 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
||||
 |
||||
 |
|
|
|
|
The change was sudden, though it took forty years to manifest. For
most of those years, I didn't even know I was on a journey – I just went along for the ride. I made life decisions with the loving advice of family and friends, or the toss of a coin. I assumed everyone felt the
same emptiness I did. I looked at my life as little more than an unjoyful job and an unfulfilled dream. When my long-term, live-in relationship ended, there was nothing to
help buffer the discomfort. I spent a lot of time nursing my misery. It even hurt to smile. I didn't even let my songwriting and singing keep me company, preferring to gain comfort from wallowing in self-pity, curled
up on the couch watching brainless sitcoms, waiting for the hour to get late enough to go to bed. But my sleep was sad and heavy. I'd wake in the morning with a flash
of panic. The list of the day's stresses would scroll through my mind like the credits at the end of a B movie. "Gotta get to the office early. Yikes! I forgot to call the travel department about next week's meeting
in Houston. I'd better do some work on the agenda, too. What am I going to do about handling the discipline problem on my staff? Oh, how I wish I could stay home with the covers over my head. Why is there
always a knot always in my stomach?" I'd put on my corporate uniform and check the mirror before I fled out the door. "So this is what stress looks like," I'd think to myself,
examining the not-so-fine lines taking up residence around my eyes. "Well, I'm not getting any younger," I'd sigh. I didn't remember ever bargaining for growing old and unhappy at the
same time, spending my life in jobs that sapped my energy and left me unfulfilled at the end of the day. And then there was my painful aloneness to contend with. How did this happen? I felt duped.
I'd come home from work every day, desperate to open the door of my apartment so I could cry. Sometimes, I didn't make it through the door. I cried in the car, in the lobby, in the elevator. Once home, I'd really let
it out. I cried about the life I had, the job I hated, the loneliness that plagued me. I cried about the bleakness of the future, the emptiness of the present and the pain of the past. Crying was my way of staying
alive – at least I knew I was feeling. One cold, autumn Sunday, I went for my regular hike in a nearby nature preserve. I was at a low ebb, but still had the presence of mind
to know it. I thought about getting a new job. "What's the difference," my little inner voice would say. "You'll end up just as miserable as you are now." I thought about getting out there to meet a new man. "Why
bother? He'll only hurt you," it taunted. The only vocabulary this little voice seemed to know was "Why bother?" and "What's the difference?" The voice was winning. Formerly an optimist, I was becoming
convinced that my life was nothing more that the sum total of my unhappiness. And then I did something I'd never done before. I stopped on the path and looked up at the sky.
"Hello, God. It's me, Sandi. I know I haven't spoken to you since I was a little girl…I don't even know if you still remember me. But I've got a big problem I hope you can help me with. You see, I'm really, really
miserable. I hate my job, I'm tired of being alone and I can't seem to find anything to smile about these days. All I can think about is how awful it will be if I have to live the rest of my life with this ache in the
pit of my stomach. It doesn't seem worth it. Somehow, I can't quite believe that I was put on earth to do THIS. Surely, there's something else I'm supposed to be doing. Do me a favor and let me know what it
is. Because frankly, if this is it, I gotta tell you the truth…I'm not interested in sticking around much longer. So let me know, please. The sooner the better. Thanks."
A week later, while pulling into the parking lot of the neighborhood dry cleaning store, I had a startling "vision." It was as if the curtains of my brain parted long enough for me to see a scene. The vision was of a
cabaret show for singles, with me as the entertainer. I was leading the group in song and inventing games to help them meet. I was singing original songs, show tunes and standards, and everyone was having a
great time. Especially me. My mind's eye had just invented an innovative, new singles event. My brain knew it was a good, marketable idea. My heart leaped with joy.
A month later, massive layoffs at my company provided me with an opportunity to volunteer for a severance package, just enough to support me while I began the exciting task of creating IceBreakers –
Musical Meeting Parties for Singles. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. On some levels, I knew there had to be a connection between my prayer and this new life. Though I was still wandering around with the
veil of illusion in front of my eyes, I knew I was finally doing what my heart wanted me to do. Then I started noticing "coincidences" (cooperative incidents) that were paving my way with kind, new friends
with gentle guidance. And I knew that creating my life a day at a time, and fairly exploding with creative ideas and energy was some kind of sign. I made sure to honor every day with a walk in the woods. "So this
is what it feels like to be happy," the little voice said now. I didn't yet know I was a seeker, but I knew I'd been found. I call it my pre-spiritual phase. And then a friend loaned me
The Celestine Prophecy. My neck got sore from shaking my head, "yes, yes" on every page. About halfway through the book, I finally understood that I had spent most of my life
denying my spiritual nature. Aha! So that's what was missing! Reconnecting with that inner source changed my view of the world forever. And happily so.
That shift took place six years ago, and nothing has been the same since. Now, when I wake up in the morning, I see the day stretch before me and wonder what miracles lie ahead. Positive affirmations
flood my mind instead of the old litany of worries and criticism. I devour inspirational books in an effort to feed my hungry fire. As I go deeper on my inner journey, I watch my face get younger, my body get lighter
and my spirit get brighter. After discovering the quieting pleasures of meditation and yoga to help keep me in balance, I finally understand what "Be Here Now" means
and I work on being mindful every moment I remember to remember. I write inspirational articles and songs to help reach others on their journeys. In fact, I consider myself a "soul gonger," sharing what I'm
learning about being alive. My joyful work as a music healer is no longer limited to singles but intended for all audiences – toddlers to teens to seniors, in cafes, and concert halls, hospitals and nursing homes, and
with individual stroke and hospice patients. I call it song therapy, and it works. Singing nourishes the soul. No doubt about it. Even the medical community agrees. And I truly believe that doing my heart's work is the
way God wants me to live my life. There's too much joy in it for it to be the wrong path. These days, I fill countless hours learning about things I had always
ascribed to the "lunatic fringe" – things like angels and spirit guides, channeling and energy, deep healing and deep breathing. Vegetables suddenly leap off the shelves into my shopping cart and I find myself
browsing health food stores for new, nourishing grains to try. I drink more herbal tea than coffee and eat more carrots than candy. When my mind wanders, it's usually connected to some positive thought or
moment of awe. I now understand that I'm a part of nature too, and I enjoy my conversations with raccoons and messages from red-tailed hawks, noticing the seasons a day at a time. I'm experiencing my life in
a whole new way, open to possibilities and filled with gratitude. I don't mean to imply I no longer struggle. I'd lived a good many years completely numb from a giant, head-to-toe Novocaine and it's only
natural that it take me a while to get used to this new way of seeing. I spend a lot of time blinking in the light. But day by day, I have more faith than fear. Little by little, I find my way, trusting my inner
guidance. Inch by inch, I grow closer to God. Sometimes I can't help but wonder why it took me so long to find the spiritual door, and wish I'd found it years ago. But I understand that I
found it when I was ready to and I'm grateful for the welcome. "We're finally home," says the little voice now. And I know I'll never go back to unknowing.
©1996 Sandi Kimmel E-mail: sandik@musichealer.com
You have permission to reprint this story for use in your e-zine, at your website or in
your newsletter. The only requirement is to include the following footer with links: Story by Sandi Kimmel. For more original content like this, visit |
||||
Home | What's New | Profile | Listen Here | Features |
||||
 |
||||
verything looks different these days. It's as if my eyeglass prescription changed. But instead of becoming
stronger, these glasses actually allow me to see things from a whole new perspective, sort of like having x-ray vision.