Karma


Oooooooo . . . . it’s a scary little word. Karma.

People throw it around; mention it at random. But yet, most people have no idea of the power of this law of the Earth plane.

Karma is more powerful than gravity. Take a moment to ponder that.

Why? Well, because karma is going to follow you from the Earth plane. Gravity; probably not.

Karma is not a specific religious concept; it is a Law of the Universe, but not a law of punishment. It goes like this: Whatsoever you do, think or say, comes back to you.

“Whatsoever you shall sow, you shall reap.”

Okay; pretty simple: whatever you do, think or say, comes back to you.

Go back through the last 24 hours of your life; everything you did; everything you thought; everything you said (to yourself or anyone [or anything]) else on the planet; you prepared to see all that coming back at you?

Mmmmmm.

Yeah. Sorry about that.

Because karma is real; it is a valid method of soul development, and it’s happening to you right now. Some karma jumps right up in your face and presents itself; other karma comes forward later in life; other karma has to wait for the right set of circumstances to teach you – which may be in another life.

I have a personal story; my young son stole something. I won’t go into details, this is the Internet; let’s just say, it was a serious matter.

I did what all good, evolved yogi-parents do: I absolutely, totally, freaked out. (Ooops.)

Well – okay, it wasn’t the best approach; but I was devastated. He is such a good child; such a joy to a mother’s heart; it felt crushing.

Suffice it to say, serious punishment was warranted, and serious punishment was meted out. I hope it made an impression.

Back to the concept of karma. Not long after these dramatic events at home, we attended a school event –a party of sorts, where you purchased tickets for certain games or activities. And my son – he was having a great time.

He played a game, and was given a certificate for a free ticket; which he promptly took to the money desk. He extended his certificate, and was given two tickets – they were joined together, it was almost like they went together – but he stopped and he said “No – I only won one ticket.” He ripped them apart, and returned the extra ticket to the parent in charge. Her eyes widened, and another parent took note. “No!” She smiled broadly. “You are such an honest boy! You take this extra ticket, you deserve it for being honest.” Another parent chimed in “Good job, Mamma, for raising him right!” My smile was less than enthusiastic in light of recent events. But it felt like a cathartic exchange.

It was an important lesson, for us both. But another was coming our way.

That same afternoon, we decided to head to the swimming pool; it was very, very hot; the pool had just opened; and, having reached the luxurious mothering stage of being able to lounge poolside and read a book, it sounded like a lovely way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

At the pool, my son began to play with a little fabric ball that our babysitter had left in the swim bag last year. It was nothing exciting; nothing expensive; he was having a marvelous time, all by himself; tossing the ball into the pool, and jumping in after it.

I watched him toss it in, and jump in after it, and with just a glance toward my book, he yelled “Mommy, my ball – it’s gone!” And, well – DARN! – he was right. I got up and walked around; there were not a lot of people there; I had seen him throw it right into the pool — and that ball, it was NOWHERE. We checked the drains, walked around the pool – it was gone. I told him I was sure it would turn up, and went back to my book.

Shortly thereafter, I glanced up to see a preteen girl in the pool, shoulders shrugging, surrepticiously showing her friend – she had his little fabric ball. She glanced around to see if anyone was looking, and, catching my eye, it disappeared down into the water. About 20 minutes later, she began to toss it with a friend.

As I noticed the ball being tossed about, I called to my son – “Hey, there’s your ball, go ask them for it.” – because it is important for him to be able to stand his own ground in life. He approached them, asked for his ball back, and she said, “NO!” – That it was her ball, that she had “a bunch of them.” He looked at me, and I shrugged.

At the next adult swim, he emerged from the pool. He was not overtly upset, but you could tell it bothered him.

“How does it feel,” I queried, “to have someone take something from you?”
“Not good” he mumbled.
“Remember” I said, “remember how this feels. This is your lesson.”
“Yes,” he said.
And that was that.

This is a small event; but the lesson is important, and it is real.

We are all creating our own reality; we are all learning lessons in every moment, in every exchange; everything beautiful and everything horrible; the magnificent and the mundane; all that we experience here.

Can we be wise enough to see our own creations? Wise enough to see the karmic patterns . . . to act according to the law of this Earth plane, and shift our thoughts . . . our words . . . and our deeds? To decide to sow precisely what we shall harvest?

Start today . . .

Shanti,

Jill

Farmer’s Market


Went to the Grandin Farmer’s market a couple weeks ago. Saw the last of the Summer’s corn at a table and began filling my bag. Alongside me was an older gentleman pulling the tops down on each ear, grumbling, and moving on. Yes, there was some damage at the ends – that mushy stuff that comes from some type of worm – and he pointed it out to me, a cautionary hint. “Look” he said, opening an ear to show me. “Be careful.”

“It’s okay with me,” I replied. “I can just cut it off.”

“Oh,” he said. I considered launching into a local food/non-GMO corn tirade, but I decided against it. I paid for my corn and left.

This exchange came back to mind later that evening, as my children stood before the compost pile, peeling that same corn and squealing (except, of course, the six-year-old boy) about the worms in the tops of the ears. They stood as if posed for a photograph on three little stair steps. It was a precious moment. This made me think more about my decision to purchase the corn with live worms in it, instead of corn from the supermarket, where the worms (if the chemicals didn’t off them) are long dead from the process of transport, chilling, stocking, and sitting.

Somewhere I have read, “I want to eat what the bugs want to eat.” I agree with this sentiment, this emphasis on the natural. Truly, have we decided to sterilize the entire world? To not notice that things are born and die? That bugs and worms and the creepy crawly things helps us eat? That they, in fact, make it possible for us to exist at all?

Must we clean everything up? I’m just as big a fan of Clorox wipes and my Swiffer as anyone, but maybe I’m not looking at the big picture. We hide the sick and the dying, anything not suitable for family television. This affects more than how we thing about our food supply. This sterile attitude has permeated our entire society.

What are the implications? Well, the answer, my friends, is karma. If you poison your food to eliminate worms, then you eat poisoned food. If you poison your water for greater “purity” or a brighter smile, then you drink poisoned water. It’s cause and effect: you don’t let go of the glass goblet without expecting it to plunge to the floor. And you cannot – CANNOT – turn a blind eye to these relationships, to these errors we are making. When we demand perfection from nature, we end up living in an artificial and toxic world of our own design.

Today, right now, take a moment to embrace what is, especially yourself, with all the imperfections of your humanity. Visit a farmer’s market soon and support the fall harvest; take a second look at the imperfect squash and the slightly blemished apple; consider what really matters, and what does not.

Shanti,

Jill