Seeds of the Divine

How powerful are we? How powerful could we be?

What if I, I alone, by simply abandoning every shred and iota of resistance to who I really am, could be the cure of every disease and cause balance to flow so pervasively that there would be no more war, cruelty and all that feeds on hatred? It sounds like hubris, but maybe that’s the point: when is humility a lie?

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 We come to this planet, seeds of the Divine. We come to this planet with the pulse of the cosmos in our hearts. We come to this planet to express the Creator in myriad possibilities.

We look out of the Creator’s eyes and listen with the Creator’s ears with hungering zest, pulling in the shapes and sounds of all creation.

We swallow all we perceive and all that we do and we call it our own. But it is not our own. We are stewards, using these bodies, filtering information through our yearning hearts and complex minds, and we make the lives we call the World as agents of that which blew life into us.

“God has come to visit and has chosen you to be guide and host.”

These words were on a piece of paper in my handwriting. On a ratty little piece of paper. And it reminded me of how small scraps of awareness can bring such richness. It was one of those pieces of paper that swim in the mess in the car, that I grab whenever I need to write something down. Other things that were written on the same piece of paper were: “fruit, yogurt for Rosette” and “find a Trader Joe’s nearby.” And then there were phone numbers upside down from where I had written on the paper turned the other way.

I was writing on the go, maybe at a stoplight. In the stream of life happening topsy-turvy, one bright flash makes it through and we find our clues and our direction becomes clear.

In the Brownian movement images suspended in my imagination, I see a huge, rolling metal cylinder, a perforated  lantern that lets some, but not all, of the light out. The cylinder rolls and turns ceaselessly, releasing pinpoints of its light. I catch some of them. I lose some in the tumbling cacophany of my life.

Of all the images that might have rolled into focus, the cylinder seems almost cruelly primitive, an outdated, rusty, creaky relic of the industrial revolution.  I take this image as a clue to get with it and advance my mechanism to a more current technology, but I don’t know how to do this. So I ask for a few reminders. I know that we are, in fact, nano-second by nano-second, repairing the world by our very existence on this planet:

  1. We are God at the show that life is, each of us a multi-dimensional constellation of awareness, our eyes, ears, and pores all open, witnessing creation, even as we are every character in the drama and every member of the audience.
  2. We are finite manifestations of the infinite, exquisitely unable to grasp the whole of which we are part.
  3. Although most of us neither understand how it can be possible nor believe it with every wave and fiber of our being, we are not only every character in the drama and every member of the audience (see #1), we are also the director of the show. Each of us.
  4. Because we cannot possibly keep everything in our limited consciousness balanced all the time, we stumble, and sometimes our missteps appear in others’ perspectives as intrusive, cruel, premeditatedly hurtful. Sometimes their perceptions are not incorrect.
  5. Every moment of our existence, we are worthy of every kind of love, no matter how we or others feel that we have failed.
  6. This spot is available. (I still think something may appear here. This is the empty chair.)

The Divine knowing is not just present in each of us all the time, but is who we are, you, me, the people whose choices we doubt or judge,  looking, listening, and soaking up every nuance of impression in every moment of our lives. We are the Great Experiment, we on this Earth. We come to this place to heal our wounds, living the collective consciousness through individual experience. We live each of our nano-moments under the cosmic microscope and dance on ever-balancing scales, which we polish with pride through our achievements, driven by our passions.

The enormity of the possible scenarios we might create and facilitate is overwhelming. Lakes of tears can not wash away remorse, nor rid a human soul of sorrow.   Our hopes, prayers, and visions float upwards whether we intend them or not into the heart of the longed-for savior whose hands we are, whose eyes brim with our own salt tears.

I read Michael Harner’s book, “The Cave and the Cosmos”, relishing the accounts of shamanic journeys by people who grew up more or less as I did, in a first-world country. There was a sentence in one woman’s narrative that reached in past my heart and shook me a bit more awake than I had been the second before. It was this: “We are more powerful than we can possibly imagine.” I was deeply identifying with her story, and so I took this very seriously. Now, I have a very good imagination. What could I not possibly imagine?

I  cannot  imagine what it is like to be God. Not just to know that God is walking around in me, that I am a conduit, a cosmic outpost as we all are, but to know the totality of God. How can I? I am finite and God is infinite.

But there we are. Could it be that that grasp is available to me? And if so, then what must I do to stop short-changing my authentic self?

What if I, I alone, by simply abandoning every shred and iota of resistance to who I really am, could be the cure of every disease and cause balance to flow so pervasively that there would be no more war, cruelty and all that feeds on hatred? It sounds like hubris, but maybe that’s the point: when is humility a lie?

If I could be that, would I? Would you?

Author: Leiah Bowden

I was born and raised in Schenectady, NY. Lived in New York City for three years to see what kind of grown up I was, traveled around the world, and moved back to Schenectady, where I lived for the next 44 years. I stayed because Mom was still here, on the planet, in this small city where she had lived all her life. When I was 60, she told me I should leave, because she knew I'd wanted to go someplace where the intuitive work I did would make sense to more than a few people, and the yearning I had to be among my kind -- wherever that might be -- would find release. I stayed because I preferred to stay rather than go and then have to come back when she would eventually need me. She died in 2010. My only child became a father in 2012. I retired, put my house on the market to live near my beloveds and be an active Nana and once more, an active mother to my grown-up son and his wife. When the house finally sold in the summer of 2015, I said a tearful goodbye to my close friends of more than 40 years and drove West. I felt nervous and excited and free and extremely, gratefully, privileged to be able to live this fabulous life. And now I am in love with my new community, am welcomed by new friends, and set myself to the task of being not only Nana, but my self, my Self: artist, writer, she who raises arms and heart and mind and opens as completely as possible to the divine

1 thought on “Seeds of the Divine”

  1. This is genius as are all your outpourings, spoutings, lessons, sermons, downloads, magical words. I love it. It’s deep, wise, enlightened and multidimensional wisdom.

    Genius.

    Your thingy would not let me post a comment — I got a page that said Whoops….so I’ll try again later.

    Yes, if I could I would — heal all disease, vibrate us all up to the megahertz that is love, and yes, humility is often a lie in the mouth of the humble and its absence and opposite (braggadocio) a lie in the mouth of the Trumpets of the world.

    I am so glad you are doing this — I want to promote it too — and with your permission will send it around a bit. I feel like a proud mother knowing I paid a small role in getting this out to the world. And I think the blog first, the book second. Yes!

    On Mon, Nov 7, 2016 at 6:30 PM, In the Lap of Elohim wrote:

    > Leiah Bowden posted: ” We come to this planet, seeds of the Divine. We > come to this planet with the pulse of the cosmos in our hearts. We come to > this planet to express the Creator in myriad possibilities. We look out of > the Creator’s eyes and listen with the Creator’s ears” >

    Like

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