Bask In Untold Blessings

I see you clearly, spotlight in the open, moonlit by a distant sun who shines on you always, making the most of empty spaces on your calendar, where grieving tears for the life you left out become an inkwell and unseen letters appear on the screen as if coded "for your eyes only.” You are the secret agent in your life. You have written enough of the heart: you have taken your oath on the stand; you have told your truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Your service as the witness has been fulfilled. You have been granted your liberty and you may now enjoy all the freedom you choose in this life.

The content of your calendar no longer serves as your security blanket, your fiscal standing no longer signifies your self-worth and the worry that you do not have what you need and you are not enough no longer holds the centerpiece of your life.  You are at home in your heart. Look around at what you have created, at the life you live, at the world that is at your fingertips, and you will bask in untold blessings and delight in the amazing dream that is your life.

You know I write these declarations for my own benefit and the strength of this message is meant to soften my view of gaping holes in my future as seen from March 2016. The open space in October does not give me a clue to your conditions, or to what might be on your plate, or where you might actually be in the world at the time. This has always been grounds for worry because I crowd my empty days with longing for freedom and loathing of lack. I fear open spaces mean lonely places when my funds run low and threaten the edifice of my life.

But this is only a thin surface I spread over the truth turning it into a mirror so that I see what is behind me and not what is present in my life. Peel it away and the world is abundant, a garden of eden where I am a happy fool who does not care about lacking a fig leaf because I walk in a world of belonging.


© Nick LeForce
All Rights Reserved

This is an entry in my series of "Letters To Future Self." I pick a date, usually around 6 months in the future, check my calendar to see what is scheduled, and then write a letter storing it in the reminder system on Evernote to be read on the selected date. I do not look at the letter again until the "arrival" date. To read other Letters To Future Self, click the tag below.

 I caught these squirrels peeking at me around the tree on my morning walk and was reminded of a philosophical paradox in which both a present and future self could exist at the same moment on a circular time line, like two of the same squirrel on opposite sides of a tree. 

I caught these squirrels peeking at me around the tree on my morning walk and was reminded of a philosophical paradox in which both a present and future self could exist at the same moment on a circular time line, like two of the same squirrel on opposite sides of a tree. 

Like many of the self-employed, blank spaces on my calendar for the near future inspire worry even after years of continual evidence that it will all work out. My calendar was open at the time of writing but is packed now with paying activities. And if it weren't, I would still find a way to manage. So this letter was partly addressing that old habitual concern.

What if your calendar no longer served as your security blanket? What if your fiscal standing no longer signified your self-worth? What if the worry that you are not enough no longer held the centerpiece of your life?  What if you could bask in untold blessings and delight in the amazing dream that is your life?


Please share your thoughts and comments below!