Navigating the TINGLE-SEA

Goose-bumps arrive: TINGLE; deep resonance, bones sing . . . Alert, attuned, tuned-in: we're paying attention. We're focused, buoyed, renewed, intrigued. We're INTERESTED. We're in touch with Life--with that which brings life, vibrancy to our very being, zest to our breathing, clarity to our awareness. We fill with impetus to continue, move on, move forward, embrace, engage; verve, vivacity, vigor. We are a verb, as well as awareness.

Noted to me, by several friends, even since a young girl, I was always the action person: If we talked of, yearned something--an experience or an event, I was the one that wanted to take action on it, make it happen, make it real--discontent to leave it only in the ether.

As an adult? If you can't apply it, what use is it? We are animated, active creatures. We're responsive. We have hinges, not by accident, but for movement, action, expressing. We've got knees and elbows. We are God in expression; we're the hands and feet of God--we're God, exploring God in action.

However, there is another kind of action, internal expression that permeates not only all of outer events, but the larger sea of our inner experience; actually, the larger part of our life-experience, our Inner Sea.

When the TINGLE arrives, we are in TRUE RESONANCE. For that moment, we are fully alive, freed of our habit of judging, ourselves or others, free of fault-finding and blaming. We just ARE. TINGLE is a direct hit, with no filters. For just that moment, there is no doubt, no self-recrimination. There ain't no debate. We're in an ecstatic point of FULL PRESENCE to the greater part of what we are and its resonant expressions. We're in ALIGNMENT.

Alright. Well that felt great. So--are we to do anything with that? Anything beyond flashing a quick smile and brief narrative of the event to the friend standing beside us?

This from: www.asknature.org --The wings of carpenter bees cause pink gentian flowers to release their pollen by beating at a frequency that causes the anthers to vibrate. "It [the bee] arrives at the flower making a high-pitched buzzing noise with its wings as most bees do. As it alights on an anther, it continues beating its wings but lowers the frequency so that the note of its buzz suddenly falls to approximate middle C. This causes the anther to vibrate at just the right frequency needed to release the pollen and thre grains spout out of the hole at the top in a yellow fountain." (Attenborough 1995: 100)

When we get that rush, the TINGLE, we're in resonance with our deepest reality, the greater part of who we are; we're in alignment with it, within and without. Our inner tuning-forks are sounding. We TINGLE all over.
It can't be manufactured, but it can be cultivated, received. The bee can't manufacture the pollen, but it can open the channel, the anther, with resonance.

Many spend their lives trying to recapture these moments, these points of high, of natural joy--distressed by their return to self and other judgment, of finding fault, of finding there lives less than these moments of high. What they often miss in this is not only the sense of resonance, but the lack of negative judgment, traded in, just for those moments, for however long it lasts, for true discernment, observation, seeing.

True joy is not over-indulgence; over-immersion; rather it is being in resonance with this deeper Truth as it presents, the wave crest, and not being in fear, worry or an attitude of lack or self/other disdain in the trough between the wave crests.

To help keep ourselves in a state of trust and appreciation, a fortuitous state for resonance, many of us keep a gratitude journal as a way to retain an appreciative perspective of our life-blessings, a sense of balance in the fluctuations of our inner and outer weather--our attitudes and beliefs, our filters on perception about both our inner and outer conditions/situations of our lives. What about a TINGLE journal, serving as a narrative compass, guiding our ship in confidence to our True North.

This is not to eschew common sense or reasoning power. However, we make choices based on what we are conscious of, what we focus on: not just the facts, but what we think/feel about the facts. We make choices based on our beliefs about ourselves and our world. If we pay attention to the TINGLE, we may create a completely different trajectory in the navigation of our Life-Sea--both inner and outer. To navigate is to plan and direct the route or course of a ship or other form of transportation, especially by using instruments or maps.

