The Great Constant


Hello!

Today is a new day, even though it is a bit young for me. I woke up at 12:30 PM and am kind of regretting my life decisions. So I have camped out in a super hip coffee shop and am just enjoying life for now.

There’s something I don’t think about often but am thinking about now. I don’t usually like getting out of bed nowadays unless there’s something that’s making me leap out of bed at 6 AM. That’s usually a lesson, to be honest. I like getting up at 6 AM, but there’s not been much getting me awake and alive. I am quick to blame that on my surroundings and lack of events in my life, but I honestly am not feeling super motivated internally and that is why it’s harder to get up and move, I think.

I’m not feeling depressed, is the weird thing. I am perfectly happy when I get up, I just feel unmotivated, like there’s not much to look forward to in that moment. In other words, I think that my reason why I’m doing things, why I am living and not just surviving, why I am happy, even, isn’t big enough. I have big dreams, but I don’t honestly believe in myself enough for them to motivate me. It’s not that they’re small, it’s my lack of faith in myself.

It’s funny that I feel this way, especially after I have discovered that I have a seat at the universe’s table and have a voice. I should be living this discovery, right? How can I use my voice? How could I possibly be bored with my life?

I find during these “boring” days that I overlook the little things that make me happy and make waking up worthwhile. One of my favorite little things is when my roommate leaves fresh coffee grounds in the coffee machine to be made in the morning. It saves me a step and I am always thankful for it.

I’ve got coffee in hand and I’m thankful for that, too. I used to make long lists of what I was thankful for in a day, and that got me through the final stages of my husband’s and my long-distance phase. I nearly filled up a journal with these thoughts. I keep thinking that I should do them again, but never get around to it. I make note of the bigger little things, but I need to actually write them down and properly thank God and the universe for these little gifts.

I was reading a book called Captivating, which is a Christian book. One of the chapters spoke about God-as-lover and elaborated more on how God shows people love in small (and big) things, like a gorgeous sunset, or for me, the entire state of Alaska. I see God a lot in nature and in the people I meet. I definitely need to do better at recognizing that facet of God.

It’s interesting to me that I generally learn about God and the universe one little bit at a time in the times when I need that facet. I didn’t believe in a God who could personally love me until I started thinking a lot about the process and practice of gratitude. When I started to take note of these things, my perspective shifted. YES, I was loved! Yes, I was protected! It made so much sense.

One of the things I struggle with in my journey with God and universe is that some things need to be taken on faith and that I don’t have to understand everything. I think of my journey with happiness, for example – a lot of the time I am happy and I don’t know why. I don’t always need a reason to have happiness as my default state. It just is sometimes, and that is that. I am a child of God, I am a child of the universe, their love is constant and a given. I am carried on their shoulders. So are you.

“Meg! What does it mean to be carried on the shoulders of God and the universe?” you might be asking.

Well, it means different things to different people. For me, it’s kind of like standing on the shoulders of giants, you can see more than an ordinary being. But it also bears a connotation of a child being carried on a parent’s shoulders. I am supported and seen, is what it means to me. I am loved.

Knowing I am loved is a powerful thing. Knowing that God and the universe watch over me and guide my path as I listen is a wonderful feeling. They are everywhere. I miss my dad, but he is always watching, too, but in a different way than he could when he was here in this plane. I don’t entirely know what the purpose was in him dying, but I know he was needed elsewhere. Some have said that he gave my husband the nudge he needed to talk to me again so that our journey could begin. That would make a lot of sense seeing how similar they are. I know my dad loves me. I know my husband loves me. I know that my husband came back into my life at the exact right time. God and the universe, in their infinite wisdom, knew what to do. I will always be mistaken in thinking that my life is boring.

I am needed and I am in need. It’s strange to think that we are never truly static, there is always something changing, constantly putting us in need of help or in a position to help others. We receive gifts and are gifts to others.

I have said it before and will say it again, we are given what we need in the times that we need it. We are loved spiritually, that is the great constant. Nothing we can say or do will change that, it was so from the beginning and will always be. It doesn’t matter who you are, you are given an equal chance and a seat at the table. Be seated! The meal is coming.

Love,

Meg

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To Be Seen

I have a confession to make.

