IN STANDING STILL, WHAT GIFT OF YOURS EMERGED?
Blog 27: Dec. 1997-April 1998—Living in the hills of Oakland, California, was too much heaven for my hips after months of painfully traveling up and down five flights of stairs to survive. Looking out through immense windows of my idyllic home perched above the Bay and, in the distance, the San Francisco Bridge, was breathtaking, but I couldn’t live in this paradise anymore.
Reluctantly I moved into a home with four to five other housemates in the Berkeley lowlands, by a BART (subway) station. The woman who owned the house lived there too, and despite the fact that her name was Faith, I soon discovered that she wasn’t anything like her name.
I had been weak, vulnerable, and had sought a place I could afford that would also be supportive of my disabled and painful condition. She initially pretended to be caring, but, as her true nature revealed itself, and my other housemates struggled with feeling alone in this cold, sterile home, I found myself spending more and more time in my bedroom. I meditated in front of a beautiful plant under my skylight. It was the closest experience I had to being out in nature—that, in addition to sitting in the hot tub outside in the weed-infested yard. There I sang poems to the trees, finding the courage and heart to believe in a magic I wasn’t living.
I missed New Mexico, being able walk and being still with the earth as I had been in the desert. I especially missed a time I had had there with my friend, Eric. We had wandered upon sandstone cliffs that looked out over the badlands in all directions, and there we sang into the land that echoed its beauty back to us inside a golden, pink sunset. About it, I wrote:
“I close my eyes and my tears wet my cheeks as I recall our moment sitting inside what seemed the infinite. There was an eternal stillness even in our echo, in hearing ourselves as part of the summer silence under the stars. Back then, I still walked with innocent hunger.
“Now I surrender, sad, toward my fate. I no longer believe in miracles, in unusual miracles that appear as bold statements I had always looked for. Instead, I expect no miracle except the miracle of surrendering to my circumstances. I have nothing left to do. Layers of proving myself have peeled off my body. My soul is resting. Now, I don’t care about the politics of living. I am a flower, rooted, waiting for the pollen within me to be picked up by an angel and brought into the world.”
IN STANDING STILL, WHAT GIFT OF YOURS EMERGED?
(Check out my novel, Child of Duende: A Journey of the Spirit at www.childofduende.com)
Michelle Adam 
LIke the television with volume too high, it comes to life
black curved screen, then a single white point in the center
quick expansion to undulating, scattering, immutable white noise made from particles of black and white
changing, moving, scattering while each and every dot emits a different noise at each moment
combined a cacophony of all noise, yet cannot be perceived as one
one of many, many riding as one
all threads going in different directions
no discernible pattern, no discernible telemetry, no discernible history
the feelings of thousands of people flood into and through my entire being
no sense, no area, no aspect that it does not get into – all pervasive
All that it seems to convey is a much larger pattern yet to be comprehended and integrated
all too easy to deny, reject, not desire to do anything with, and all too easy to pick up and RUN
My first conscious encounter with my empath gifts after doing an exercise that claimed to activate my pineal gland.
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