Everything Old Is New Again

Wednesday, November 19 ~ Albuquerque, New Mexico

Everything old is new again, as the Peter Allen lyric suggests. Here I am, back in Albuquerque, my unexpectedly brief journeying complete. And I move into a new rental here on Monday.

When I left town on September 30, I didn't know if I'd ever be back. All I knew was the call to the open road, a call I (once again) had no choice but to obey.

Through 40 days of driving, I traveled south and east into Texas, then back north into Louisiana, crossing it and the Mississippi before veering up through Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Colorado. After a pit stop in Albuquerque, I continued west into Arizona, then south toward San Diego and north to Sacramento.

That rainy night in Sacramento, dining with a minister friend and her husband (who, themselves, are planning a move to Albuquerque), I knew that Albuquerque was calling me home.

As if to emphasize the point -- and to remind me that I wasn't going back, I was moving forward -- I woke up two mornings later with "everything old is new again" playing in my head. (And in case I missed the message, the song reprised itself for me the following morning.)

I don't like the expression "coming full circle" because it suggests that we're returning to a place we've already been, having learned nothing and grown not at all. My preferred image is that of a spiral, where we return to a place along the same axis, but at a higher level of consciousness and understanding.

As I wrote in The Voice of the Muse: Answering the Call to Write, "Each cycle’s completion returns you not to where you began but to a higher level of awareness, mastery, openness and trust." I wrote that about the creative process, but isn't life the ultimate creative process?

So here I am, ready to embark on my own version of the Peter Allen song. Everything old is new again.

For a start, I'm committed to returning to The StarQuest, the first of two projected sequels to my novel, The MoonQuest.

The StarQuest has been in my life for more than a decade, having begun to work its way out of me before The MoonQuest was finished (even if, at the time, I thought it was finished). I've worked on it in fits and starts since then and have yet to complete a first draft.

This week, I began reading through its 200-odd manuscript pages. The book is far from complete. But it is ready to be birthed, and I'm ready to be its midwife. Everything old is new again.

Another renewal is my relationship with the Sandia Mountains. This magical range, which marks the eastern boundary of Albuquerque, is a large part of what keeps calling me back to this place.

Like my previous home here, my new condo is in the Sandia foothills. As wonderful as my last location was (half a mile from a trailhead), the new one's is even better: nothing across from it but open land and mountain trails. Everything old is new again.

This past Sunday while at church, the passenger-side rear-view mirror assembly vanished from my car. I don't know whether it was an accident, vandalism or theft, but a way of looking back -- into the past -- was taken from me. A new mirror was installed yesterday. Everything old is new again.

As I was wondering this afternoon, in the midst of writing this piece, how I would be supported in this re-newed Albuquerque life, I received a phone call from a local magazine that is seeking an editor, its content similar to one I worked on in Toronto more than 15 years ago.

I don't know whether I'll get the job -- or will even want it if it's offered -- but it, too, suggests that everything old is new again.

The turn of the spiral is complete, and here I stand at the threshold of a new life that resembles the old one in surface details only. Where do I go from here? Across the threshold and into a beginning still veiled but replete with the promise that all new beginnings offer.

Once again, from The Voice of the Muse: "From silence to silence, word to word, trust to trust -- the spiral is an infinite one, carrying you from one beginning to the next and one ending to the next on a journey with no beginning or ending."

The spiral is an infinite one... How perfect that through my 40 days of travel I, somehow, unconsciously, drove an infinity symbol through those 10 states, with Albuquerque as its center point.

Photos (c) 2008 by Mark David Gerson: #1 Sandia foothills, Albuquerque, NM; #2 Myriad Gardens, Oklahoma City, OK; #3 Stone cairn, Meditation Mount, Ojai, CA; #4 Sandia foothills, Albuquerque, NM; #5 Winterville Mounds, near Greenville, MS.

More photos from the journey at "Forty Days on the Road."

Forty Days on the Road

Tuesday, November 18 ~ Albuquerque, New Mexico

A selection of photos from my recent journey.







Photos (c) 2008 by Mark David Gerson: #1 Salida River, Salida, CO; #2 Downtown water towers, Pratt, KS; #3 Sunset near Marfa, TX; #4 Hot Springs Mtn., Hot Springs, AR; #5 Hwy 49, near Bear Valley, CA; #6 Stupa of Enlightenment, Crestone, CO.

The Power of Being

Friday, Oct. 24 ~ Surprise, Arizona

I'm sitting on the patio of the Olive Garden restaurant here in Surprise, Arizona. Dinner is done and I'm waiting (and waiting and waiting) for my check.

Frustrated, I set down my book and am immediately aware of a vortex of energy spiraling out of me and around the patio, touching everyone and everything in its path.

As I focus my attention on the swirl of light I seem to be radiating, the young man sitting by my left shoulder darts a quick, wary glance at me, as though I had tapped his arm. Just as quickly, he looks away. 

