We can convince ourselves that we are so busy with our lives that we must uphold all outward appearances. Our lives can be centered around perfection, not progress. We learn to build walls around ourselves for self-protection. Those walls are as impenetrable as possible. They are thicker than bomb shelter walls. This depth of protection keeps the world out
and us in. "They" cannot hurt us.
Sometimes the walls fall. Totally against our wills, some act of God or force of nature rips down our walls.
The western United States has been in a drought for over six months. We walk out the doors of our houses and smell the smoke from forest fires. Our main concern is that the fires are kept as far away from possible from our cities and villages, although that does not always happen. Fires are sometimes faster than firefighters.
Then there are rains. The other day northern New Mexico had three and a half inches of rain in a matter of a few hours. Buildings were flooded. Streets were under water. Cars and refrigerators were swept away. Part of the bank of the Santa Fe River, which feeds the Rio Grande, gave way and collapsed into the riverbed.
Nature has her own forces.
A friend quite brilliantly says that what's in the way is the way.
The way through what appear to be the waters that will drown us is in the water. The way through the fires of life is to walk through them.
Water is not always water. Sometimes it is snow or sleet or fog. What we think difficult or impossible is to walk through it. Some of the best blizzards I've ever been in were the ones I walked through. Walking from school or a store or from work to the subway—and sometimes forgetting the subway altogether and walking home from work on city streets through blinding snow—were the best things I've done in my life. Sitting inside and waiting out a blizzard is interesting, but not nearly as exciting. The excitement of literally losing one's breath in the storm can reinvigorate the belief that Julian of Norwich is right.
In the end all will be well.
When I was a boy my father would put us all in the family car and drive us down to the Mississippi River during the Spring floods. We always went to the same river town and we always received the same admonition. Never build too close to water. Your house and fields will get flooded.
All of these things are true about spirituality, too.
Sometimes we get flooded with too much information. It's unfamiliar and overwhelming. We're swamped. There really is only one thing to do at times like that. Get out of the river. Watch from the sidelines or get inside someplace dry. Give yourself time to think about what you see and feel. Let yourself feel what you feel.
Even after a lifetime of working with angels and spirits, I can still feel swamped. There are times when spirits from foreign parts—cities or countries or worlds—suddenly come zooming into my life. Not necessarily just the spirit of one being who has died and wants help getting through the Tunnel of Light into God's presence. Lots of them. Lots and lots.
Or they may be demons quite literally raising hell.
That is when it's angel time. Our own personal guardian angels and all of the angels who help spirits get through to Home—or hell—show up, too. They know they are needed to help the souls of the dead out of the physical world and into heaven.
It's time to fall back into our spiritual life, to let our spiritual senses take over.
Spirits flood this area during the summer, more than the rains could ever. They are brought with the people who work at the international festivals and the people who attend them. The souls who come here are a gift. They bring with them ancient knowledge. Their commingling with angels can, if we are willing, add to the richness of our lives.
We can, when we are willing, be flooded by goodness.