Letting Go of the Waffle

Hello, long time no write, I know. It's been two years since my last post. There are a number of reasons, but I'll spare you. My heart and soul has urged me to write for awhile, and I resisted. I am finally giving in to their urging. I just hope you find it worthwhile to read. Thank you for reading in the past.

One of my first memories of waffles are those my mom made on Sunday mornings. Mom took great care making our waffle breakfast, mixing the ingredients until just blended then folding in the beaten-stiff egg whites. The waffles came out fluffy and I loved them, because I loved my mom. I loved those Sunday mornings when my family sat down together for a meal, talked and enjoyed each other’s company. Those times are fond memories.

Since my mom died, I hadn’t enjoyed homemade waffles until three years ago. Nor has a waffle breakfast meant as much until someone else I loved made them for me on Sunday mornings. The waffles were simple, a recipe on the back of a Bisquick box, yet tasted incredibly delicious. With a few slices of bacon, scrambled eggs, and a waffle topped with butter and syrup, adding a cup of Starbucks coffee or hot tea along with a side dish of meaningful and intellectually stimulating conversation, I enjoyed the togetherness of my favorite meal of the day. My heart warmed once again with the fond moments shared with my loved one.

Just as the togetherness of family waffle breakfasts ended, so ended my recent experiences of Sunday morning waffles. Since the end of July, I have felt out of sort with loneliness every other weekend, and I missed those waffle breakfasts. I decided to tackle the overwhelming sense of emptiness by making Sunday morning waffles myself. I buy a waffle maker and a box of Bisquick. The smell of bacon and Starbuck’s coffee wafts through the air, triggering within me a sense of comforting familiarity. The waffle iron heated, I prepare the waffle mix, making my own waffle while eggs scrambled nearby. I sit down at the table with a waffle dressed in butter and syrup, bacon to its left and eggs to its right, ready to savor the joy of a breakfast I’ve missed. I take one bite, and the letdown takes over. My waffle doesn’t taste the same, lacking something, but what? I used Bisquick, and the same recipe on the side of the box, so what happened? I try it again the next weekend, and once again, my waffle experience disappoints, leaving me feeling unfulfilled.

I decide to try another strategy, picking up a box of actual waffle mix with the hope of yielding a more palatable experience. Once again, my anticipation is let down as the breakfast leaves little to be desired. Wait! I remember I had my mom’s cookbook, contained within it the very waffle recipe she used. I gather what I need, carefully following the recipe to the nth degree. Ever hopeful, I sit down to the waffle breakfast I cherished in the long ago past, as well as the ones more recently. I cut a piece of the waffle dressed in butter and syrup and bring it to my mouth. I chew in anticipation of that warm and fuzzy feeling I have missed over the last twenty weeks; that both my mouth and heart long to experience once again. I chew. I wait for that familiar feeling. While the waffle was the best waffle I had made thus far, it isn’t the waffle I sought.

In that moment I realized the missing ingredient was the company I loved when eating the waffle. The flavor of togetherness seasoned my Sunday morning breakfasts. It added to the meal which was a beautiful way to start my day, to end the weekend, and to start my week. What I was seeking was the company I loved and enjoyed while eating the waffle on Sunday mornings.

Upon this realization, I knew it is time for me to let go of the waffle. It only wanted to be my breakfast every other weekend; and only then because I filled a void on weekends when others weren’t around to enjoy it. This understanding reminded me why I chose to end my three-year relationship. I just never realized that doing so would make a waffle taste so heartbreakingly different.

The Masters Program of Spirituality

I fought, struggling to catch the wind to stretch my spiritual wings. It all felt uncertain, like I'm going nowhere. Quitting is no longer an option. I must persevere, despite the heartbreak, despite the disappointment, despite the sense of loss. I must free myself of the prision of yet another layer of unconsciousness that constricts me, limits me.

How did this life that once felt so big and impossible to fill become

so suddenly small and limiting?

