Weekly Reading Topic for November 21, 2020: Walk the Line
Well, good morning, love! I just opened a Reading for you, my newsletter subscribers and here’s what I heard in answer to the following:
What do my readers most need to hear this weekend? What is the most important message to send to my beloved readers?
The answer was: “walk the line.”
What follows is your weekly reading, dearest one.
Weekly Reading │ Walk the Line
Q: What do we need to know about “walk the line?”
A: What is the line between sane and insane? Fantasy and Fact? Where does the sky end and the sea begin?
The Line is calling us, this weekend, calling us up right to the edge, daring us to step over — or straddle both worlds, one foot in darkness, the other in light.
One in moon, the other in sun.
The Line is, of course, a fiction in and of itself. Nothing in nature is in a line, and nothing in nature is All One Thing and Not Another.
We are all on a spectrum. And we get to move along that spectrum toward whichever direction we feel is right for us.
And the truth is, the harder you look for The Line, that exact moment where black ceases and gray begins, or gray pales out to pure white, the less likely you are to discover “the truth.”
Because just as we reach the horizon in our little sailboats, we realize that there is more horizon, out there, dancing in the distance, wavering in the humid air, teasing us with more questions. There are no 100% solid answers to our questions, dear ones.
Rare are the answerable questions.
And so this weekend, as we fight for Right and Now and Certainty and Relief from Tension, keep this in mind: trying to solve the riddle of This or That, When or Where, Now or Later is a fool’s errand.
Look down between your feet. There it is, the line you should pay attention to. What has your attention, right now? What issue, or struggle, or happiness, are you straddling? What’s the cliff you’re tiptoeing along?
There’s a road in Montana that winds up cliffs in Glacier National Park. It circles and swoops with a 1-foot guardrail to your right as you climb up the mountainside, heading toward the pass that The People used to cross into their wintering grounds. You get wet as you drive, because waterfalls drop onto the road.
This road was once a foot trail, and then it was a WPA project, and now it is carefully tended by the National Park Service and closed with the first snow. It is called Going-to-the-Sun Road, and it is glorious, not least for the views, but also because of the way your heart thrums and your knuckles clutch as you rise. When you meet the thin air at the Continental Divide, you feel Divinity in its most wild, feral form.
It is dangerous to go to the Sun on any day of the year. And sometimes it is impossible.
And so it is with all Lines — all roads that separate the mountain from thin air, the waterfall cliff from the sheer drop. It’s dangerous to try to snake along on your own, and you feel it, in your bones, the folly of it. Why are you doing this to yourself?
Don’t Walk the Line, not now. We are in too volatile a time. There is too much confusion and disorder as it is.
Decide, this weekend, to choose the side of the Line you want to live on for a while. And make your peace with staying away from the questions, the “where is the line, what is the thing that happens when it is crossed” kind of questions.
It’s OK to choose safety, comfort, peace, and Thanksgiving.
Focus on the soft, on the friendly, on the beautiful and the compatible.
Give yourself a break from the cliff. It’s time to cozy in, cuddle up, and forget about Walking the Line for a while. Don’t walk it. It’s not worth the adrenaline rush. Take a break, now, while you can, because the adrenaline rushes will keep coming in the next months. You don’t have to ride each and every one.
It has snowed, and the Going-to-the-Sun Road is mostly closed.
Think about giving yourself the most delicious, loving, comforting time you possibly can this Thanksgiving.
And be safe. Please. In terms of the virus, we are heading for the darkest time of the year in more ways than one. Minimize risk and exposure, OK?
I am always here to serve in any way I can.
Much Love to You,
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