Yesterday, unexpectedly, several online friends sent notes, emails, Facebook messages.
“Where are you? When are you coming back to blogging? We miss you. Are you surviving the winter?”
My heart lurched in appreciation for friends who reappeared out of the woodwork of the Internet with such kindness and concern.
I am rich in what really matters, it seems. Caring friends and family who send snippets of love.
Yet my heart simultaneously sank. May I share why?
In the last couple of years this small still voice deep inside kept whispering, Turn off the computer, Kathy. It’s time. I need to teach you a different way. It’s time.
We listen to that small voice, don’t we? Yet sometimes it’s impossible to comply. We don’t WANT to turn off the computer, thank you. We don’t WANT to follow that impossible path for this or that reason. Or, on the other hand, we WANT to follow yet something prevents us. We’re not strong enough, it seems. We can’t muster enough courage. We try, but we cannot succeed.
Then, one fine day, it’s time. We turn off the computer. We take a tentative step in a new direction. We’re actually able to follow the small still voice down untrodden paths. We follow what’s needed within for the healing of the Whole.
We surprise ourselves. We’re trekking off in a new direction, squinting our eyes against the brightness of a renewed inner sun.
It’s been almost four weeks (ha ha, accidentally typed four MONTHS, see how time flies?) since turning off the computer. I weaned mostly off Facebook in January, and blogging in February.
Am now listening more intently to my interior guide, turning left or right when it gestures. Listening, listening, gaining confidence that it will sprout in green tenderness when it’s ready, not one minute before.
I love this time in my life. It feels so right. Just as right and delightful as those many years of blogging. (OK, OK, except for that case of shingles which developed about ten days ago. We won’t go into that. Suffice it to say it was a mild case, itch, itch, itch. Not the severe agony that some report.)
I do feel sad that turning off the computer means saying “fare-thee-well” even temporarily to many of the dear online friends who have enriched this life so much in the past seven intense years of online flurry.
Yet, how can we not listen to our inner guidance which gestures elsewhere for a short while or perhaps forever? We can only turn, and turn again, where our heart leads in the next moment.
Just wanting you to know that your blogging friend is fine (except for those shingles) and sending you all love and gratitude and appreciation for the shining gifts of spirit that you all are.
I will blog again if and when Spirit sings in this direction. I will try to visit your blogs and posts if and when it’s time to turn on the computer again for more than ten minutes a day. Email correspondence always welcome!