I don’t know how to write for myself. I write to be recognized, to be seen. I don’t know how to put my thoughts together in a way that’s coherent that sounds like me. I’m so used to writing to share. I fear that if I were to write for myself, all that would come out would be a scream. It’s very rare that I can unlock myself in my writing. I feel pressure both internal and external to write something good, to write something poetic, something that will change lives. It’s all gotta be good, meaningful, or it means nothing.

At least that’s how it feels, and feelings aren’t always facts. I do know that every time I write for myself – or try to – it comes out horribly sad and ends up hurting more than helping. Does that mean that something inside needs to be fixed? Does that mean that there’s some fear or sadness not addressed? I look back at my journals and I find that the later ones are full of fear and sadness and anger, and they make a bad situation worse because I’m dwelling on the past and being afraid of the future. It’s just bad. I go months feeling okay and wanting to write about happy things to something erupting inside of me and having to fight off armies of flashbacks and wanting to dive headlong into the dark again.

Last night was one of those nights. I tend to get very sad at around 3 PM every day, and things just built up inside me to the point where I started to shake and cry. Why was I crying? It felt like an aerosol can of sour memories burst inside of me. With that came shame, both for what happened and for not being over it when I should have let it go long ago.

I have heard that people are supposed to write clear and deep about what hurts, so I think I’m going to take that advice.

Something about the scene that popped into my head feels dirty and wrong. It was a memory of my ex and me. He was driven primarily by sex, I’ll be entirely honest, and I was a young, desperate Mormon girl. We had talked about threesomes for some time and I have a memory of when he came to Texas and we hung out by that car I used to drive and I remember there was a red haired girl we both thought was cute and we talked about “sharing” people like that. In the moment, it was okay. But in hindsight, it feels as sick as the sun felt that summer. I have a lot of shame surrounding that memory. This was one of the reasons I started to reconsider Mormonism – I had finally started to come to terms that I could be attracted to all people, not just men like the Mormon church encouraged, and once that mental bomb went off, there was no way to clean up the scattered contents. It was this ex of mine that helped me in a sick way to have this realization. When I tried to go back to church, the shame ate at me and I couldn’t reconcile the beliefs I had once loved and the shame I had with the things I now knew about myself. So I decided to ditch the shame and leave, unrepentant.

I hated myself for the longest time for letting that happen to me. The church had lessons on virtue (read: sexual purity until marriage) and I wanted to dodge every single one of those lessons from even before I officially joined. My mind didn’t fit the mold from the beginning, and there was so much shame I carried. I remember mentally eating myself alive even from the time I was small for being attracted to other genders. I remember mentally eating myself alive for having thoughts of sexual attraction at all. After all, they were wrong, right?

I am now realizing that I have spent a ton of time suppressing parts of who I am. I’m getting better at verbalizing what is going on inside of my brain and what I want and need. I am growing and learning and living and loving.

My gender and appearance falls under this category. I have spent so much time hiding and suppressing it. Last November was a turning point in that I found I could no longer ignore my identity. It was a pull unlike any other. I have pretended to be someone I’m not several times, and none of them ended up well and I always ended up in the same place. I was told over and over again that to identify with anything outside female wasn’t me. To those who said these things, who am I, then? Who am I now that you are not here to tell me who I am? The short answer is that you don’t get to tell me who I am. That’s my job. I am smart. I am kind. I am gifted. I am an empath. I am loved. I am a leader. I am a handsome human. I am a light. I am an example. I am a mentor. I am a student. I am a teacher. I am spiritual. I am imperfect. I fall down sometimes. But I am alive, thank God. I sing praise to life for the first time. It’s scary as hell.

Happiness is on my side. And it’s past 3 PM and I haven’t cried. Nobody gets to define me. I am not a reduction to how people see me.

I am alive, I am alive, I am alive, and I breathe like a newborn, screaming. It hurts to see light, but that is temporary. I no longer believe the lies that sadness told me.

Sadness is the liar, not the constant.

I will continue to speak on these topics until I can speak no more.

I will continue to tell myself that I am okay, and I will mean it. There should be no shame in this. The can may have exploded, but there is no need to clean it up. I may not recognize myself in the mirror yet, but I am here and I am seen. I am heard. So are you.

