do something good, she would make sure to remind me, “Now just because you did this or that doesn’t mean you should look down on your brothers or sisters. Remember we never know what tomorrow will bring.” I know she meant the best. She didn’t want me to become arrogant or proud. But somehow, I always had some sort of underlying shame and guilt associated with doing well. In my adolescent mind, if I did too well, I would be betraying my alliance with the poor. If I moved out to the Pacific Palisades and lived next to my favorite park in town, I would be among the bourgeois, and “my people” would think I thought I was better than them… Sigh… It all sounds so silly when I write it, but these are the subconscious thoughts that have been lurking around inside of me, and they come to the surface whenever I am about to make a major change in my life. Like now.

Can you imagine what life will be like? It is sad, but in Los Angeles, it is already a big deal for a single woman to have her own place and car. I don’t live in a fancy neighborhood, but there are trees in my courtyard and it’s quiet and there is a gate around my neighborhood. This is just normal living, but in LA, many people struggle just to have things that other Americans take for granted: a place to live, food, and a car. So, I’m already kind of different. Plus I don’t have any kids and I can still wear just about any dress I want and look good in it. This makes me stand out. To be honest, I have always stood out. Even when the boys didn’t like me, I always stood out. It’s weird. I can never just walk into a room and not be noticed, for better or for worse. I try to put my head down. I try to fade away because I am embarrassed about getting too much attention. I put on the “mean face”, but it never works. I stand out. These are my confessions. I’ve never really liked it, but I am coming to realize that it is a part of me, and it will become an even bigger part of me if I actually do the things that I want to do with my life.

Can you imagine what life will be like? If I actually complete the projects that I have started? I have about five creative projects in the works: two movies, three books, and a few songs that may never see the light of day. I have business ideas and plans to do work overseas. If any of these projects are as good as I think they are (and I have a good eye for recognizing what’s good), then a lot of money will come from them. And a lot of popularity, just because of how I look and where I come from. And I will be special. Do you see? It’s a lot. People will know my name. Little girls will look up to me. And if I have the money, I will probably want to live near my favorite park in town. People will think that I think I’m better than them just because of the work I am doing, and the poor people will no longer allow me into their alliance. This is what we have to deal with when we are looking at the possibility of our dreams really coming true. Let’s look at the whole picture. What does being a prolific writer and successful businesswoman really mean? The truth of the matter is, there aren’t that many prolific writers and successful businesswomen who come from where I come from. In fact, there are barely any who come from my parents’ country. So, having my dreams come true would make me stand out by default. It would make me special…

Sometimes I go to film events and I introduce myself as a producer who graduated from such and such school and you should see the way people address me! People my age call me Ms. such and such. I would have to be OK with that. I would have to be OK with people looking up to me. I would have to be OK with a different kind of life. This special thing is no joke. And here is the secret that I discovered the other day as I was talking to my healer lady: I am already special. We are already special. Each person. Everyone is unique and no one quite sees the world like anyone else. I have seven siblings, and if each of us were to write the story of my parents’ life, we would have eight totally different stories. Because we have eight totally different perceptions. We are all special, and it’s OK. It’s OK to be special.

I have to tell myself that until I believe it. It’s OK to be special. I am special. I am special and I don’t fit in with the richies or the alliance of the poor. I am special and it doesn’t mean that I think I am better or worse than anyone else.

I am special. And I have to tell myself this when thinking about love. Because many people don’t know what it feels like to come alive around the presence of another and those people will tell you to just settle for a man who meets certain criteria… But that is not my experience. I know about Love, and I cannot pretend otherwise. And who do I think I am? Who do I think I am to wait for a real Love? Who do I think I am to actually believe that I could fall in Love with a man who fits me perfectly? Who do I think I am to believe that I could write books and movies and songs that uplift and entertain and inspire people? Who do I think I am to believe that I can walk around with a clear conscience? Who do I really think I am to believe that God is for me and not against me? Why would I believe that everything is working together for my good? Why would I believe that my life is a good life when I have seen so much evidence to the contrary, and furthermore, who do I think I am to have a good life anyway?

I am the Essence of That which has no name. I am my father’s daughter. I am my mother’s daughter. I am a child of God. There is Divinity in the very breath I breathe. People sacrificed for me, just so I would have a chance at being happy. People died for me, just so I would have the freedom to express myself. People have prayed for me all of my life just so that the smallest of my dreams could come true. Angels have ushered me back to life when I thought I was dying and I didn’t have the will to go on. People have paid my rent and cooked for me and negotiated for me and held me up because they thought I had a chance. They thought I had a chance. They have looked up to me and hoped for me. How dare I not succeed? How dare I not be special? How dare I? How dare I not express all that I am?

I am sorry, God. Please forgive me. Today I accept the fullness of who I am. I accept. I accept. I accept. I don’t care who judges me. I don’t care who thinks whatever they think about me. I choose to be myself. All of myself. I choose to be the good parts of me, too. The glorious, beautiful, sexy, loving, powerful, brilliant, strong, radiant, humble parts, too. I am special and that’s all there is to it. I am special… And so are you.


Day 399

This Special Thing

From → The Life Divine

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