The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
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Elizabeth Rose Campbell was the Assistant Editor for The Sun from 1976 to 1982. She lives in Carrboro, North Carolina.
Pain is the voice of the inner pearl of being, crying out to be extricated from the blankets of belief that keep us from accepting ourselves, from understanding that aloneness is not loneliness.
It was Mara who spoke to the child first, her eyes large and full of her own young comprehension, breaking the silence with one soft word out of her hundred word vocabulary: baby.
Sitting on the backsteps, the wind whipping against my bare skin. I am surprised, again, by the night and the way it makes me feel a part of the silver silence cleaning up the day’s details of heat and activity.
When my perceptions truly coincide with what’s happening, it’s because I’m willing to lose myself in the other person or experience. It’s feelings of specialness I have about myself that keep me from doing that.
Why does someone call himself a psychic and begin charging for his services? The motivation is surely as complex as in seeking a psychic’s help. Perhaps it will one day seem no more unusual to go for a reading than for a physical exam at a doctor’s office; but as there are good and bad doctors, there are psychics of every description.
The paradox of trying to educate yourself and then live within the environment your ideals have dictated is: try but don’t try.
Shall we throw Hustler and the Times into the fire? And, years from now, when these words and this argument are forgotten, shall we make into a funeral pyre the “spiritual” tracts we now so revere, those that spell out for us the right way, when we’re all heading the same way?
And when our eyes met, you said silently to me, don’t remind me, not as a reprimand but because these moments, this coming together, was a last blooming lily which I should not point at but rather unfurl my own petals in harmony with yours.
Every single moment of consciousness, of your experience, from the past, present or future is such an incredible storehouse of creativity that is unleashed upon itself, I am awed, my mind is boggled.
I have noticed that there are those who give spontaneously, unself-consciously. There are also those who have the same ability, but become distracted and brought down by the shadow of their own personalities, and a wavering results. In that instant of wavering, the gift melts. A state of listening grace evolves from instinctive setting aside of self.
A Path of Responsible Living. That is what is going on now. In the 60s, you were responsible if you were an activist overtly, and now it seems like you are responsible if you are an activist on an introverted level — spiritually.
The two big trees fascinate me. . . . I watch the very tiptops of those trees and wonder if I can poise my consciousness in those leaves at the top long enough to BE there. I try.