Love,

Meg

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Synchronicity

My friend called me wise yesterday.

We had been on a call and I told her that I was hungry, so she almost commanded me to go eat. I listened. She would later tell me that as soon as we hung up, her supervisor called and she went on an adventure, for lack of a better word, and seemed to have had a very good time. I didn’t understand why that was wise, but if I had to guess, I think it was because I listened to her. I didn’t intend for there to be any kind of wisdom there, but I suppose by listening, I allowed for it.

I’m a firm believer that there is a plan for everything. A lot of times I have no idea what path my actions will take me down, but I do know that there are certain points – meeting a friend, moving someplace – where a grand plan is more apparent. Others, like being told to end a phone call because I’m hungry and sad, are less obvious, but equally as powerful.

I’ve been seeking to make a change for good recently, and what I seek has also been seeking me. That’s evident now. My Nana calls these moments where everything lines up “synchronicities”, and I’m getting better at noticing them. There are simple actions I take sometimes that cause powerful things to happen.

One snowy night, I was at a birthday party in Rexburg, Idaho, and I was not having a good time. I left early, driving through the snow as carefully as I could. That care didn’t stop me from almost colliding with two other students as I parked. I suck at parking. Everyone was okay, and I recognized one of them, a friend of mine I had made a few weeks back but hadn’t seen in a little while. The other was someone I had never met before. The three of us got to talking, and by the time I left Rexburg, I had gained two true friends who had saved my life a few times. They taught me how to trust again after my last awful relationship, and I am so thankful for them.

One of my strong beliefs is that we’re given the things and people we need in the time we need them. My husband arrived exactly when he needed to, for I needed him when I didn’t yet know it.

He’s taught me so much about how to love and how to be a better human. Marriage is a fun thing, but also very difficult at times. I’ll be the first to say that I’m not super great at working as a team, but I’m learning. It’s like sticking two rocks in a tumbling machine. The rocks lose their jagged edges if all goes well and both become shiny and smooth. That’s our goal.

And all because of a synchronicity.

I’m thankful for God’s (or your own Higher Power’s) wisdom. It’s infinite. They know how to guide our lives and know us better than we know ourselves, and know what’s best for us. I’m thankful for that. I’m thankful for the synchronicities that have led me here.

Until next post,

Meg

A windless day

I don’t quite know what I’m writing about yet, so I’m hoping the writing flow will guide me. I hope what I write today will help someone.

My mind feels like a lake on a windless day, flat and clear. It’s a perfect reflection of the sky, and all is calm. I feel numb in a way, too. I don’t know if this is called “stability”, and this worries me. I don’t like feeling numb. Perhaps I’m too used to overwhelmingly strong emotions, so the lack of them is frightening. Maybe this is what serenity feels like.

I like the image of the lake reflecting the sky. I’m serene enough to become a mirror. A simple mirror. I hope that the people see themselves in me as I see them. I hope their reflection helps them see who they truly are. And who they truly are is beautiful.

I don’t know what you need, gentle readers. I’m using this writing time to meditate on what you might need and then to say it. I hope I can hit the nail on the head for you.

In my mental windless day, I see things more clearly. I am balanced, even though I’m slightly unsettled. I’ve always wished for balance, and I never thought I would find it. In the few times in which I have found it, it’s always been frightening. I feel like something’s wrong with me, even though it’s just my wish being granted without me knowing. That’s kind of how some wishes are granted – in surprising and mysterious ways. My wishes are important, and my needs are fulfilled in the times they need to be and in the ways they should be.

In realizing that I am serene, I’m able to see a bigger picture. I’m able to hope for something more grand than myself and start to feel hope that I can make a difference. I’m not saying I’m an idealist. I’m far from it. I spend time mired in depression. I spend time riding manic highs. But perhaps serenity is something that I haven’t valued in the past.

I don’t think serenity is a pure calm. I think that it’s balance between, in my case, my manic highs and depressive lows. Perhaps not a lack of them, but a lull between the two and a place where I can see clearly. I don’t think it should unsettle me. It shouldn’t be seen as a numbness or something to dread. It’s something to strive for.