As this year concludes, I am reminded of the last semester of my graduate work. The semester was winding down and everything I worked toward in those three years was coming to a head for finishing my Masters degree. Anything procrastinated needed to be addressed. Anything incomplete needed to be finished.. Time and space seemed to accelerate the process. Thesis research needed to be culled into a theme, organized into a presentable written paper and oral exam with logical sensibility and continuity before a panel of professors reviewed and heard it. As January turned into late April, it was crunch time; do or do not. If I fully committed to the effort, I would graduate with my Masters, and transition into the new phase of my life. If I did not do the work, I would remain stuck, degreeless.

The last five years since my return to Kentucky have felt like spiritual graduate school.

2013 has been “crunch time” as I complete what has felt like graduate level spiritual work before the next phase of my life can begin. Time and space accelerate me forward (no matter how hard my Egoic Self tried to apply the brakes), especially in these last three months, compelling me to participate and complete the upshift of my spiritual consciousness and vibration. Ever since my return to Kentucky, life has been filled with change and loss. This year has been the most intense year yet, even in its final month of December. Nothing like the healing process wringing you of every last bit resistance, leaving you no choice but to fully surrender into the Divine Truth.  Five years ago, I had no idea I would undergo such a spiritual renovation or why. Six months ago, I had no idea what would unfold in the latter half of this year. I intuitively felt a major shift was ahead, a crossroads decision was coming. Now, the process and purpose reads crystal clear as I wrap up spiritual and personal healing in preparation for my fifth decade in this human experience.

This last year took me to the deepest levels of healing in my unconsciousness while simultaneously shifting me to my highest consciousness of being and awareness. This healing work demanded I stand more firmly in my personal and spiritual power. It taught me to stay true to intuitive guidance, despite external antagonism from others who had different expectations of me. This year administered many lessons: expansion of voice, better balance between my humanness and my Divine Self; redefining and holding true to boundaries; patience with myself and others; being in the present moment, thus Universal flow; discipline in body, mind and spirit; greater grace and humility; and ownership of my creative power Within and its use for my lavish Good.

Throughout this process, I have on occasion acted like a five-year-old in aisle number 3 throwing a temper tantrum when things were not going my way. I have wobbled within my warbling of expressing my voice with the clumsiness of an aardvark, and at times, with too much Helen Reddy roar. I have fell flat on my face while attempting to balance being grounded and spiritually connected during major life transitions. I have wandered at times from the path of spiritual daily practices. I have tolerated challenges of my boundaries, and overcompensated in holding and/or reclaiming them. And I have haphazardly created stumbling blocks along the way through the worrisome and defensive chatter of Egoic Mind.

Yes, I am human; and like Luke Skywalker first learning how to trust the Force while using his Light Saber, I and my Egoic Self have been less than graceful through these shifts and applications of the new ways of spiritual consciousness in daily life.

As I moved towards my Masters degree in Theater arts in 1990, I took many difficult, and at times, excruciating steps to make that achievement a reality; however, having that degree did not mean I knew everything there is to know about theater arts. Graduation means the process of moving in small increments, not necessarily completion. My spiritual graduate work of these past five years nears completion; but none of us ever completely graduate from the spiritual classroom that is our life.  I suppose I will continue with the PhD version of spiritual living – where I take this new higher consciousness, and actively live it, express it, and practice it more fully in my human experience. That's the point of our human experience  - continually reawakening to our Truth, God's version of it, and living in the Divine Consciousness of who we are through conscious intention that sustains continued learning and growth of the I Am Within.

For the first time in five years, I feel more

deeply alive and awake than I have felt in a long time.

 

Many heartfelt thanks to everyone, so many who has traveled this journey with me these past five years: Gregory & Cynthia at the Bead Angel; past Soaring Dove and Healing Life Energy clients; past mentoring and Science of Mind students; friends, lovers, co-workers, and strangers, past and present; my mother, my father, my brother, and other family members; spiritual teachers and supports, especially A'ra, my beautiful spiritual coach, Kim, Lita, and the ministry of Mile Hi Church.