Beloved Light,

Long ago, at a fund-raiser, I heard someone talk about encountering people in small villages somewhere in Africa whose clay homes were covered by grass roofs that – for lack of nails – were weighted down by sandbags hanging from each corner of the roof.

The fundraiser was asking people to support the effort to get nails to the villages so they could build more stable structures. Whether this was a successful endeavor over time I don’t know, but it was the idea of easily removable roofs that stuck in my mind.

Convertible houses, was my thought. Like the top rolling back on a car, I imagined homes easily opening to a sunny day. Not a practical idea, but one that made me smile.

It made me think about nailing things down. Mentally, I mean. That’s a reflex when pain comes and other challenges. There’s the tendency then to retract, to batten the hatches, secure the decks, pin things and people down, isn’t there? Nails are best so they’re secured, so they can’t fly up and cause trouble again.

It made me wonder: How many times do I nail or weigh things down when I could, instead, throw them open to the sky?

Here’s an idea:
Next time we feel beset we could settle ourselves in a quiet place, taking time to become aware of the room. Then we could imagine rolling its roof back to the sky, letting the Light stream in, opening our hearts and minds to the warming, golden rays. I think I’ll give it a try next time. Since next time will likely come.

Just a little something to muse on.
Much love,

~ 💜 Mayet

Dear Forgetful One,

I have a dear friend who’s struggling with a painful experience from the past. Ive been there, haven’t you? There can be a lot of anguish and suffering when those old stories grab us by the scruff of our necks and shake us.

It’s tough work, that – working with old stories of pain and sorrow, dealing with the effect those experiences had on us. Spiritually speaking, we know they are just stories, but just because they are stories doesn’t meant they weren’t real.

I was thinking about that this morning when I talked with my friend.

I know from my own experience that the key is in being willing to let the story go. But it’s hard to explain how difficult that is, isn’t it? My guides used to say to me, Dare to Forget. They weren’t suggesting denial. They meant it was time to forget.

I think that’s a profound thought, and such an apt one. When contemplating it, I was shocked to notice how very threatening that idea felt to me at a visceral level.

Even the thought of just forgetting it aroused many uncomfortable and conflicting feelings in me, some of which came from a deep survival level. I could feel that forgetting the story, letting it go, actually threatened me.

Obviously at some level I believed that holding onto and remembering the story kept me safe in some way. So much so that the idea of just forgetting it made me feel almost a little panicky, if I was honest.

It was obvious to me that the pain, the anguish and resentments tied up in the story came back into me through the story as disturbing frequencies each time I remembered it. I didn’t want that anymore. But I could feel the visceral difficulty of not engaging in the story anymore. It held parts of my identity and it kept me alert and on the lookout for trouble. And other such benefits.

Such feelings were strongly held by a part of me that is less subject to reason. It’s a very challenging spiritual bit of work to reprogram that. But I’ve learned that the intense impulse to keep the story does eventually give way to my stronger consistent intent to let it go.

The story begins to come back less and less often until it becomes quite infrequent. Even so, such a story can occasionally return suddenly and mysteriously. But because I’ve done the work of Daring to Forget, I find it fairly easy to affirm that I am forgiveness itself and that old stories truly have no more relevance to now than any other past lives.

To those of you now doing the hard spiritual work of Daring to Forget an old story from your life, my heart is with you. You not only have my compassion but also my admiration. Transformation of painfully held experiences is brave work that helps us all.

We’ve all faced this and will yet again. It’s an important part of the spiritual curriculum of these times. The phrase Dare to Forget gives me permission as well as serves as a reminder that this is the higher task. It helps me unclutch, loosen my grip and let go of stuff. Perhaps you’ll like using it too.

Here’s to the relief of being able to forget and the gift of still remembering what I learned in it.

♥️ Mayet

Y’all,

Recently a friend on the east coast said to me, You’re starting to talk Southern, you’re getting an accent! I guess I’ve been in Oklahoma long enough for my ear to begin picking up the more relaxed southern syntax here. The Oklahoma accent is less drawling than the Texas one and not as extended perhaps as in Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia. But it’s there.

Each of the southern states has it’s own inflection. I don’t mind a bit of Oklahoma southern style creeping into my speech. There’s a softness in it that’s not a bad thing.

There’s even one Southern-ism that I’m very glad to have an authentic opportunity to adopt. It’s the word ya’ll. I know it’s sometimes made fun of, but I’ve always thought it a very handy word and since I’ve been here I’ve come to appreciate it even more.

It’s very inclusive. I like inclusive words and Y’all is one of the best. It solves some gender pronoun dilemmas as well. For instance, in the northern and western states when addressing a group of mixed gender we often resort to saying you guys somewhat awkwardly. Y’all takes care of that. It’s a simplifier. Saying you all when you want to include every one in a group is just clunky. It’s not half as friendly and inclusive as using y’all.

I’ve learned something else about it too. It carries respect. Yes, respect. It’s an acknowledgement of those included. A tip of the hat. And there’s one more thing I’ve learned about using y’all: you can use it even when addressing only one person – it’s not necessarily plural. For instance, you might say Y’aaaaaall – in an even softer, more drawn out way – when a person has done you a kindness. In this context it not only carries appreciation but expresses a feeling of humility in the face of that kindness.

As if that’s not good enough, someone explained to me that ya’ll also implies something more: you and your ancestors. Isn’t that wonderful? A form of speech that includes one’s ancestors by implication. Honoring the whole clan. Beautiful. I think that is a terrific adaptation of language.

I’m glad to be here, learning my Y’alls. And even if I were to unexpectedly leave here, I’d be keeping the word y’all. I think I’m a better person for it.

I love language that’s inclusive and I love y’all.

🤠 Mayet