THE WHEEL OF CREATIVITY®

‘Twas the week before Christmas and all through the skies

Not an airplane was flying…

If you have seen any news at all this month, it will come as no surprise to you that Monday morning, when I got up to go to the airport, there was an email in my inbox informing me that my flight had been cancelled. I have found that breakdowns often disrupt our lives just enough to reveal the angels among us.

Today, after my own horrendous 36-hour trip from France to England, I can’t help thinking of all the others like me, stranded between familiar shores trying to get home for the holidays. This is for you, and for the angels among you.

There I was on Monday. Bags all packed, fridge cleared out, and nowhere to go. There were no flights available to Gatwick Airport until 26 December. I checked the trains, from Nice to London. Nothing available. So from England my husband (Angel #1) helped me create a patchwork itinerary combining train and ferry.

• Nice to Paris via TGV
• Paris to Caen via Intercities train
• Caen to Portsmouth via Brittany Ferries
• Portsmouth to home via Peugeot 306

I had one hour. I recalled taxi driver Claude, took one of my fastest showers ever, inhaled two scrambled eggs, closed two obese suitcases and headed out the door. With that my Christmas adventure begins.

Gare Nice Ville. The ticket machine won’t read my card. As I wait in line, the track changes from one with no stairs to one with stairs. I stand at the bottom of the stairs, when Angel #2, a handsome young man, grabs my enormous suitcase and runs it up the stairs, “TGV?” as he puts the bag on the train.

I am confused, because it is 10:25 and my ticket says 10:35. The conductor confirms that I am on the wrong train. Next stop… Antibes. I drag my bags off the train and head down the platform in search of information. Read more…

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Today I began my 60^th journal. I have been keeping a journal since January 4, 1976, my 20^th birthday. So today I decided to pick up that first book and read a few pages. Such a tender young thing I was:  so much promise, so little experience of life, and such a burning desire that my life would count for something.

The road from there to here has been long, though it has passed in the blink of an eye. Sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, it has been anything but straight. The road of Life rises up to meet me, day after day, from the darkness of the unknown into the headlights of discovery, showing me just enough of the road ahead to keep me from crashing. Sometimes I still do.

This morning, in my yoga practice, it came to me that we cannot bring forth anything that counts in life unless we let Life penetrate us. And yet, we live with so much resistance, so much fear of allowing that. This morning, in my yoga-softened body, I could feel the gifts of these years. I felt my receptivity, my openness, my desire, my longing. I have longed for Life itself, and the feeling of taking it in like a really deep breath. I have allowed Life to penetrate me and to awaken the seed of The New Thing in my heart, time and time again.

To me, at this moment, this is the story of Christmas. It is the story of a young Hebrew girl chosen by Life to receive, to be fertilized, to give birth. Her baby, called Jesus, would grow from humble beginnings to shine a light in the darkness of the world, which still shines today.

Let’s, for a moment, take this out of the context of religion. What I want to share here does not require that you believe anything. I invite you, just for these few minutes, to explore the possibility that this is the story of us all. Read more…

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