July 3, 2017
Previous entry I shared some of my past-life poetry; if you haven't read it, you might want to go back and pick it up. Steve had a thought, walking back from the beach, this morning, and he wondered if I might like to discuss it in my journal, and he felt that I would. Perhaps I prompted the thought in him, in the first place! (He often can't tell.)
For many years, since we first got together across the Divide, I have been picking out wines for him at the store. We use our old "prompting," yes-or-no method, as he scans the shelves. Since a good marriage is built on compromise, I alternate, usually, between the drier wines that I used to like, on earth, and the fruitier, spicier ones he likes (from past-life exposure to them). Only once before, that he can remember, did I choose one he didn't like. Not counting some that were very dry--he knew I was "indulging." But one that really didn't taste very good.
Not too long ago, I did it again. It was a fruity wine that he might normally like--but it was watery. He couldn't believe it--he'd sip it again, and again--yep, this is watered down.
Now, you have to understand that my taste has been impeccable, and my choices right-on-the-money, for years and years. We are talking seven years of doing this together, for Steve's daily small glass of heart-health red wine.
But the thought creeps in, stealthily--"Why would Abby choose a watered-down wine? Was I mistaken, thinking she was prompting me, when she wasn't? Or is it all a fond mistake?"
This, after seven years and tons of proof that we are, in fact, communicating. Well, it was just a fleeting thought, and Steve is strong now, in his faith about me. But it's the dynamic I want to look at, for the benefit of anybody who might be wrestling with similar thoughts.
Some years ago, Steve had these doubts. He thought to himself (i.e., in my presence), "Could this all be a delusion?"
This was the next wine I prompted him to buy:
It's French, of course, and I was French (or, half-French, and spoke the tongue). He looked it up when he got home: "A shared delusion."* In other words, "Dear, if this is a delusion, it is a shared delusion."
Steve got a laugh out of that! And it was pretty obvious we were communicating, alright.
But now comes this one seeming blunder, a watery wine. So now, I want you to look at that fleeting thought with Steve, as though you could snag it in a net, or capture it on the computer screen. What is it? Is this, as it purports to be--as it is "labeled"--the voice of reason? If you look closely at it, it is built of fear, and driven by fear. There is little of reason about it, except on the surface. What is the fear of? Fear that one's very moorings are shaking. Fear that one is standing on thin ice, and a quaking, crumbling foundation. Fear that what one thought was love, was craziness. One may also see fear of social rejection, of being shunned, and of being ridiculed.
If it was the "voice of reason," then, reason would immediately harken back to my answer, with the choice of "Folie a Deux," and laugh. One would remember, vividly, all the other proofs given in the past. But fear makes this loom large, the way a pain in the toe takes up the entire mind.
Develop the ability to stop the mind, and look at its contents. You will be shocked at the garbage that comes floating by, in it. But, never mind. This is the accumulation of lifetimes--sort of like the junk floating in orbit, after so many satellites and space launches. If one bumps into you, "Ouch!" but it need not shake your world.
Love to each and all,
*It is, actually, a clinical term.--S