Bridging Comprehension

Many I come into contact with feel the need to qualify who or what I am. My response of being simply another person, like every other person on this spinning blue rock desperately hanging on for dear life, yet paradoxically anticipating getting off, falls inadequately on their expectant countenance. As though I would say I am something, or someone. Want to see your credibility go straight out the window? Start a sentence, or finish one for that matter, with “I am...” Instantly a lack of humility is revealed. If the question were on the test of life, you would have failed. A title, a position, shows an elevation above the rest, which is exactly the opposite of what the understanding should be.

Therefore, with no attempt to elevate, I am simply a man who has had a profound spiritual experience and is attempting to live with the burden, the responsibility of it. Make no mistake, this is a burden. Anyone who sees this as cool is an idiot, with zero capabilities of comprehending the immensity of responsibility. Required is an individuals very existence. Their life is no longer theirs to live. Sacrifice and suffering become the norm, and only after considerable time is beauty found in the sacrifice. A depth of realization is reached, profound in its simple complexity.

Yesterday I was honored to have this discussion with a family, deeply rooted in Catholicism. Not of the intolerance pretentious variety, but those intelligent, with minds open to concepts not previously revealed or explored. I enjoy conversations like those, where individuals of distinct philosophies can share relevant experiences and learn from each other. Much more enlightening and enjoyable, versus those with individuals whose beliefs are so rigid their intolerance has become palpable. People of the latter variety invariably wind up the equivalent of squeaky toys suffering the repercussions of my acerbic wit and biting sarcasm.

As is want to do so, the question came up. Not in a context of recrimination, but one of honest curiosity, a desire to comprehend. My answer is this: They are the storm. Like the thunderstorm, They come, lashing winds and rains, clearing away the debris and detritus of someones life. With crash and flashing light they garner attention, demanding to be seen. Intimidating, awe inspiring They rage, often initiating fear. Then They pass, the sun returns, and new life begins. They are the Ancestors I walk with, chosen not by me but by Themselves. Incalculable of age, entities retaining knowledge and wisdom far beyond mere human comprehension. I simply happen to be the conduit they use to do what they do. I go where They instruct, then They do what needs done. I don't do anything. I cant do anything. I have no magic powers. My crystal ball is in the shop...permanently. All I can be is human, and I usually screw that up at least once a week.

They are also a mirror. Reflecting back to the unwary gazing within whatever baggage or issue buried deeply within. Trauma deeply concealed, pain that has altered the very path of life. Giving the individual the opportunity to recognize the damage held onto for so long, the strength to endure the emotional upheaval of revelation, finally the euphoria of healing. How could this responsibility not be a burden? It is the contradiction of blessing and curse, appreciation and anathema.

The intention behind conversations such as these, with individuals possessing tolerance and comprehension, is to bridge our philosophies. To put into context what is understood, from their point of view. What, in their pantheon of spiritual entities, in this case Saints and Angels, would be comparable to those Ancestors I walk with? Their conclusion was Michael, the Arch Angel. With utter intolerance for absurdity and no compassion for irreverence. Revealing his presence to a chosen few, to rectify whatever folly they may have knowingly, or unknowing, open themselves to. With heavy hand of immediate decision, woe unto those who dare.

This is no way to insinuate I perceive myself as a manifestation of that entity, or any other. There are no delusions of grandeur. Simply parallels in context. Similar to hundreds of others, unknown to the majority. Men and women whose lives were and are lived in service to everything and everyone else. Lives willingly given, neither accolade or recompense expected. Living with the burden of responsibility of being plucked from the herd, usually kicking and screaming, eventually acquiescence, concluding in observance of healing bestowed. Is there, could there possibly be, a more beautiful way to live?