The Loud Sound of Quiet

There’s a quiet, which happens when the end of something comes. I heard it before and while my dog died. I heard it again a few nights ago. For once, the silence was louder than all the noise outside.

Louder than the traffic noise from the highway. Than helicopters buzzing in the skies. Dogs barking. The yellow utility fan blowing cold air inside the house. A week of homeschooling (child in house all day). Chatter in my head about money. All taking a muted back seat to the silence within.

This doesn’t happen very often. Usually I have to escape the noise and find an external quiet spot to get quiet and even then the internal noise is still too loud. But something is shifting, and I’m listening. In the silence of that moment, I heard the soul whisper, It’s over. The time of so much change and so little abundance. The time of so much pressure and so little peace. So much restriciton and so little freedom. The time of squeezing. It’s over. 

You might say (or truer yet, my Sergeant Williamson says), Nikki there is always abundance. There is always peace. There is always freedom. You just have to choose them. I could defend this, but I am going to let it be. No need. We go through what we must. Handle it as we do. And in time come through to another side.

On the other side of pressure. Restriction. Lack. Worry- is a space of silence and knowing, which whispers, It’s over. Not the kind of over that mimics former president Bush’s sign, ‘Mission Accomplished’ as he boasted an end of a war that was far from over, but more of an over where spring turns into summer and summer turns into fall and fall into winter. Where once summer occurs, spring can no longer be seen. Sometimes not even remembered, until of course it arrives again.

As we try to concrete our experiences here, we forget our life is cyclical. Our movement rhythmical. The darkest times carrying with them pressure and suffering seem to never want to leave. The brighter days, where are souls are happy and free we think will always last, or at least we want them to. During my dark days, I forgot what it felt like to love. I didn’t realize this until I got a text from my daughter- the same moment I was listening to the silence.

Earlier I was at Target, arriving much too late to look at my favorite designer Missoni, and their new wares. All that was left- a pair of black suede pumps. I don’t even wear pumps, but thought I might charge them. I sent my daughter a text with a picture of them, asking for her opinion. I didn’t buy the shoes and her reply came several hours later.

Unless you love them, I wouldn’t get them. 

When I had money, I was open to finding things I loved because if I loved it I felt I could buy it. Living within my meager means of the past several years, I’ve turned that openness off. Yes, I speak only of materialistic means- shoes, clothes, etc but little did I know I turned off my love valve everywhere else as well. I stopped loving my job as homemaker/parent. I forgot I loved to write. I stopped loving clothes because mine were ripping and sadly out of date. I stopped loving my hair that was falling out. I stopped loving the small things, like curling up with a good book or taking a hot, lavender scented bath. I stopped loving going out and participating. I stopped loving life, and then life sort of stopped. Or ran increasingly stale. This has been the cycle of the past several years.

The whisper says, It’s over…

So what does over look like? At present there isn’t a DJ playing Celebration outside of my window. I have yet to see a fat lady sing, unless I start. There is no amount of cash in my mailbox…yet. But spring usually doesn’t start with hot sunshine and cookouts on the beach either. It starts with the appearance of the first robin. A small sliver of grass. Wet patches of water and ice on the sidewalks, that were once mounds of snow.

Here are my signs: I laugh more. A man at 7-11 with a foreign tongue said to me while using a full circle hand gesture, I appreciate you like this. I am finally dealing with my 11-year old daughter- sitting down with her every weekday morning to help her learn the basics of life and school that she hasn’t received. I remembered I LOVE writing. I bought two Missoni items online that I do love. And I am learning Italian, the language of love. But the truest sign, is the silent sound within my soul, the truest companion I know, whispering to me, It’s over.

To hear the silence on the inside is the gift given when we survive being squeezed from the pressure of our dark days. To have the silence override the surface chaos is what it means to live from the inside out, and to do so in a conscious, direct way. To hear the silence on the inside means we no longer get as twisted and turned about by the winds of change, and S P A C E proceeds again for what we love. We hear the silence. We sense the rhythms. We know when one way ends and another begins. We grieve and we celebrate within the two, and we do it all while saying non mi dispiace (Italian for, I don’t mind).

Off to Big Bear for some (more) peace and quiet- and laughter. I will report again next week.

Namaste,

The Soul Reporter

The Guru Has Got To Go- NOW

Okay, so I hardly ever write a daily post, but I absolutely need to write this one because the Guru in my life has got to go.  Who is my Guru?  Me, of course.  Another aspect of me that is. She does most of my talking and thinking. Basically the bitch runs the show(I know, I should be more compassionate, but that will come later). That was her by the way, who just said I should be more compassionate. She censors everything.