A very small percentage of our experience is the actual events; rather, the most of our experience is our interpretation of those events, the other people, and ourselves and the relationships. It is our interpretation of these events that causes our internal experience--happy, sad, mad; curious/inquisitive, delighted, joyed, sense of mischief and play, grateful relief, confidence of trust in life--or fear, anger, resistance, resentment, mistrust, self-doubt, finding blame with ourselves/others. These interpretive factors are our rudders and also the wind in our sails, the ocean and wind currents that carry us not only to our outer experiences, but out inner weather, the weather conditions of our inner seas.

Daily, most of us make some sort of loose plan--if not for the day, then for the next day, next week, next month, next year: some kind of activity map. Infrequently we consider plans or maps for our inner sea/see--the way we perceive or frame our outer experiences, and the the internal and external results of those inner filters/interpretive lenses/maps that we reference.

We can choose our thoughts! The auto-pilot voice in our heads, which is often some kind of non-credentialed running-stream narrative--usually at one end of two poles: ego vaunting or self-bashing, about who we, and the other people in our lives, are; whether we/they/it are good or bad; to be praised or berated--and is NOT who we are! Rather, we are the CHOOSER. And beyond the thoughts, feelings, attitudes and beliefs, is that resonant recognition when we TINGLE. Doubt flees into the night. There's not time for self-condemnation or blasting others with scathing reviews. We're too busy, too engaged with that which brings joy, focus, energy, delight.

Alan Cohen, in his 365 book: A Daily Dose of Sanity, writes on the August 29th entry: ". . . you will act and create results according to the identity you assume."  Can we imagine an identity not tangled in the noose of self-doubt and fear of the Universe's intention toward us? Can we see ourselves as more than our small-scale thoughts about what we are/are capable of? Can we let ourselves out of the box? Tango with Intuition?

Luminescent Sea

Illumined See

Indigo LEDS belly-dance wings.

Turning inward to our depths; plumbing the depths of others, we discover new seas--uncharted waters within; promise here--surprises within--soul oxygen. There is direct encounter: without checks and filters: symphony of nuances, orchestration of our soul's unfolding--our birthing into flight.

Often, we avoid a regular meditative practice because we're more than a little scared of what we might be--beyond the old definitions: We see Spirit-houses, shrines, out in the desert, up in the mountains, floating on water. Our bodies are Spirit Houses. God is shining out from within. We are God, expressing as us.

We tend to treat the unknown as against us, something to be feared. Wonder if it is our friend; a greater friend that we imagine? The caterpillar that becomes a butterfly is a blueprint of our own process--if we don't slip back into a caterpillar husk.

The caterpillar caries out the engineering of the cocoon on deep instinct--unafraid of going to sleep to the old established ways--and in so doing is graced with flight it could never imagine. Let the unknown grace and wisdom within you court you. Give it time; give it space. Slow down; pause. Be still--in spite of any dis-ease with it; be graced by the spiritual bioluminescence within.

When you're 'hunting'--when you're 'hungry'--you are not hunting something without, but rather something within that wants to get out; out into the world--to express. Surprise is not always the boogeyman in the night; you might find something tender, vibrant and patient--something to sustain, guide and inspire you.  It takes two to Tango. Dare to dance with it; dive over the railing with it into your unexplored deeps. Get bold! Get beautiful. Let your Soul-Wings be the stars of your night.

Swimming in the TINGLE-SEA

I've got the TINGLE. Tingle-say; tingle-speak. What is that?

We've all stood rapt, at a point, with a resonance that brings goose-bumps to our skin, tingle to our bones: a sense of knowing -- a knowing outside of time and space when something "is for us"--something is right for us -- AND, it is also about timing.

We can know, deep in our bones, that something is "real" for us--something calls out to us--but for some reason or another, it doesn't gel; doesn't come together. We can push at it, plot, plan--and nada--"not at all; nothingness--nothing comes of it. Fizzle.

When that happens, two common, deeply ingrained, acculturated responses to that are either to self-reject, or to blame someone, or something else. We judge ourselves; judge others; the Universe.

However, there's another way of looking at it. Often we have to grow into something--ripen into it; delay isn't that it is not for us; rather that the timing isn't right.

