Have you ever wondered…”How did I get here?” No, I don’t mean did I walk, drive or cycle to a place, but, how did movements in the Universe converge, merge or diverge to bring you to a particular place in time, to meet with particular people and for what reason.
And have you ever been in the company of people with whom you voluntarily and lovingly share secret stories from life past that normally you wouldn’t breathe to anyone? If so, is there a reason why?
Such a situation happened a few Sundays ago, normally thought of as “The Day of the Lord”. Possibly because at the last moment of time before workday Monday arrives, we take a last gasp of breath and tell our stories before we are once again absorbed by the mundane routine and clammering rush of the work week. And lest all our emotions, stories and thoughts become quickly rolled into a ball like twine and shoved into a creaky wooden desk drawer, we take heart, plunge into our words, listening to others, revealing our relevancies and discrepancies and “connect”. Yes, connect!
Sitting on a plush brown velour sofa, just a little too low for my bad knees, I sat listening to stories and eagerly rejoined in similarities of mine with acquaintances who have blossomed into real friends. These are friends with whom you can share a tale of beliefs that might earn disdain or a strange glance from Monday workday colleagues or an argument from a relative. These kinds of friends and the relationships they foster are not of blood, nor of material interest, but they are of the soul and spirit. They listen to you and with you. They laugh at the comedy, smile at the humor, twinge with your sadness and delight in your joy. At these moments, it doesn’t matter whether your shoulder bag is from Gucci or Goodwill. It is irrelevant if your residence is a home or basement apartment…or even if you don’t have a home. Their hearts are home with plenty of space and warmth to envelope even the most solitary of souls. What matters is the connection…your connection with them and theirs with you. Your stories become important. They see their lives in your words, and you see your life in theirs. A timeless reciprocity of sorts exists allowing a certain freedom that thrives only through open minds, willing to listen, willing to share.
And share they do…stories, paintings, poems, music, songs, writings…all kinds of expression. Noshing through a bowl of black, red and green grapes, bulging strawberries, cheese chunks and crackers, we sat through a Sunday afternoon talking about families, lives and stories recounted as we remembered with our parents, grandparents, cruelty, laughter, riches and poverty, awareness and love in this world of ours in which we live. As we continued to speak and listen, we learned that life calls to be lived and stories need to be shared for the level of consciousness that it might raise in ourselves as well as in others.
And so that the story-telling may just be a burst of awareness that turns a life from dull to enlightened, from remorse to acceptance or from pain to joy, they encouraged this blog. It has been born of a desire to share, an invitation to listen and to speak to be heard, but most of all, it is here to connect. Indeed, it is through our realization of this connection that the ultimate answer, “It’s all about Love,” truly comes to life.