Writing on planes is my favorite venue to express myself. Well, no, now that I think of it, my favorite venue to express myself is at home after a lovely dinner with wine and smoking a touch of weed. The keys just seem to know what I want to say. I’m deep at those times, and expression comes so easily. Mind you, that’s just a touch of wine and weed because any more I can’t remember from one thought to the next, and they come quickly only to fade away before I can write them down.
But on a plane, after or before a cocktail, it is a time to express. So many interesting things happen either on the way or at the airport, leaving home or an exotic place, they call out to my creative senses. I feel adventurous and observant, and the spaces at home call for more personal expression rather than observation.
It’s down time that I can either see a movie or play a game on my iPad, but they lose my interest so quickly nowadays. And, the flight must be long enough to have space and time to get through those things without interruption, which is rare except on those longer excursions.
Writing always holds my interest. I especially like those times when I’ve got something to work out, some thought that has been niggling at my brain. Something that wants to be evaluated, dissected, and explained, either for memory or for you, my reader sounding board. My friend.
I have learned recently that people feel things and can relate to my writings. I always do, always learn something when I reread them. It’s easy to forget things I’ve learned if I don’t write them down. Rereading them seems like another gift, an experience worth reliving. It happens always at the right time, too.
Although it happens to me more often recently, I’ve always had a connection to the numbers on a digital clock. Ever since they’ve been digital anyways. I don’t know how people made the connections to the divine and the time, 11:11, 4:44, 12:12, 3:33, 1:11, 5:55, before digital clocks, it must have been happening for eons, millennia, the Pleistocene era, for sure. Or, maybe they had different divine criteria.
It brings me home when I see the coincidental numbers displayed. Makes me think of why this moment is special enough to be of divine notice. I’m always grateful for the observation and know someone from the other side is thinking of me. I don’t know that there is another message there, like a warning or something, and there never has been so I suppose it’s not that type of recognition.
I really first got the connection when I was reading Neale Donald Walsche’s “Conversations With God” books. I never had that realization before, and once I did, I kept having them. They come and go a lot, but this past week, the week that Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gianna died in the helicopter crash, they have been happening all the time. That’s why I think they are divine.
My father was a paranoid schizophrenic, had a psychotic break when my mother was pregnant with me. Those signs he saw and heard may have been like the ones I imagine or create now, but I don’t think so. His visions and messages were about himself, thinking he was the one who had all the answers directly from God.
My belief is that God is part of me and I just don’t see all of the messages or information because I’m here on this plane. It’s my job to figure all of these things out, and this will happen through out the stages of my life. To the glorious end, whatever it may be. Once I’m on the other side these things will become clear and my performance in the practice of finding these things may propel me to the next level, or send me back to the last rung on the ladder. Either way, it is what it is, and I’ve given it an earnest try.
He needed to control to feel good, needed to control my mother and his family (us), maybe the whole world. Things needed to be done his way, for he was the spirit, the power and the glory. I never knew him when he was well, so these are just suppositions on my part. I don’t think he was ever a violent man. He was just driven by the beat of his own drum and none of us had the sticks to play a part.
I don’t think I’m that way, at least not now. I do see things I need to share with other people, ones who are experiencing the same things I have in the past, or those who might want to share to relieve themselves from pain. I’m a good listener and feel empathy towards others, can put myself in their shoes because I’ve probably been in their shoes at one time or another. Our experiences are our own, but its uncanny how often we’ve experienced the same ones at different times in our lives.
I used to have a lot of rules and now my rule is that there really are no rules. You do what you do, and I can either be agreeable or reject my interaction with you because of what you do. The same with me and you. Either way, I want to experience you because the decision is ours. Experience is the purpose because it is through this experience, we realize ourselves. Either way, I will still love you, and I will still love me.