If I could see everything that is going to happen in my life, would I try to change anything?
It seems like I might want to leave the good stuff alone and put some effort into changing the not so good, doesn’t it? Of course, that assumes I have the ability to do something different from what I am going to do that is going to create the future I can see.
Feeling back into what I’d call the hardships of my life, one by one, painstakingly intricately intimately paying attention to them as if they are only now occurring, I wonder who I would be had they not happened exactly as they did.
Would I be compassionate without having lived through the mental abuse, the fear of my first husband walking through the door, returning from the bar emboldened by booze? What about the guilty hope I had that he wouldn’t? What would I be like today if I hadn’t wished him dead, prayed for a car wreck to take him before he crawled into bed?
At the time, it seemed the worst of hells, apt punishment for being unworthy, for not living up to his impossible standards. Beaten down, it doesn’t take much to believe the lies. Who would I be if I had missed that part of the ride?
If my beloved Kenny had lived a long, healthy life, had skipped past cancer and hadn’t died at 58, who would I be now? If I hadn’t lived through it, hadn’t realized the poverty of loss, of losing a soul mate, a twin-flame, would I care as much about others, about their lives and losses, would I understand without words, would tears form in my eyes with just a look?
If my son wasn’t so much like his father, if he hadn’t absorbed the cloak of victimhood, the fist of persecution, if he had not mastered the silence of condemnation, banging the gavel with punishing ease, would I stand in wonder, celebrating those who move through life with openly broken hearts, with gaping wounds obvious for anyone with eyes to see? Would I have been able to walk away, rather than provide him a ripe target to abuse? Would I have learned to love anyway, in spite of him, in spite of myself, to love him exactly as he is, even if I do it from afar?
If my heart hadn’t rebelled, if I had continued on in perfect health, who would I be now? How could I possibly understand the valiant struggle, the inevitability of my appointment with death, the precious moment of absolute letting go? It’s one thing to lose a partner. It is another entirely to be the one sitting on my own tombstone. Would I be able to commune with the dead and dying? Would I be a bridge for those struggling to go home?
Would I change anything if I knew? Perhaps I might never marry or skip out on motherhood all together, oh what a loss. Would I not live in order to not hurt?
I think life has it in hand. This infinite aliveness seems to know what experiences to line up, the dance partners who will perfectly fill out my life’s design. I used to want a little comfort, a bit of ease and effortlessness, but that didn’t seem to be in my cards. Looking back, I wouldn’t want it to be easy, with all the little ducks lined up in perfect little rows. Back then it would have meant being content, being satisfied, and I could get comfortable pretty damn quick, just like you, I’d guess.
Comfort is overrated. Every quantum leap has come from discomfort, from woundedness and loss, from a broken heart and nowhere to turn, from reaching the point of absolute futility and giving up, giving in to life as it is.
I don’t think I’d change a thing.
There is no appropriate bio for Amaya Gayle. She doesn’t exist other than as an expression of Consciousness Itself. Talking about her in biographical terms is a disservice to the truth and to anyone who might be led to believe in such nonsense. None of us exist, not in the way we think. Ideas spring into words. Words flow onto paper and yet no one writes them. They simply appear fully formed. Looking at her you would swear this is a lie. She’s there after all, but honestly, she’s not. Bios normally wax on about accomplishments and beliefs, happenings in time and space. She has never accomplished anything, has no beliefs and like you was never born and will never die. Engage with Amaya at your own risk. That said with a giggle, check out Amaya’s new book – Actuality: infinity at play, available in paperback and e-book at Amazon.
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