The Air of Knowing

We are told that we are masterpieces because we sprang whole from Zeus’ head as the most magnificent being ever.

Someone more honest said that they are in search of the masterpiece inside of themselves created by God.

We are told that our presence in this life brings light to the world. We set the world on fire.

We are who we are. Each moment we can make our lives — and those in our world — brighter. We do this when we are just, merciful and humble.

Everywhere we look there are ceilings, glass or otherwise, through which we must break to prove our greatness. So says the world.

The reality is that we are the only ones who can put a ceiling on our belief, faith, openness and willingness. Glass ceilings exist if we create a place for them to exist. There is no need to think outside the box if no box has ever existed. We always have been and always can be more than we could begin to fathom.

We are told that every day must be extraordinary.

In the clear light of day, we can see that if we are having a normal day instead of an excellent day, we shouldn’t throw it back. Hold onto it.

For reasons which have always been unclear to me, there is a rumor — indeed, an expectation — that we are supposed to be perfect at everything we do. At the very least, we should be expert in one thing. Whatever that might be.

I am equally uncertain as to when this became a widespread societal expectation. I know that for Baby Boomers, the first generation born after World War II, it was prevalent from the beginning. The notion was that we must be extraordinary or even better than that.

We had to be able to do things. We had to be the world’s greatest at something extraordinary. For many of that generation it wasn’t enough to follow in the family footsteps. We were expected to be more than a farmer, mechanic or plumber.

I was a failure. I did not want to achieve the dreams of others, specifically adults and, even more specifically, my parents and teachers. What I wanted was considered out of my reach. It meant breaking through existing social barriers. It meant breaking through glass ceilings that they saw and which never existed in my world.

Interestingly enough, there was another plan that didn’t even cross my mind.

Rather than following either my parents’ plan or my own, the Creator had a plan. It was rather simplistic in appearance. I held ordinary jobs. At no time was I the world’s greatest pastry chef or the lead engineer on any of the NASA projects. Both would have been fascinating in their own way. I’ve often thought that if I didn’t have ten thumbs that being an electrician or mechanic would have made for an interesting life.

Being another cog in the wheel at one business after another freed me for an extraordinary spiritual life.

Who would have thought?

In a world where we are told that we must become adults who know everything about something — and against which I fiercely rebelled — it turns out I was being trained all along to take over a far more important job than I could have dreamed.

Who aspires to be an exorcist?

Absolutely not me. When I was seventeen and angels told me that I was to perform my first exorcism, I had rather choice words for them. It basically came down to telling them to go away. I was having too much fun ice skating with my friends. I didn’t get out to these parties that often. I distinctly recall the words “Leave me alone” coming out of me. Sometimes I slip. I forget to speak telepathically with angels. That was one of those times when I had to lie to my friends and telling them it was nothing. Just mumbling to myself.

I was even such a foolish boy as to think I had gotten out of it until I felt a hand on my back. A very large forceful hand. While all of my friends were standing beside or in front of me, Someone had put his hand on my back and whispered into my head that yes, I would do this.

Go ahead. You go fight with God. I’m smart enough to know that I’m not that stupid.

I always knew I could hear what other people were thinking. I could hear and see the angels and sprits. And God. Let’s not forget Big Fella.

Never forget Big Fella.

From the very beginning of my life I spoke with spirits. Learning that the rest of the world did not was a shock. Learning that the only person who could understand because my life mirrored hers in so many ways brought me closer to my grandmother, my first spiritual teacher.

Seeing and speaking with my grandfather after his death when I was a young boy affirmed my knowledge that there is life after this life.

What I discovered I know. What I do are not the sorts of things that get a person the corner office. What it does is frighten most people and, when they’re frightened, they become scared and lash out.

At nothing.

What we know is only as good as what we do with it.

What I know is what I see from you and in you. I hear who you tell me you are, but I also look for your deeds to tell me who you are.

Spirituality is not pie in the sky.

It’s how you serve up the pie that is your life.