I want to use this serenity to help others. My mind has been tidied up and I am in a position to listen and empathize. I can’t properly help others before my own mind is orderly. I haven’t felt this kind of balance before. Emotions are present, but I’m not swept away towards either end of the spectrum. Since my head is clear, I’m better able to solve any mental problems of my own that may try to sneak up on me. I realize that strong emotions are not the key to a healthy existence, yet I know that the highs and lows will return again. I can’t kill my highs or lows, they must simply be experienced. I need to use the manic for the good I can do, and do the best I can during the depression.

I also want to be the kind of person who helps people see who they truly are. I want to encourage people to be their true self and let them know through my actions that they are okay to be authentic around me. I don’t want to shame others for expressing who they are. I know I will fail many times, but I’m human and I’m trying. I want to be someone who changes lives. I know I can do it one person at a time. Even if I can only touch one person today, that one person can take what I gave them and initiate a series of ripples that can change the world!

Call me cheesy, but that’s what gets me through the day, serene or not. That’s my philosophy. I get discouraged because I want to touch more than just the people I have thought I have, but then my husband reminds me of my own philosophy. I may have helped more people than I realized, and I may never realize the good I did. But that good has been done and it is very real.

On windless mental days like these, I used to panic, thinking something was gravely wrong with my mental health. But perhaps I really am serene? Maybe the good I mean to do does mean something? My hope by writing here is that I will help you feel less alone. There’s something so powerful to me about having someone just listen while I talk. Thank you for being that for me! It’s my hope and prayer that you see yourself in me and that you smile at yourself.

Some days are hard. Some are easy. Others the wind goes away completely and you’re left as a clear lake, reflecting the sky. Are you serene?

Until next post,

Meg

You and the sky

Hello, friends!

I have a song to share with y’all.

This is “Heron”, one of the simplest and most beautiful songs I have ever written. It came into being in fifteen minutes after a guy found me playing ukulele outside a party and we got to talking. I came home afterwards and wrote this song down. It contains only two chords, yet when I played it on street corners back in Texas, it would earn the most tips. It is powerful and beautiful, filled with yearning.

I no longer yearn in this way, but this song captured the moment perfectly. It’s interesting how songs can contain memories or the magic of moments. Some songs hold good memories for me, others bad ones. There are many ways to fill silence, and music is one of the best ways to do so.

When I write music, the best songs I compose flow out of me. There’s no forcing them, and they have minds of their own. I connect with them in ways similar to how I connect with God. It’s that same kind of rush.

However, I rarely use music to connect with God, and that’s beginning to bother me. I’ve been thinking so much about the magic and power of song and the power of God as almost separate from one another, when really they should be joined. I believe I spoke in another post about being commanded to write, and part of that could be writing things to play on my instruments or to sing. I want to include song in my worship because that’s a powerful part of myself I have been neglecting. Even if it’s only praying in a whisper over two or three chords or singing a phrase acapella, I feel like my prayers will be amplified.

I’ve been feeling empowered by God to the point where I am full to bursting with what seems to be spiritual power. I want to use it to bless others, but I don’t know how to do it. I don’t think I can perform miracles, though it honestly feels like I could if I had enough faith. Maybe that’s my manic side talking. I’m not sure.

To me, it all comes back for me to another sort of yearning, one to be closer to God and to listen to him to see where to direct this power and responsibility.

I think I’ve also calmed down a lot inside and become more secure as a human being. It feels like I have cleaned up a messy room. I’m still super hyperactive and excitable, but it feels like my mind has become more organized. There are still moments where the organization gets horribly wrecked, but I’m usually able to reorder it by taking a nap or sleeping for the night if it’s late enough. Eventually I manage to calm down.

My husband is a huge help, too. He brings me closer to God by the way he shows his love for me. When I’m sad and panicky, he holds me close and prompts me to talk about it. It’s hard sometimes, very hard. But he is always there.

I don’t talk to God much conversationally, especially when I’m sad. Perhaps times of sadness and anxiety are times when God wants me to talk to him? I keep prayers in my heart because I feel weird praying aloud. I hope the music will help me get out of that shell.

Thank you for reading!

Until next post,

Meg

A celebration, part two

Hello, all! I may sound like a wacko during this post.

Yesterday I spoke about my identity as an agender person and how I am proud of that. I thought about that post all day and grappled with how I would explain it to someone who is unfamiliar with the term agender and is as such confused by it. I learned last night that to some agender and other labels for ourselves can be seen as jargon and that most of these people know what we’re talking about, they just need to hear it a different way.

