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Minikin's Journal

Routine Ramblings of an Occasionally Interesting Housewife

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Merry :: spirituality; the doodle bug and the tickle bee
This is the first in a series. An attempt at linear order, so much as is possible for me.

This series is about names and animals, intertwined, and me. Well, mostly about me.

And all of it, about spirituality.

How do you touch God? Do you worship, how do you experience it? No matter your words over mine, for your belief system, this is a question about the essence of spirituality.

I touch God through His gifts of beauty and joy through His greatest gift, love. I feel His presence in me, call this touching God. Over the past few years, I'd lost my way. Found it harder and harder to feel Him. Misunderstood much about what I was missing and looking for.

I feel His presence when I wake, and thank Him for my life and loves. I feel His presence in the rain and the sunshine, in flowers. In the touch of the hairdresser's fingers, playing with my hair as she washed and dried it for me. In the electric zing of the touch of my lovers. Their breath on my skin, or the vibrations of their voice in my ear.

I begin, only in very small part, to understand Glory.

My name means bee. From the earliest that I could remember, my daddy called me Doodle Bug. And my favorite game was the tickle bee. This post is about Merry.

Merry is my inner child. Perhaps more indulged than the typical one. I give to her beauty and creation and joy and silliness. I give to her dry shoulders and strong arms encircling me. I give to her the untouched, pure giggly laughter of living enjoyment of life. Merry dances with the rainbows and sees beauty in kitchen gadgets and office supplies and is ever so much the visionary of what treasures can be made from others' trash.

Merry's heart breaks when she is sad. Disappointment is earth-shattering. Rejection is death. Anger is terrifying. Merry is around 6.

I can still remember my mother chastising me for "talking like a baby" when I was well beyond the years where that voice was appropriate. That baby voice is the voice of Merry, and one that I still use on occasion.

For a brief time, Merry was given adventures and playtime beyond her simple realm. She was invited to participate in grown up games, using my grown-up body. She learned a kind of physical love far different from the childish tickling games appropriate to her youth. For a very brief time, she had a new daddy. One who loved me, and therefore her, very much. One who held her, made her feel tingly and special. One who comforted her when she was confused or afraid.

But Merry is not one for just anyone to understand or accept. She was hurt dreadfully to know that anything she had done in such a safe place could have been so wrong, so unwelcome. She was sent away, her daddy was taken away, and she once again had only me to hold her, to keep her safe. And her pushy big sister to keep her from peeking out when she should be sleeping.

Merry is safe now. She is accepted and understood by more than just me. She is happy again.

Last night I dreamed. Merry thought it was safe to be out, but in the dream it wasn't, and she was frightened and afraid. This afternoon, she was comforted and soothed and still accepted.

Merry is only one of the many reasons why I may often have trouble speaking. Her voice is distinctive and only heard where she is welcome and known and accepted.

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How do you touch God?

Not well enough. My own belief system suggests I'm supposed to *become* God. I don't think much of the training program so far, and it's up to me to devise a new one. I do fine at the Doing For Others part; I have to learn how to better experience my own joy.

Thank you for your help in that, btw. I don't understand your belief system, but may the appropriate supernatural entity nibble your bum.

I don't understand Glory worth shit. We should discuss this some time; hopefully I could learn something.

Hello to Merry, and here's hoping she continues to be Merry.



I don't understand my belief system completely, so I don't try to explain it to others. In shorthand, I call myself a Christian because I believe in my salvation though Christ. Salvation most directly addresses the afterlife; it's how I live my present life that tends to make my belief system differ from the "standard" Christian model.

I'm taught that I should give over control to Him, but in practicality, I get out of bed, I fix meals and plan days and interact with others. Giving over control, trusting in a plan I don't see, those are the difficult pieces that have been thrust upon me, this summer.

Finding ways to be open to His presence and practicing them, define my worship.

The problem, of course, is that you then get confused with all the *other* folks who call themselves Christian.

I haven't been able to call, because my machine's in the shop and it has my phonebook on it. If you'll provide a number (to polydad8@yahoo.com if you don't want to put it on LJ) I can give you a call later.

My cell phone number is 859-338-9245. Today and tomorrow are less good days to call, as Knight is leaving town tonight and Flar is leaving town early Thursday morning.

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