Temenos Journal II

July 2, 2013

The Primal Prayer

Filed under: Kabbalah,Temenos Journal — by Genie Webster @ 11:02 pm
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I’m not too big on prayer. I don’t ask other people to pray for me or my loved ones. I figure God already knows every detail about everyone’s situation.

I meditate, though. I think about my loved ones and hold them in a space of healing love. But I wouldn’t call that praying.

However, in a crisis, I know a prayer that works. It goes like this: “Help me!”

That prayer worked when I was confronted by two snarling dobermans, alone on a mountain trail. (Obviously, I survived!)

(See On Barking Dogs and Sovereignty of Mind for the whole story.)

That prayer worked when I woke up in the middle of the night with awful heartburn… only to realize “Wait a minute… this couldn’t be heartburn… I skipped dinner tonight…. oh shit! It’s a heart attack. HELP ME!!!” And I got immediate and clear instructions to slow my system down by taking some deep breaths. (This was turning out to be a terrific prayer!)

Fast Forward to this year.

I’m a new student of Kabbalah. The homework after the first class was very simple. Say one short prayer first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Ask for help. Say “Help me!”

Aha! I already know this is an effective and easy-to-remember prayer! Now I learn that this is the first lesson of learning Kabbalah! So I did the homework. Now, instead of praying “Help me” only when I was in the middle of a crisis, I was praying this prayer every morning and every night. I was making deposits into my spiritual bank account.

“Simply acknowledging our need for the Creator’s help can be a major step in the right direction. This is the whisper that we are not alone, the first step in building a relationship with the Creator, and the first crack in the shell of ego that imprisons the Light within us.”  – Michael Berg

It so happened that the first week I started this “Help me!” prayer routine, my car broke down upon exiting the freeway… only ten minutes from my home.  While I was waiting for the tow truck with the hood up, at least eight people stopped to offer help. This nice guy Julio even stopped to see if it was anything easy that he could fix. So helpful! The tow truck arrived in a very short time after my call, and dropped my car off at the neighborhood mechanic, only a block away from my home. When my neighbor saw me walking home with no car, she offered the use of her car the next day so I could go to work.  Help was around every corner!

I said the prayer fervently again that same week, when I learned that my position was being eliminated at my company. The rumor was that I was going to be let go. I was furious. Of course I was scared… and my car needed major repairs on top of that! My head was reeling… I was very crabby… I was beating myself up… why did I spend that money? Why didn’t I take better care of this car? blah blah blah…

I knew I needed help to reverse this downward emotional spiral and so I sent out the alarm: “Help me!” Help me remove the blocks to my powerful and unlimited Self! I need help!

That’s when I felt what I can only describe as a power surge. It was a physical sensation that propelled me into a proactive mode. I decided to go into my own business and I announced it to a couple of close friends. At the same time, I sent out resumes to about six different companies, three of which responded the next day. I was on a roll and I was confident and empowered! By the end of the week, the boss had not only decided to keep me, but he was going to send me to training for a new product.

No, I’m not too big on prayer. My only prayers are “Help me,” and “Thank you.”

a.aaa-God-help-me-please.

 

Rene Best musician guitarist

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May 7, 2013

A Mother’s Love

Filed under: Temenos Journal — by Genie Webster @ 5:10 pm
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Words and music by Amy Jill Jordan and Steven MacKinnon

Thank you for watching over me
All of the sleepless nights you lay awake
Thank you for knowing when to hold me close
when to let me go

Thank you for every stepping stone
And for the path that always leads me home
I thank you for the time you took
to see the heart inside of me

You gave me the roots to start this life
and then you gave me wings to fly
and I learned to dream
because you believed in me

There’s no power like it on this earth
No treasure equal to its worth
The gift of a mother’s love

Thank you for every sunlit day
That filled the corners of my memory
Thank you for every selfless unsung deed
I know you did for me

Thank you for giving me the choice
To search my soul till I could find my voice
And I thank you for teaching me
To be strong enough to bend

You gave me the roots to start this life
And then you gave me wings to fly
And I learned to dream
Because you believed in me

There’s no power like it on this earth
No treasure equal to its worth
The gift of a mother’s love

I thank God for a mother’s love

More stories about a mother’s love:

Forgive Your Mother

The Gift of My Mother’s Heart

Me & my mother Joanne Fudella, (Aug. 3, 1930 - Sept. 15, 1994)

Me & my mother Joanne Fudella
(Aug. 3, 1930 – Sept. 15, 1994)

July 29, 2011

an Attitude of Gratitude… for Life

Universal Symbol for Gratitude

When I was in my 30s, I was in the hospital recuperating from emergency abdominal surgery. This was caused by a misdiagnosed ruptured appendix that had become abscessed and was speading like lava to other parts of my body.

