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1.21.2020

Progress. P2. I was blind and now I see the joy of soul in charge.

I don't remember when this sight was lost. It may be several years. I remember when I gained it and held onto it for many years. It was during my activism in Washington DC in roughly the 2008 time frame. This is well after I had left to the death grip of the material world but what happened was an extreme step. I don't remember the
precipitating in the event. But I remember being irritated at myself with the distraction which typically was the Myriad scantily clad women, professionals women in the White House or wherever walking past where I was doing activist work and diverting my attention from Populations I wanted to focus on, so such as as the tortured  children in Palestine, to these scantily-clad bodies.

And all of a sudden the choice that has always been there occurred to  James. You were feeling the joy of loving flowing through you as your life was devoted to advocating for the suffering children of Palestine. But then your attention was drawn lustily to the scantily clad body. Do you want to redirect your attention in that direction? Is that what you prefer? And instantly Choice was clear and so easy. And from then on for as many years as I can remember it was habit. And so easy and so obvious.
But then it was forgotten. And  guided largely by my head I have been of soul but in a blind sort of way. There was nothing tactile. There was not the reliable feeling of the time I have just reported. But now I remember. And now I can see. It is so easy. And apparently, the choice that is always there is so easy to forget.
It might be that all the painful cancer treatment and sickness is when it was forgotten. Maybe it was the long difficult journey across the country and down the west coast and saw. Maybe it was the difficulties at Standing Rock.
 But I've been blind and now I can see again, it seems.
And all of a sudden per my daily trainer, coach, friend, I'm making progress. Which is what that friend, coach, trainer, is all about.


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