‘Tis comical at times to reflect on some things “then and now.” When we first came to Canada, language barriers had a very literal and at times physical meaning to me. They ostracized me from various social circles and punished my school work. I was always so frustrated that I couldn’t express myself properly. And at times, this was not entirely restricted to English. Sometimes I felt like a mute aching to get words out of me but all I could manage to extract out of myself was a silent yell of frustration. I remember writing paragraphs in class, what are my goals for next year. I wrote that I want to be able to express myself better, only that I probably wrote that I wanted to speak and write properly. I meant the latter.

I remember having diaries where I tried to reflect upon my days in English. And every time I would come back to read it, no matter how long or short of time had passed, something inside me would turn in disgust and embarrassment. On more than one occasion I would rip pages / old letters to shreds because I couldn’t stand the idea of something so “stupid” (smartest word I could come up with to identify what it was that I had a problem with exactly in it) could pertain to my name in the universe. I felt emotions, I felt rivers flowing within me.. there was actual passion hidden somewhere inside. And yet, when I took up a pen, I could barely get a drop.

I have had this “ripping to shreds” stage longer than I can remember, at least up until high school and maybe into university as well. It was like this naive, maybe somewhat simple-minded part of me kept emerging to the surface and I kept degrading it and rejecting it. And I don’t know if it’s just that I had come to terms with this part of me or if I actually reached my goal that I set out for myself in 7th grade but it had completely turned 180 on me. Sometimes I start reading something and I can’t recognize it as my own writing. And that’s not because I can’t identify my own energy encrypted in there, but because I simply can’t recognize that my own hand had the privilege of authorship. I wrote in the past that after my opening to channeling, I notice more and more tidbits that bewilder my mind at the depth of content projected by each message. Well, now it seems sometimes that some words are so infused with this “other” that it’s hard for me to pick out what actually came from me and what didn’t, what I can and cannot claim ownership over…

Feeling very lunar tonight.

I have always loved daydreaming and despite many labeling it a “waste of time,” I basked in its glory whenever I had a minute to spare. The only times I felt gloomy was when I ran out of things to visualize, to imagine, to daydream about. But I always knew deep down that if you aim for the moon you will land among the stars. And sometimes I ended up with the sun instead of the moon and that was quite nice as well.

And now it’s as if I can see my daydream taking shape and form in front of me. Things are falling into my lap, urging me to go on with my plans. And I know that if that already started happening, I’m following the right path, the path to happiness.. my happiness.

It’s true what they, my Friends, my Guides, say. We don’t ask often enough because if we did, our lives would be so much better and we would eliminate so much more suffering. If you don’t ask, they don’t intervene and they don’t illumine that path for you if you keep saying you can do it all by yourself without “anyone’s” help. Maybe if you ask, you might pay more attention to things falling from the sky, falling just for you.