I thought I was in hell. I rarely ever even caught a cold, and now I found myself immobilized with an open rotten belly (they didn’t stitch me up for five days), with needles in my arms and tubes down my nose and up my crotch.

Boy was I bitchy. I was in a room with two other ladies. One was in her 60s and was having trouble holding the enema they kept giving her for diabetes testing. There was crap everywhere. I could have endured this for one day, but the second day of flying crap when you’re immobilized began to grate on my nerves. The poor lady, by the way, was also suffering greatly, and she was so embarrassed and very apologetic.

The other lady in the room had to be 90-something and she, too, was miserable. She continually cried and moaned and yelled for the bed pan. The poor thing was having a lot of false alarms, so it seemed as though the nurses were now paying less attention to her calls for the bed pan. Of course, it was inevitable that there would be accidents, with all the confusion going on.

So I was trapped in an environment of random flying crap on both sides of me. I thought that being in that particular hospital room at that particular time was the worst luck in the world. Being one of those people with an acute sense of smell, I thought this must be what hell is like.

There was no privacy. Some of the nurses were rude and obviously hated their jobs. Some of the doctors would pat you on the knee in a condescending way and ask, “And how are we today?”

I wanted to say, “I’m fucking MISERABLE!” and I don’t even swear. I wanted to choke his stupid neck and slap him around, but of course I’m too polite to do that.

That is, I was polite until I started feeling stronger… about the 5th or 6th day after surgery. I started asking each doctor who came in, “When can I get out of here?” and their answer would always be some version of “not yet.”

This scenario went on day after day until one day I got quite belligerent and demanded that I be released from the hospital. I was miserable in this place and I wanted to recuperate at home. And another thing, take me off these horrible drugs — they are making me sick to my stomach and they’re making me hallucinate!

I will never forget my surgeon’s response to my demand.

“Now you listen to me. You are damn lucky to be alive. Your appendix was abscessed and had turned gangrenous. Your belly was so infected that we do not want to take any chances removing the IVs before we know that the infection is under control. You are healing quite satisfactorily, but we cannot rush these things. Do you understand?”

He didn’t holler at me, but he was stern. Of course I understood. I felt chastised, but, given the circumstances… that was the least of my worries.

The day before, a friend had brought me a copy of Louise Hay’s book, A Garden of Thoughts: My Affirmation Journal. The first page I opened had this affirmation:

I allow the love from my own heart to wash through me and cleanse and heal every part of my body and my emotions.

This touched me. Something opened up, like when your ears pop after being plugged by an altitude change. Well this was an attitude change, like Scrooge in the last scene of A Christmas Carol.

I smiled at the lady next to me, and appreciated the sweet person she really was. I even smiled at the next doctor who visited — I was healing! I caught a glimpse outside the hospital window of green leaves on a tree branch against the gray Cleveland sky and I thought it was the most beautiful nature scene I had ever seen. I was no longer irritated when the old lady began her hollering for the bed pan — at least I was alive and could hear her hollering! I could smell!

I was getting better, wasn’t I? I could stand it here for a few more days. I’m healing. Now the world took on more of a golden glow, and even the crap on the walls became more humorous than horrifying.

I believe I experienced, as they say, a spiritual awakening. I grew up a bit.

Since that day many years ago, the feeling of gratitude has continued to permeate every corner of my world. Gratitude has become my way of life.

So sometimes I seem less than sympathetic when a parent focuses on their child’s hyperactive nature as if it were a catastrophe. (The child is alive and healthy! Would you rather have a listless child with no spunk?)

Or you might think I’m callous if I don’t think it’s the end of the world because your son is skipping a year of college to travel across Europe with his girlfriend. (What a great adventure! How fortunate that he has the means and the health to do it! He can always return to college.)

And I may not sympathize when you complain about never having enough money, when you live in a 3-bedroom house, with two cars, multiple TVs, central heating and air conditioning… and a swimming pool!

A dear friend of mine used to talk about the “lottery of life.” We loved each other and he used to ask, “What are the odds that of all the millions of people in the world, you and I would meet? How lucky are we to have been born in the U.S., where there is an abundance of food and clean water and where we are free to do just about whatever we want to do? We are the winners in the Lottery of Life!”

What are the odds that of all the doctors in the world, that I would get one who would chew me out and change my whole perspective on life at the same time?  I feel like I won the lottery! (Although I didn’t even know it at the time.)