I was sitting at my desk at Enron. When you work on an open trade floor, there are always TVs streaming endless news reports. But there was a particularly terrible story being shared. I was shocked and deeply saddened to see the smoke rising from the building. It was a living nightmare. A plane had somehow lost control and hit that tower.
I called my father to ask him if he had seen the tragedy. As I shared what I was seeing, another plane appear on the screen. The floor had already been fixated on the live report showing the initial horrific crash, but silence instantly took hold only to be followed by a collective gasp as the second plane exploded into the adjacent tower.
I was so young and literally could not comprehend what had just happened. What was happening. I remember saying to my father, “Daddy! Another plane hit a second building! How in the world could that same accident happen again?” And he then put voice to the obvious reality that I had never imagined as a possibility. “Baby, that was no accident.”
Our country was under attack. Our people were under attack.
We went home almost immediately afterwards. I sat terrified in my apartment until every person I loved had confirmed that they were home, too. I watched the news reports in horror and cried and cried and cried. The fear was palpable and struck me and so many others at a deeply primal level.
It’s been 17 years, but I still feel such raw sadness at those memories. A dear friend lost her brother to that attack, and I always imagine how terrible it must be for her to have to see those stories and images played over and over again each year. Losing your family member is devastating at any point but having them stolen from you out of senseless hate is unimaginable.
I remember her every year. I remember him every year. I remember them every year. All of them. I won’t ever forget them, and I will always honor those who lost their lives trying to save them as well as those who continue to risk and give their lives to keep us safe today.
Cherish your days here, and recognize how immeasurably precious your time is. We must remember those who have gone before us and pray for those who give everything to allow us to live freely.
Those of us who lived through that day will heal, but we will never forget.
My prayers go out to all who are hurting. May you find peace and solace in your wounded hearts.
Much love to you all.
I am not one to push my faith on anyone. Simply put, it’s not my style. Furthermore, I believe that we are all given a chance to have our own journey and that includes our walks (stumbles / face-splats) of faith.
However I have no reticence about sharing my belief that you do not have to wait for heaven to experience it. My halo has yet to exit the angelic assembly line nor have all those harp lessons paid off to date (probably because I never attended or signed up for any). But I know when I’m in a moment that is so surreal and spectacular that I can sense I beautiful imprint of that moment on my soul.
This can happen when I see something extremely special to me like watching my husband and children walk onto the same little island that I visited as a child and that my father visited when he was young. More often than not, it will happen in the most insignificant and unlikely of times. Being together for a low rent meal. Laughing hysterically during family game day. Being collectively thrilled at watching the raccoons squabble over peanuts outside our window at night.
It’s the smallest of the small stuff, but the magic is immeasurably great. I want to bottle up those feelings so I can access them whenever I forget. And I do forget. Constantly. By the hour kind of constantly. Probably more often than that.
But when I get out of my way and can see the beauty of the moment, I can recognize that it’s there all the time. Clearly I don’t have the full deets on what will happen once I discard this sweet meat suit o’ mine, but I sincerely believe that any version of heaven would have to incorporate these moments of tremendous wonder and feelings of boundless love.
Feel free to plan to take up permanent residence in heaven after you are gone. Just don’t forget to notice the divine perfection that is all around you while you are here, too. You don’t have to live a life of perfection to be able to find the celestial magnificence that fills every corner of our existence. I’m a prime example of utter imperfection in action yet moments of paradise reveal themselves every day nonetheless.
Notice them. Appreciate them. Allow them to remind you if the spectacular soul who you truly are. And if along the way you do happen to find a way to bottle them up, please drop me a line. We could all use a little more Heaven ready and waiting in the wings. 😇🐆
Much love to you.
I originally posted this on my primary blog momentumofjo.com. My thoughts went to this entry earlier this evening when I read a post by Danielle at daniellemhttpsariecolucci.com/ regarding her own struggles with depression. If I could share anything at all, I would want her to know that there is always good stuff around you, but you simply can’t imagine the magic that will be heading your way if you can grant life the time to make that happen. All you have to do is stick around, trust that pain and anxiety won’t be a constant in your life (it really won’t), and let the wonders of the universe come to you. And you can’t fathom it now, but some of those wonders will absolutely melt your heart in the most unimaginably beautiful way. ❤️ Big hugs to you. Jo
Over the past couple of months, I have not written about my strong belief in angels. I don’t ask or need for you to believe what I say in this entry, but I can’t share my experience without doing so here. Not that I would want to anyway. I owe them my life.
Twenty years ago, I almost died. There was no accident. I wasn’t suffering from a terminal illness. I just didn’t want to fight against my tormented mind and my broken heart anymore. It wasn’t worth it, and I wasn’t worth it. I was lost, and I attempted to take my life.
When the roller coaster of emotions was climbing upward, I could recognize that everything would be alright. I could see possibilities all around me. But whenever the imminent crash would happen, my ability to perceive the relevance of my existence wouldn’t merely fade – it would…
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