Manifesting

As some of you know by now, I enjoy getting quotes and words of the day to my email. I find that they deliver an opportunity for me to examine my life and events in light of whatever happens to show up; to trust the randomness and synchronicity of all things moving in concert, even though sometimes the sound can be quite discordant.

Here is what I read today:
"You have everything you need in the present situation to work with
impeccability. That doesn't mean that you shouldn't work toward
manifesting additional resources and opportunities. It does mean that the
present situation supplies you with everything you need to take the next
step."

- Jonathan Zap, "A Guide to the Perplexed Interdimensional Traveler"

I've taken a new job; a position that is not quite within my comfort zone. Yet, with gratitude to my years of experience and subsequent resilience, I find that I am not deterred or even discouraged as I take my small leaps of learning.

I have a firm belief that all will be well. I am doing my best, and it is hard work, but not "hard" work; it is gratifying, engaging, brain massaging, happy labor.

I was out having dinner with a friend tonight and feeling that I was yet again neglecting my son, Dylan. Who had gotten up early, gone to school, made a pit stop at home and headed off to his job at Arundel Computing. He was arriving home from work just as I was headed out. "Tomorrow night is family night," I offered as I walked away, expecting little drop of regret to trail me down the walkway. How come we can never be everything we want to be to every one all the time? Even to ourselves.

I worry that he is too alone. I worry that my daughter is too alone. I know that there are times I am too alone, so perhaps that is the nature of grown children. We are, at times, too alone. That is when the work happens, maybe.

We climb inside, outside, move the furniture on our own, clear the shelves, write the sonnet, the ballad, paint the walls, draw the beloved and the tree, run the extra mile along the creek, knit the winter warmth, see ourselves, truly. Maybe it is the necessary ache to compel evolution, an evolution of self, a space and time of all we might create or become.

After dinner, I stand at the door alone, slip the key and through the turn realize the door was unlocked. Inside, I find Dylan sitting on the piano stool, playing one of his own songs softly, working through a set, timing himself. He was not alone; he was surrounded with his own purpose, his own creation, his next opportunity. He's been offered to play a set in a coffee shop and he is working with impeccability because he knows he possesses everything to take the next step. And although he may never say it, I prefer to believe his veracity, his comfort, his assurance is in some small measure founded on both the times I stayed by his side and the times we both walked on our own. That is what I like to think. Maybe there is some truth to it.