By Kathleen Baker
It’s a matter of perspective
This game we play called life
Our attitude will dictate
What is joy and what is strife.
We complicate life‘s issues
With doubt, mistrust, and fear
And lose in the confusion
Our ability to steer.
We get caught on crazy tangents
Vectors trapped in time and space
Believing the illusion
We are competing in a race!
We find grooves that we fit into
Roles played in society
Limiting by definition
All our flexibility.
Inside us rage the tempests
Which we fight so desperately
suppressing all the knowledge
Which we search to set us free.
The walls we feel confine
Are built and reinforced
So carefully within our minds.
written by Kathleen Long
This poem was found in a drawer roughly years after its author, my Aunt, shifted dimensional area codes. (Crossed over)
Being her niece and name sake I was blown away at the content of the poem. It was everything I’d been talking about. Everything I had been sharing for years.
But while she was still among the living I was too young to comprehend any of it. We didn’t have conversations like that. Instead she taught me of prisms and rainbows, hidden smiles amidst the darkness and how not to lose hope when the world of a child of divorce was crumbling.
I realized now with a smile of awe, that my name sake was simply an overlap of myself.
True, all are one. We are all different versions of each other. However this instance is special to me due to the fact she is in my perspective’s bloodline. Her story line is intermingled with mine. Both of us ‘Kathleen’s’ and both of us were able to exchange experiences on the same coil of years. It’s not necessarily uncommon, but what is uncommon is the fact that I caught onto the phenomenon. It would be downright rare if she and I were aware at the time and more over simultaneously.
Have any of you had such an experience?
The more common occurrences of self overlap come in the form of ‘the kind stranger’ who shows up with just what you need at the very moment you need it. But it’s a miracle if you see them for who/what they are.
It’s often a ‘happy accident’ or that word that I find hilarious. A ‘coincidence’.
Poppycock. There’s no such thing, and deep down you know it.
To me it gives a little more incentive to trust the universe. I mean, not only does it have the purest unconditional love for us, but We’ve got ourselves popping up in disguise to lend a hand too? Man we. Are. Golden.
Another thing about being aware of this phenomenon…it kind of makes you aware of your own behavior. Are you being a dick to your neighbor? Or are you being a dick to yourself?
Vice versa, are you being a gold star citizen to your local grocer? Or are you being kind to yourself?
Fairfarren until we read again.