I've been on the road nearly 30 days now, a tiny fraction of the 30-month duration of my previous road odyssey. In both instances I've sensed, without objective proof, that part of the purpose of the journey is as an activational presence -- in effect, doing energy work on everyone and everything I encounter, including the land I drive or walk across. 

In 1997, just before my first such journey, my then-Reiki Master likened all who are initiated into the Reiki energy to crystals. Without making any conscious effort, she said, we would be radiating healing energy -- just as a crystal does. There was nothing we needed to do but be the energy.

In the years since, I've come to expand her dictum in the realization that we are all energy vehicles and that our energetic presence -- our beingness -- is always a crystal-like presence in the world. 

It can be a presence for en-light-enment or not. That is our choice and it depends on the resonance or vibration we are holding at any given moment.

If we are in fear, mistrust, anger or hatred, then those are the energies we project around us and those are the energies with which we affect others. 

If we are loving, compassionate, grateful and forgiving, if we are walking in the path of our highest calling and potential, we can be a powerful force for healing and transformation.

"Be the change you want to see in the world," Gandhi said. He didn't say "make the change." He said be the change.

When we live from our hearts, practice compassion and surrender to the highest imperative we can access and touch in any given moment, we are agents of change, angels of light and healers of the highest order -- without having to do anything.

It's happening through us, whether we're aware of it or not, regardless of what we're doing. Of course, our actions are important. But they will flow naturally from this place of beingness and will be the most appropriate actions possible, even if they don't seem that way in the moment.

I understand this. I know it. And I believe that this journey I'm now called to is powerful work -- in my life and in the life of the planet. Yet my doubting mind still seeks proof at times, still seeks validation, still yearns for confirmation...even as I know that none of these are objectively necessary.

My Olive Garden experience -- though not as dramatic as parts of me would have preferred -- offered a hint of what's really going on in my life and reminded me that all I need to do is open my awareness and I will get all the "proof" I need.

Yes, I still wonder some days why I'm not doing more. I wonder why I'm doing so few sound-healing events and sessions, why I'm not promoting my books as aggressively as I was a few months back. 

I'm open to doing all these things and do them when called or when the moment feels right. But I'm learning to accept that my beingness will always be a more powerful and effective tool of healing and transformation than any doingness I can muster up.

When we hold the resonance of trust, faith and love out in the world, that's the highest work we can be doing -- regardless of external circumstances. We can't always see the impact of that "work" (and might, in my experience, not always prefer to see it), but it's happening. 

By being all we can be, by surrendering to our highest imperative, by living from our hearts, we not only transform ourselves and model that transformation for others, we activate everyone and everything into that same force field of change. 

One final note: There are many days, here on the road, when I wonder how just "being" will pay my bills when there's little that I'm consciously doing to bring in money. 

Then I remember the many miracles that have turned up for me over the years -- just when I've needed them. I remember, too, that God, however you define it (God Self, Higher Self, Spirit, Universal Mind, etc.) is the true source of my support and supply -- not my books, not my clients, not an employer.

My only job is to be -- open, receptive and surrendering -- and to let that beingness define and determine what I do. From that place, I trust that I will be supported, not because of what I do because of what I am. I trust, too, that all will be well...as it always is.

Art by Mark David Gerson: "Heart of Fire (#403)" -- As you look into this drawing, hold your hand to your heart and become aware of the fire within it. Feel the passion that burns in the center of your beingness, a fire that burns eternally yet destroys nothing but your own sense of your own limitations.

Reach for the Stars...and Touch Them

With all there is
Why settle for just a piece of sky?
~ from the score of Yentl, Lyrics by Alan & Marilyn Bergman

Thursday, Sept. 25 ~ Albuquerque, New Mexico

I'm walking on a nature trail in Albuquerque's Sandia Mountain foothills, the late-day sun gilding the granite outcroppings and illuminating the sage, cactus and juniper.

This is one of my final farewell walks in a landscape that has so nurtured and inspired me.

You see, in five days I will be gone from here, launched yet again on an open-ended, Spirit-directed odyssey into the unknown and unimagined -- my third such journey of faith in the past 11 years.

My first, in 1997, opened me to marriage, parenthood and life in a new country. The second, which spanned 30 months and was sparked by the end of that marriage, led to my two books and CD and kindled for me a more empowered professionalism. Both journeys pushed and expanded me, challenging me to surrender more fully to the divine imperative that directs and prospers me -- when I let it.

In each case, I knew nothing of what lay head. I simply stepped off the cliff of my certainty and into the void from which all creation emerges.

Was I afraid? Sometimes.

Did I allow that fear to stand in my way? Rarely, and never for long.