And, it isn't just about us! In any endeavor, their are other players, other sources, juxtapositions of opportunity, that have to be in place. There are other players on our stage of life, and in any particular scene, for us to carry out our role, we are in interdependence with those other players, that might have a different timing than we do before we can come together to carry out into form what TINGLES us.

When something is not the right timing for us, it is not a comment on our worth, our value; does not mean we are unworthy of success, support, God's Grace or things coming together for us. 

Our greatest blocks to success, to following the call of our TINGLE, is our own filters. The jaundiced eye, the view of our tinglings as being not trust-able, undependable. AND in so doing, we shut ourselves down into a mediocrity; or a pattern of trying to substitute what we don't really want in place of what we really want, and we perpetuate ourselves into a series of non-fulfillment.

Instead, we can have a different response to that; we can take that temporary "No" not as a slap of dismissal, but rather as "Prep" time; as an opportunity to prepare deeply for what resonates in our bones, for what TINGLES us--that which makes us glad we are alive; that fills us with a sense of gratitude that we are on the earth. That makes us want to be aware and alert instead of numb and dumb.

We can learn to stop filtering out Our Good! -- rather dive into, immerse ourselves, in that which brings pleasure, that which makes our bones sing.

The Universe, a holographic spiritual Internet, is a TINGLE-SEA. All-That-Is, can put any manner of things together for us, to bring us joy, that we wouldn't even know to consider, let alone be able to manipulate into place! LET IT! ALLOW IT!

Allow yourself to TINGLE-SEE into, to swim in the TINGLE-SEA.

Seasoning of a Sea Soul

The Seasoning of a Sea Soul: When we are connected to something as immense as the Sea -- be that Salt-Water Sea of this Earth, or the Star-Sea that holds it all; we don't get tangled in the events, situations, thoughts or feelings of our lives as the only aspect of us. 

We remember through the Seas that we are more than all of that; that the Truth of us goes much deeper, wider and higher than any one event or one relationship--any one episode, chapter or season of our lives.

We remember Who We Are--that we are all a part of the woof and warp of a Sea-soned--Sea Zoned, Sea Sonic Tapestry--greater than any imagining, ever evolving, growing. 

We don't hold ourselves chained to any one event, to any one person's definition of us, not even our own. We set ourselves free, to ride the waves--unafraid of Seachanges. 

"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea."

Isak Dinesen [Karen Blixen]

Read more at: http://www.azquotes.com/quote/78896

Swimming in Mystery Soup

Following the depths of winter, we all need a breath of fresh air, to relax into the Winds of Change, allowing it to breathe us--bellow our lungs, in and out, in and out: to blow out what no longer applies; freshen in us what still does, renew what has gone dormant in us from lack of use -- that is circling within us, restless to engage us and our world again.

A long ways back, we separated out from trusting our Intuition, the Voice of Mystery--regarding it as an 'unusual,' -- an 'infrequent visitor," rather than as our Partner. Going off on our own, we've become ever hyper-vigilant, unable, for the most part, to enjoy that which is before us, unfurling. We look at sync--being in alignment with things; synchronicity--things coming together, in the right way, at the right time, in the right place--as rare, uncommon, scarce--undependable. Not so.

It only awaits our invitation. And, usually, we don't--invite it. Instead, we struggle, we strain; we plot, we plan, we scheme, we avoid. Any wonder we're tired, exhausted, off-our beam? Invite it! re-Partner with Mystery--not just a few munches--graze on it, swim in it, soak in it.

The three Muses of Mystery--Intuition, Inspiration and Imagination--the bridge to our Creativity awaits our nod, our invite. Open the door of your mind to it, and  Life starts to work in unexpected, delicious, validating ways--ways never imagined, anticipated . . .

God arrives this planet through our hands, our eyes--our wonder; our intrigue--through self-EXPRESSION; through our answering what shivers us with anticipation, shimmers our souls with possibility. Give it breath. Give it LIFE: try out  "I" words:

Intuit, Inspire, Imagine
Imprint new Impressions onto your awareness
Infuse your possibilities with your Impulses
Interior landscape? You are on the Discovery Channel
Innermost depths--Invest in you and your art; dare
Interest your muse with succulent ideas
Investigate possibilities
Invite your Intuition on a date--
[Let it Introduce you to the rest of your self]
Inflame and quench yearnings
Incite surprise--let it Ignite you
Imbibe the Mystery . . . Tip back your head; drink the rain!