The way my husband understands it is that I am becoming acquainted with myself and that myself is not aligned with any concept with any traditional idea of masculinity or femininity. I am, simply, me. It was the label that threw him.

There’s more to it than alignments or even what I would call gender, there’s an element of the sacred. I was mid phone call with one of my dearest friends when I had a major realization. Perhaps when I am being my true self, I am able to connect with the spiritual far easier than if I were fighting myself. I’m hesitant to say that the windows of Heaven open when this happens, but all of this poking of “I hear you” begins to mean something greater. He sees me as who I am when I’m aligned, and so do I. In that way, knowing who I am as a person is a crucial element in my communication with God. When I’m in that state, everything I do feels like a prayer and my prayers themselves are amplified.

When I’m in my prayer state, I am given courage, and courage with wisdom comes power to be used in the correct times and places and not abused. I keep getting poked with another impression:

“Write. Speak up. You’re in a place where people will listen, and if not now, when? You’ve been given power, use it.”

It’s strange because I keep remembering a more hidden goal of mine to become so meshed with the spiritual and with God that people feel connected just by being around me. Something tells me that it will turn into that if I keep going down this path.

I won’t ever become or claim to be a speaker for anyone but myself since most of my impressions deal with becoming who I am supposed to be, but I will use the wisdom I receive and share with y’all.

I’m becoming deeply proud of who I am and am celebrating these discoveries. Thank you so much for coming along with me so far!

Until next post,

Meg

Ithaca

Hello, friends!

Last night was hard. I had a breakdown at work. I’m trying to figure out how to manage the sadness that comes at that time of night. It sucks, to say the least. But when I’m driving home at that time of night, there’s been a heightened sense of “I’m going home” when I drive back to where I live. I knew it was home beforehand, but the feeling has increased.

The second track of Mago also speaks of home – finding home in another person. “After the War” is told from another person’s perspective, and “they” are talking about me. I was writing about how I thought the other person felt about me and pulled quotes from what they had said previously. It was all guesswork at that point, and it went downhill quickly. As I tried to salvage what we had once had, the rest of the album came together around that series of events.

I always heard that a person should always live for themselves and not for anyone or anything else, for the person or thing one finds a home in can easily leave. I also heard that one can never truly love unless they love themselves first. I know firsthand that the second one is true, at least. As someone who constantly sought the love of others to fill something missing inside of me, I know it’s miserable and I know it’s true. I became clingy and desperate, and that led me into some terrible situations. I didn’t even try to work on myself much, for my own mind terrified me and I thought of it as something that should not be explored. One of these situations inspired this song.

It wasn’t until after this war, so to speak, that things got better in a strange way. This next passage might make me sound completely insane. Bear with me, if you wish.

I have very strong spiritual impressions sometimes. They never say “Meg, the world will end on XYZ date”, they’re generally very personal and only deal with me or me in relation to another person. This handful of impressions changed my life.

One night, I had a dream. I was a noblewoman locked in a room by my wicked guardian with only an impish assistant to keep me company. Then a prince began climbing up to my window to try and talk to me, and I kept turning him away. That is, until my assistant convinced me to give him a shot. We got married.

The following evening, I sat in my car, deep in thought. Then an impression came to me. It said,

“He is out there. Keep working on yourself, and he will come.”

I was taken aback, but I wrote it down anyway. There were a few false alarms and I waited (im)patiently, as I normally do, until I received another set of impression marching orders. They said,

“The final player has entered the game.”

Not three weeks later, my husband and I started dating. We’d been talking before that, but my theory is that something kicked his butt and he started to seriously consider me. I had been considering him five minutes after he started messaging me. No joke. I tried finding home in others, but only he helped me find home in myself, too.

I paraphrase Homer’s Odyssey in “After the War” in the lines “so let’s build a bigger bed together/to lay in when we’re alone/move it, move in/move it to prove who you are/after the war”.

One could say that my husband and I went on two separate odysseys to find each other again, both of us like Odysseus in different ways. I knock on my heart and his to find home now, and he does the same, but vice versa. And we’re home now in our Ithaca.