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Louise Hauck Lifting Your Spirit
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The Impermanence of All Things
It is particularly enlightening and soul-evolving to confront the impermanence of all things. Notably, we tend to feel a false sense of safety when life stays the same for any period of time. We delude ourselves by thinking that we can keep change at bay and avoid its disruptions if we simply focus on securing everything in its place and diminishing our imperfections. We seem to believe that by making things more perfect in the present we will safeguard certainties, decrease uncertainties, and secure for ourselves a personally endorsed future. When I observe how frantically we do this at times, I am reminded of an account I once read from a young man who emerged from autism with the ability and clarity to reflect on how it felt to have experienced life as an autistic child. He described a memory of lying on the floor, feeling obsessively driven to count each strand of shag carpet, fearful that if he stopped for one moment, his whole world would collapse around him. In a similar—but much less extreme—way, we expend tremendous energy bracing ourselves against change, busying ourselves with minutia in order to avoid the unexpected. This prohibits our release into the fullness and flow of life.
When we check in with a quieter place in ourselves we are less dependent on sameness in our outer world. We are less desperate for that illusionary sense of safety. When we resolve that nothing stays the same and that we are ultimately powerless to control our lives or the people around us, we are free to flow with unexpected and welcome new adventures.
My own practice of “checking in with headquarters” (meditating) and yielding to guidance from the Source (dropping my own agenda) allows me to be receptive to the “marching orders” that I receive periodically, directing me to each new living destination. Up until my nearly eight years in New York City, these moves tended to occur about every three years.
My notices for immanent relocation happen with little warning. I receive a clear vision, knowing, or sudden shift in perception that instantaneously shifts my reality altogether. Then unmistakable road signs continue to appear. The move always unfolds gracefully and flowingly. This is how I can be certain that I am following guidance and making the right move.
Moving to new locations presents a built-in exercise, one that walks me through the truth about the impermanence of all things. Nothing stays the same and life is ever changing. Change brings to light new insights about myself. Sometimes I am forced to access new strengths in myself that I had yet to discover. Change also connects me to new people and places that can trigger unfamiliar emotions in me. I am compelled to take a closer look at what I have yet to heal in myself.
Everyone ought to make a move now and then. Moving forces you to lighten your load and pull out of energetic stagnation. It can be the positive side of a job transfer. Children of families who are always on the move, however, such those in the military, are often left to contend with the psychological impact of lacking roots and a trust in deeper relationships.
Moving is still a good exercise in realizing the impermanence of all things. It also challenges us to “bloom wherever we are planted,” a great spiritual challenge. In times ahead, we will all need to pay attention to personal guidance that will lead us to optimum locations that are for our highest good.
Our lifeline through change is our intimate connection to the Source. Through this ever-changing flow of life, alternative and far more creative routes are revealed. I experienced a shift in my own life years ago, when I observed a change in my attitude regarding the impermanence of all things. It came to me through two different, contrasting experiences, twenty years apart.
The house was now painted a dingy brown and the lawn in front was unkempt and rusted. I looked down into lower adjoining area—“the park”—where my brothers and I used to play baseball, kickball and tag. We would shriek with delight and fear when we swung down into it, clinging to inner tubes suspended from the old oak trees. The area was now subdivided. All the trees were gone. Four houses invaded the property where we had romped and played.
“Can’t anything stay the same?” I lamented to myself, feeling a tremendous void from my parents’ passing. Suddenly, I missed them terribly.
Later, in my forties, I was living in an old apartment on Lakeshore Avenue in Oakland, California. It was a wonderful, funky old apartment from the ‘20s, with high ceilings, vintage glass doorknobs and beautiful hardwood flooring. Large bay windows overlooked Lake Merritt.
Over one weekend, a movie crew was filming Made in America, staring Ted Danson and Whoppie Goldberg. Throughout those couple of days, I periodically walked around the lake to watch the production.
Further behind the lake, the vacant space across from the public library had been transformed into a used car lot. A tall wooden cutout of a cowboy salesman waved in prospective customers. One end of the lake had been dredged to create the illusion of a beach. Before my eyes, I saw the movie people create a whole different reality.
I watched Ted Danson fall off a runaway elephant into the lake. I saw the camera crew carefully choreograph Whoopie’s double as she rode recklessly through a congested intersection on a bicycle. I felt sympathy for the forty extras that were directed to run after her, shaking their fists furiously in the air. They had to repeat the scene at least as many times as they numbered.
On Monday, I took a lunch break and walked back around that end of the lake. There was no trace of the world I had seen created before my eyes. The illusion was gone. With surprise, I took note of feeling tremendous relief, rather than futility, as I allowed myself to experience my world as ever changing.
Over the years, something had grown in me. Something that now anchored me deeper within myself and to the Source. I felt less need to reach to things external, temporary and transient. Granted, a lack of attachment to a movie set can hardly compare to the longing for the place and time of my childhood. But I noticed that the ache for steady predictable sameness was most definitely, a diminishing one.
Years ago, a message came through for one of my earliest classes: “In these times, that by which you define yourself will be gone, so that you can truly know who you are.”
I observe more and more people who experience greater peace and freedom when they become anchored to life in this deeper and less externalized way. Material possessions and approval from others no longer influence their motivation or choices. Their spiritual guidance systems become finely honed when their hearts align with the Source. Synchronistic events and serendipitous meetings present unmistakable road signs.
Indeed, all that is unnecessary and burdensome starts to fall away, easily and naturally, when we become the observers of our lives, living in an awakened state. Priorities, needs, preferences and fears will shift and change. So does our relationship to the physical world. Our eternal spiritual self becomes more identifiable, and our life’s purpose is revealed. We value the lessons that bring the realizations and promote necessary growth. We are able to view the bigger picture by trusting intuitive insights. We operate from love instead of fear. It is well worth the journey.
Have a question you'd like to have answered here? Contact Louise at louise@louisehauck.com . She'll be happy to hear from you.
About the Author
Louise Hauck is an international speaker,
visionary, “time traveling” intuitive spiritual counselor whose
presentations entertain audiences around the world. She is the author of
Beyond Boundaries, The Adventures of a Seer, Heart-Links, Connecting With
Lost Loved Ones and upcoming Fearless Future.
You may also post
your comments or questions to her in our interactive
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