Seachange In the Wind

Frustrating as it can be, sometimes a techno issue is the venue of the unasked being unmasked -- and answered: user delight.

  

This past week, my email, via Smartphone became unavailable, even while remaining accessible online.

A call to my phone company's technical support resolved this techno hiccup -- followed by "Do you have any other questions?"

"Yes! How come I can access my blog [I love and live to blog] through email online, but can't access it through email on my phone?"

Easy fix! A free Google Blog app! This old sea dog learned a happy new trick, fog of frustration revealing stars on the water as I realized I now hold in my hand mobile access to the blog dimension.

Tonight after work, solo flight: speaking delight into Bluetooth, spellbound by words; Writer's wine! Mesmerized, incanting enchantings, seeding implantings -- flights of perception; inception--beginning of conception, birthing a flock of words into flight, words that are themselves pregnant with meaning. I am their mother, Mystery their father.

Sea Shivers & Desert Quivers

March 9th, I departed the  2-1/2 year boot camp of heartland Missouri, returning to the high desert, and once again, only 500 miles from the sea. A time of deep turning within, in Missouri, I learned to drink from an Inner well; graze upon Mystery. Altered  & Altar-ed, I now hoist my sails, catching the winds of these next chapters. Aquiver, snuffling, a wash of intrigue breaking over me, I swim with the UNEXPECTED early return: an unanticipated work opportunity, a restored house-share--and, one more time, a closing sense, on the heels of a successful cross-country move, that "I know nothing; am attached to nothing, trust everything--steady as she goes." 

Even for flexible sorts, not all locales can foster being in resonant residence. Until I departed the West [my sequence of Oregon/Washington, California, Arizona/New Mexico] for the Midwest [Missouri--skipping through Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas], I had never been farther east than Santa Fe--and never knew what it was to be in dissonance with the land under your feet, the air that you're breathing.

Saturated in a soup of spiritual exploration, connecting with others also plumbing their depths--my sense of connection with the earth careened into a down-hill slide: circadian rhythms went askew from night-shift work, emotions flat-lined; my body slipped into allergic malaise. Initially able to prance up three flights of stairs, I faded to half a flight. I struggled, not to inhale air, but to exhale it. In an emerald land of rolling hills and  pockets of dense deciduous forest, I was frozen in winter and sodden with stifling summer humidity. And, from that land of distress, in the pocket of my heart I carry rich new threads in my tapestry, the yet new bonds of friendships just starting to grow as I departed.


We may make peace, for a time, with a place of dissonance--deepening and quickening our intuitive sense, meeting needs of a time that changes the course of our seas; graces us with insights, perceptual powers, a connecting-of-the-dots--that we'd not have arrived had we not gone walk-about--and in which we weren't meant to stay, lest we are too long gone from our motherland, from that which sings in our bones, mirrors the patterns within; mends and restores us.

Life is call and response. Coming up the grade from Tucumcari onto the desert plateau upon approach to Albuquerque, I felt the stars "dropping" into my eyes, mouth and heart from the black velvet sky as a beckoning ivory crescent moon slipped behind the inky black ribbon of mountains on the West. 


On approach to Arizona, I was ambushed by sobs of unprocessed grief at having left. I cried out to the land, "Mother, I'm home." To the Sea, my lover, I whispered, "I am close." Searingly lonely at times in Missouri for desert stars, ocean brine, and my circle of Spirit-Friends, I feel quickened and renewed upon my arrival. And chaos ensues: it takes me awhile to find order--new order in old surroundings, to get my bearings,  to nest, to know whether I'm upside down, or right-side up.


Even as I renew my bond with the desert, the coffee-table book I've been pining, Tall Ships Today, by Nigel Rowe arrives from Amazon.com. I am always sailing a ship--the ship of my life, whether in desert or upon sea.