In most spaces in my life, I live by logical response. I don’t argue my feelings–not with them nor in defense of them. I experience my emotions, sift them for meaning and gaze into them for better understanding of why and who and how I am. Yet, when the time comes for decisions, what is right and best and true trumps what I feel. I do this not because I don’t think my feels are valid but because I have understood from a young age that feelings–even good ones–change moment to moment. What is true, what is right, what is best does not.
I find that this drives other people batty. So batty, in fact, that I have been known to ask, “Do you want me to tell you what I think or what what you want to hear?” And many times, I don’t say much at all so that I am not labeled time and time again as negative (since what I think often collides with the other person’s desire).
In the constraint of silence designed to preserve relationships, I sit in a mound of wisdom born of listening and observing. I experience life in patterns, motives, and foregone conclusions. I watch those around me live with the consequences of actions that they are too blind or embarrassed to correct out of misplaced passion or immovable pride. I want to help, give wisdom to empty spaces in foundations, and yet if not invited into the conversation, I am left to assist in picking pieces of people off the pavement that is consequence.
I asked the universe one day if this would always be my lot in life–possessing answers to questions that should frame the decisions that other people make. To be rejected for the very thing they need from me.
The Creator and Giver of the wisdom I possess responded by saying, “Yes. Welcome to higher vibrations. Rest in My bosom.”
And so here God and I sit–watching, waiting, listening, observing–in the cool quiet of peace, waiting for others to come sit at God’s feet with me and know what calm exists in living above the torrent that is emotion.