She is so ‘holier than art thou.’ She thinks she knows everything.  She’s a combination of ***Marianne Williamson and a drill sergeant. She reprimands me when I’m choosing to imagine I’m in Maui instead of where I am- what’s wrong with where you are now. Be in the moment. There’s nothing better than this moment right now.  She questions my motives when I want money or recognition- now you know that isn’t very spiritual of you. You should not want of those things. It isn’t holy or virtuous.  She wants me to accept reality and not want anything else beyond it, when I know I can do both. She demands I write only out of joy and love, when I just want to be honest.  She doubts me when I am.  Basically she’s an all around self-righteous bitch who doesn’t know me at all.

Now, I am not saying her “advice” isn’t worthy and shouldn’t be listened to.  Perhaps it is her delivery. Her attitude. Her motives. I mean, what are they? To kick my ass into high gear and make me some personified saint? To make me perfect?  Oh, that’s it. She is just the spiritual version of the Perfectionist I thought I dumped at the doorstep of my cul-de-sac life.  Well, isn’t she just clever. She knew how to get me listening and paying attention- spit out a bunch of spiritual catch phrases until I burn and seethe with guilt.  Well, Sergeant Williamson it’s working.  But, it’s time to go. But, first….it’s time for some Soul Investigation. If you want to read me process, stick around. If not, go be in the moment and contemplate your navel.  It is a better way of reaching sainthood. Oh, I’m sorry, that wasn’t me talking- that was her. Truly, I hope you stick around- I am even curious how I am going to process this one through.

So, why have I invited Sergeant Williamson into my life?  And why am I allowing her influence? Process….process…process… I know the answers are there. Come on, oh, Soul that Knows, come out, come out wherever you are….

I must not want to let her go, which only makes her more intriguing.  Umm, okay here is something- I’ve invited her here to protect me. To cause strife. To distract. She is also here to clear the soul. Clear the space for some true grace to come through.  She is special and significant for these reasons, but she is not my true voice.  She is useful, but not anymore. She is not my Soul that Knows.  She satisfies my need or my illusion to be right.  She makes me feel I should be ‘holier than art thou’ and than makes me feel bad because I  fail, which then makes me right- you see, I really am a failure.

People close to me, my husband especially, often say, “You are so hard on yourself. Give yourself a break.” I hear it, but I don’t get it. I mean, I am so thick in the pattern of being hard on myself I honestly don’t know how to cut myself loose from it.  Yesterday, however was a turning point. The knocking of those rocks enforced that I have climbed. I have pushed. I have brought myself here and it is GOOD. I am strong. I am worthy. I am enough.  I know, you’ve probably heard this from me before- (oh, there she goes again). But something is different. I can differentiate between her voice and my authentic voice.  And, more importantly….

As I move forward, I vow to listen to the Voice Inside- the Voice that told me to go up the escalator at Sears so I wouldn’t have to wait in the long line; the Voice that urged me to pick up two rocks and smash them together, even though it felt strange, in order to concrete a defining moment; the Voice that said to sit on the front stoop in the sun while the Sergeant tells me to write and be a spiritual teacher (however not as good of a teacher as Sergeant Williamson).  And as a side story, do you know what happened when I sat on the stoop that day? Two guys from MTV pulled up and said they were going to pay us an inconvenience fee for using some of our property while they filmed a new TV show. Now that was easy.

I used to have a tee-shirt that said, take the gentle path.  The true Voice Inside knows the gentle path, and she wants me to take it. She is always pointing me that way. But I’ve been listeing to the wrong voice(s). She snarred me. But I allowed her to because I created her.  The point of taking full responsibility to these villains we create in our lives is not so we can feel bad or flawed or crazy, but so we can understand why we created them and if we are ready to kiss them good-bye.  A farewell is needed if we want to continue to be a conscious participant in our evolution, allowing our old way to die and a truer one emerge.

I won’t be kicking Sergeant Williamson to the curb. I don’t have to.  Sergeant Williamson will soon know her place once I tune her out and tune in to the only true friend I have, the Voice Inside and that Voice is mine and I continue to emerge, deepen and awaken within her/me.

Today’s Soul Tip:


Change happens when we see the old way and the new way and we begin moving toward the new. Until then we are confused. We don’t know if we are coming or going.  We are literally stuck in two worlds.  But this is evolution. This is change. And it is happening. We can be a part of it, by observing and facilitating and surrendering, or we can hold on tight, feeling victim to our villains.  But, those villains are mighty loud and there is a truer voice worth responding to. Watch for her wink and respond to her when she asks, who loves you babe.  She does. She really, really does.  Trust her. 

***A Disclaimer- Since receiving controversy from this post, I hope readers understand this post is not about Marianne Williamson. It is about me. The part of me who reprimands me in a drill sergeant way about spiritual teachings- hence we have Sergeant Williamson. Does this make sense to you?


Namaste,
The Soul Reporter