🌲 Nostalgia | The Longing That Can Never Be Fulfilled

"She sees now that it is a state of nothingness that is so strangely full in which she occupies space. She can move up and down, sideways and around, a state of awareness waking within the dream.
Her beat is Love, her will fierce, she won’t back down.
-Lucky Boots
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Christine
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🌲 Nostalgia | The Longing That Can Never Be Fulfilled

Post by Christine »

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Enjoy the mystical clouds of joy nostalgia brings. — Unknown Author

I started musing about nostalgia the other day, this longing for something in the past and wondering what it served. Like most folk I do feel nostalgia from time to time—it comes in moments of recalling walking through ancient groves. The Redwoods along the California coast and how many times I walked among the Giant Sequoias, their towering silent grandeur—protectors of silent secrets from times that came before. They whispered from a rustling bough or the heavy snow slipping off its lofty perch falling to earth with a muted sound. There are other nostalgias, moments when I am transported back to the Danube listening the the water splashing on the kayak’s sides under a silvery moon. These moments come not as longing but as part of me, a remembering that does bring a mystical joy.

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Giant Sequoias, a path through majesty.

My pondering on nostalgia came about because there are so many voices crying out for the good ol’ days, when life was simpler, secure, and seemingly sane. What I see is that many people are confronting what is before us with a backward look, if only. Memories are hued with rose colored glasses, longing tugs at the heart to go back. Turning up the radio when oldies but goodies play—carried away by the music’s lyrical beat one momentarily relives their youth, their hopefulness, romantic notions, and if they were lucky the feeling of their invincible nature.

This is not to be condemned—if one is living it in the now without the wistful feeling that things were better then. What has been shuffled away into a dank back room or dusty attic is that those good times also had bad times, within them compromises were often made—decisions were taken without the benefit of age, wisdom or sage guidance. Indeed if one allows for memories to be teachers, if one takes the good with the bad, the sorrow with the joy, the successes with the failures the gift bestowed can become a coherent wholeness.

As humans, born into a false construct, our Way was lost, the sacred no longer spoke to our being except, perhaps, in brief moments before it was tucked away and the people complied with the rules, accepting the false gods of materialism and celebrity. We are where we are today because of this. There is and always have been those seers and sages who incarnate here to keep the sacredness of life alive. This divine spirit can never be snuffed out, nor can it be chained nor corralled into a dystopian nightmare reality.

So if you look back don’t become lost in nostalgia. Each one of have a personal history, while some remember epochs of seeming time, others maybe only this lifetime. I’ve come to see that it makes little difference in how a human being will suffer, meet challenges, change course if true to a higher call building character on nobler goals and aspirations. If Know Thyself becomes a prime directive it will ultimately lead one to know their divine nature.

As is commonly quoted “those who don’t learn from the past are bound to repeat it.” There is no doubt that we are facing epic changes, earth shattering revelations, near impossible obstacles to overcome. Our screens are splattered with the blood of other human beings, specters are dancing demonically on our screens and those of us sitting in the comfort of a home, dinner on the table, and physical pleasures still at hand recoil inside. Think of recoiling like the tension on a spring that needs to be set into action, don’t turn away.

Our good times are splattered by rivers flowing with the blood of innocent people and natural life; ancient trees were honed, millions of buffalo slaughtered and millions of carrier pigeons were targeted to extinction. This was promoted during the founding of the Make America Great manifest destiny. Sit with it, what does this tell you? And don’t leave out the 2,000 pound bombs funded by “good citizens” paying taxes raining down on people across the world even as I type these words. What does that tell you? This is the space where nostalgia has no purpose other than to turn a human into a pillar of salt for if you can’t see the larger cosmic picture, you long for something long gone. Dust in the wind.

There is one true longing, one that brings tears to the eyes from somewhere deep inside. It comes unbidden in moments when the defenses are let down. Most describe it as a longing for home, a longing for what was lost. A longing that won’t go away until it is fulfilled. Perhaps each individual’s conception of home is unique, perhaps it needs to be that way. Yet one thing is certain, all people are longing for love, real true, sacrificial love, love unbound unconditioned not clouded by nostalgia. A heart that hasn’t been pierced to its depth will not know of what I speak.

We are entering a new epoch of human history, it holds the most severe challenges ever confronted and yet! it is the most epic of times. I know of no one who has nostalgia for the hard times. Nor would anyone of heart project a future of more of the same. Sit quietly now my friends, listen as long as it takes to hear the silent yet mighty voice that is your one true guide. Now uncoil that spring and let your heart and soul fly.

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If— by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!


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Love unbound, fierce and free.

Christine

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The journey, the challenge is to step into the
projection room and stop being lost in the script.
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