A Little Morning Magic Sometimes The Call really is. . . . a call, complete with caller id. (And sometimes a synchronicity is just too much fun not to share.) A couple of nights ago, I went to bed filled with the places where my writing had taken me, wondering how important the latest thread about discerning real choice was. Real choices are those that are truly accessible to us given present moment inner and outer limitations, resources and realities. Looking at my own life with more curiosity than judgement, I could see that some of the choices I thought I should have made simply were not available to me in any real way at the time. I also realized that I could never know if what I thought was an available choice for another was a real choice for them in that moment. Through stories Id been exploring how and why we would pursue or turn away from deepening and broadening our real choices. Given all that is happening in our lives and our world, it seemed important- to know how to cultivate the healing and awareness needed to expand our individual and collective choices. But I wondered: had I gotten sidetracked in my writing, tangled in a tangent? (It happens.) Drifting off to sleep I asked the Grandmothers, a circle of women elders who often appear and teach me in my sleep dreams, for a little confirmation or course correction- whichever was needed.Was it good to keep following this thread about real choice or should I be going in a different direction? The next morning the phone on my bedside table rang and woke me up.The computerized voice of the phones caller id spoke in its flat mechanical monotone: “Call. . .from. . . real. . . choice.” Skeptical, I squinted at the words on the caller id screen, and there it was in capital letters: REAL CHOICE. Still half asleep I wondered if I was dreaming. If not, I assumed I must be misreading and mishearing things. I picked up the receiver and somewhat tentatively said, “Hello?” The man on the phone spoke with a heavy accent. His voice was rough and filled with a sense of urgency. When I asked him who he wished to speak to he said something that sounded like my last name (House.) Unsure, I asked him again who he was looking for, and his tone changed. I could hear the smile in his voice now, as if he was pleased with my questions or had accomplished something hed set out to do. Sounding more cheery than apologetic he said, “Oh, maybe I dialed the wrong number. So sorry,” and hung up. Still not trusting my sleep-steeped perception I looked at the caller id history and there it was- the call had come from REAL CHOICE. I fell back into bed laughing and called out, Thank you, to the Grandmothers, to the ceiling and the floor and the walls of my tiny bedroom, to the light of a new day sneaking in around the edges of the curtains, to the faithful trees outside my window, to the Sacred Presence that holds and lives within me, to the mystery of strange phone calls and the creative process, to the almost unbelievable blessing of having this day to write. Oriah Mountain Dreamer (c) 2014
Posted on: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 13:55:00 +0000
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