Falling forward

"Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you."-- Richard Bach

I am a believer in the cosmic threads that link us all to one another. As a teen, I felt an unexplainable magic in the universe, a sixth sense that told me that there is no such thing as coincidence. Each person, each event part of an elaborate weaving that makes guides each of us on our path, points out the truths we all know deep within the core of our being, and makes us the complex and beautiful creatures we all are. From Richard Bach's Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah to James Redfield's "The Celestine Prophecy", I know I'm not the only wacko that embraces this feeling. 

I won't venture to predict who is the master weaver, if there is any one master weaver only that there seems to be a purposeful placing of texture and color in each encounter of our lives. These purposes imprint upon us, and if we are lucky, we learn about ourselves and are prepared for the next experience. We are given the answers to the deepest questions of our psyche.

Most of us are too busy in our lives to notice. I've always felt sensitive to the interworkings of the world around me. I notice the subtle changes in the angle of the sunlight as it brushes the earth in fall, almost the one day where the rays are longer and more golden than in the days before them reaching down like ribbons. You may think I'm crazy, but pay attention in September. One day the world around you will just be a a little different.

My quest for Mr. Perfect-for-Me has been quite a journey thus far. As I reflect on loves lost, I think of how each lesson I learned became a foundation to prepare me for what was next. You'd think I'd have all the answers by now, but I haven't always listened. I haven't always utilized the information. You'll see the patterns, the chain of mistakes I've made, some so similar, you may even hold your head and wonder why anyone could have been so stupid to repeat situations that seem quite obvious.

All tragic heros (or heroines) have a flaw, an achilles heel of sorts. Mine is that I follow my heart, ignore the warnings my mind sends, and have repeated the same mistakes over and over again. I can count very easily the men I have loved so deeply that I lost myself in them. And each time I was crushed, how I emerged fragmented, yet somehow more whole than when I began. I long for a love that the fibers of time cannot break, but only strengthen. If I am ever to find it, I have to continue to be willing to fall head-first with faith.