What’s Your Flavor?

My husband’s favorite ice cream is vanilla.

As luck would have it, that’s the very flavor that I have. I willingly serve it and it makes me happy to give it away. It brings me joy to see my husband experience such pleasure.

It’s no wonder he thinks there is nothing wrong with our marriage. He’s got a belly full of creamy vanilla ice cream.

On the flip side, my favorite is strawberry. The problem is that my husband only has chocolate and not only is that the only flavor he stocks, he is unwilling to stock anything else. It doesn’t matter that I want strawberry; he either can’t, or won’t, stock it. Either way, I’m left craving strawberry ice cream.

Don’t get me wrong, he serves a beautiful chocolate ice cream and sometimes it really hits the spot and I am satisfied. But, at the core of my being, I crave strawberry ice cream. The desire always returns and often with a fierce intensity.

I am sad.

It seems a little more understandable that he feels bad. He continues to offer the best he’s got but I keep asking for something different.

I’m starting to get a sense that in continuing to ask for something that someone can’t provide, I’m hurting us both.

He can never please me. And I can never be fully pleased.

I wish I could be happy with chocolate ice cream. I really do. I wish I didn’t want something different. But, the truth is I do and I can no longer ignore it.

I can no longer ignore the true essence that flows through me.

It’s neither right nor wrong. It just is.

Continuously returning to the chocolate ice cream vendor is never going to net me strawberry ice cream. This I now know.

 

A Simple Question

“May I make a suggestion?” my psychologist asks after reviewing my food records from the past week.

“Please,” I prompted.

“Just don’t purge,” she says.

For a split second I think she’s making a joke but I realize very quickly that this is no laughing matter. She’s dead serious. I just stare at her while I process the question. She’s okay with the silence and lets me stare, patiently waiting.

I’m thinking, “Oh sure, if it were that easy I wouldn’t be sitting here having this discussion with you.” But all of a sudden, in a flash, I’m realizing that it really is that easy. Well, maybe not that easy, but it’s surely that simple.

I’m still staring at her, incredulously now, but I start to understand exactly what she’s suggesting.

All of a sudden I feel like a tantrum-y three year old, only my tantrums are binge and purge episodes, my way of dealing when things don’t go the way I want them to.

My psychologist’s suggestion is not meant to belittle the struggles I am facing. I know this. But the simplicity of how to resolve the problem seems so blatantly obvious and I am filled with shame. I cry.

The ways in which I keep myself separated from Source are presenting themselves to me each and every day.

As my awareness expands so too does my understanding that my pain is not an excuse for self-punishment, rather it’s an opportunity to correct the errors of my thinking and bring myself back into alignment with who I truly am.

I am not an entity that needs to be overcome. I am already whole.

I am ready to let go of this “I” that needs to control. This “I” hasn’t done a very a good job at controlling anything anyway. This I know!

As Albert Einstein so wisely stated, “Problems cannot be solved by the same level of thinking that created them.”

Truly. Let go and let God. Have Your way with me.

 

 

 

The Faith of the Faulty Gatekeeper

The undercurrent is strong.

These thoughts, they trickle in quietly through the flood gates. Once enough waters have seeped by, the current rages forcefully. I’m drowning before I’ve realized what’s happened.

I’m learning though, albeit slowly, to be a better gatekeeper. I’m in training.

I couldn’t stop it last night but in the midst of being forced down by the floods, I shone light on the darkness and remained calm.

You may not think so, but it’s progress to be able to look at your reflection in the water of a toilet basin that is half-filled with your own vomit and tell yourself that you’re loved and worthy. With every heave, I reminded myself that I am filled with the holy spirit.

Indeed, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

I tell you, I’m not done asking. I am earnestly seeking. And the door will be opened.

I know not when, but I know it will.