As I think ahead to what's next, this lyric from Osibisa's song "Woyaya" plays in my head:

We are going
Heaven knows where we are going
We'll know we're there
We will get there
Heaven knows how we will get there
We know we will

I'm also reminded of the scene in The MoonQuest where Toshar and his three companions must step through an opening that will carry them "beyond the end of the known world."

Dense smoke chokes them where they stand as the jungle through which they have trekked burns up. There is no way back.

The only way is forward -- into the unknown, with its challenges and opportunities. With its secrets and mysteries. With gifts more wondrous and miracle-filled than any they could imagine.

When I left Toronto in 1997, the only direction I had from my GPS (God Positioning System) was to head west. Ultimately, it landed me in a new life in Sedona, Arizona.

When I left Sedona seven years and a Hawaii sojourn later, my GPS also sent me west -- at first. In the many months of cross-country travel that followed, I always managed to find my way back to the New Mexico that has been my full-time home for the past year.

Now, as I prepare to leave Albuquerque, my divine compass points eastward, directing me to the McDonald Observatory near Fort Davis, Texas.

I've felt pulled toward the home of National Public Radio's StarDate since August, when I knew I would be returning to the road.

It was a mystifying pull because, as stunning as is the observatory's setting and as fascinating as is its planetarium show, I've been there -- twice -- and never experienced any life-altering epiphanies.

At a conscious level, at least, it was a fun place to visit. Nothing more.

Yet if I've learned anything through my years of personal and spiritual growth, it's the importance of surrendering to the highest imperative I can access in any given moment. (There's a reason why the word "surrender" appears 67 times in The Voice of the Muse!) Like Toshar and his friends, I too must surrender to whatever lies beyond the end of my known world and be open to all the wonders that await me on the other side.

And so, if that highest imperative is sending me back to southwest Texas, I'll go -- whatever it means.

I've asked what it means countless times in recent weeks. Today, on my Sandia walk, I ask again.

For the first time, I hear an answer: "To remind you to reach for the stars."

Now, as I write these words, that same inner voice adds: "Reach for the stars...and touch them."

We all need reminders to reach for the stars, that potent metaphor for our highest, most divine potential. In these challenging, turbulent times, we also need to be reminded that those stars are not beyond our grasp. We can touch them. All it takes is a hand, outstretched to the infinite...the infinite we already are.


Photos by Mark David Gerson: #1 Sandia Foothills, Albuquerque, NM; #2 From the McDonald Observatory, near Fort Davis, TX

She's Called Nova Scotia

Saturday, April 26 ~ Albuquerque, New Mexico

She's called Nova Scotia
And she so makes you feel
You've discovered a treasure
No other has seen
- Rita MacNeil

It's late Friday night. I'm on the phone with a close friend in Toronto, talking about my projected road trip east this fall.

"It would be great to go all the way to Nova Scotia," I say, "but it's so far. It just doesn't make any sense."

A point of clarification: I lived in Nova Scotia on Canada's Atlantic coast for fourteen months in 1994-95. That's where I wrote most of the first two drafts of my novel The MoonQuest, and it's one of those places I've lived (along with Hawaii, New Mexico and Sedona, Arizona) that has lodged permanently in my heart. I've only been back once, in 1996, and often dream of returning for a visit.

My friend hesitates and his late-night, fatigue-slurred words suddenly become clear and precise.

"Maybe," he says, "you need to go back because of The MoonQuest. Maybe you need to go back to trigger something that will take you and The MoonQuest to the next level."

I jerk up in my seat. I had never considered the MoonQuest connection when thinking about going back to Nova Scotia. It feels right, but...

An hour later, I'm lying in bed. With so much in my life in flux these days, I decide to ask for guidance -- about Nova Scotia and other aspects of my road trip, about the relationship that is still too distant to touch even as I feel it edging closer, about whether the house I'm renting will sell before my lease is up, about whether to store or sell my furniture... In short, I ask for guidance about everything, hoping my nighttime dreams will offer some clarity.

I toss and turn all night, never sleeping longer than an hour at a stretch, and wake up frustrated and exhausted, no wiser than I was at bedtime.

By the time I'm done with breakfast, I can barely keep my eyes open and so return to bed for a nap. Two hours later, I wake up from the kind of illuminating dream I had been seeking.

In the dream, I'm telling my ex about the phone conversation with my Toronto friend. As I recount the story, I get emotional and begin to sob.

I don't feel the same emotional charge when I wake up, but I have learned over the years that my conscious self is not always as open as it could be, that I sometimes require dreams and others signs to tell me what my heart desires. It's clear in this moment that, whatever the reason, my heart desires to re-experience Nova Scotia and the places there that so deeply fed me and The MoonQuest.

Whatever else this journey east from New Mexico is about, it's clear in this moment that Nova Scotia is part of it. As for the rest, all I can do -- yet again -- is trust and surrender to the higher wisdom that guides me...in every moment that I'm open to it.