In Search of the Saveopotomus

Blog 1810 – 09.07.2020

In Search of the Saveopotomus

In Search of the Saveopotomus

Before starting to write this blog I read a very moving piece this morning on my phone from The Guardian titled, “At 31 with just weeks to live, here is what I would like to pass along.” Of the five things Elliot Dallen who lives in London and does not expect to see the other side of the COVID-19 pandemic due to the cancer shortening his life, the thing he lists first is the importance of gratitude. I think our Western culture and religious traditions with their great emphasis of finding a savior to deliver us from all our troubles miss the real point of life. In our sometimes frantic quest to find the Saveopotomus with a backward glance at the ravenous animal we think death to be, hot on our trails, we have forgotten to take time to smell and enjoy the roses along the way.

Some years ago taking a few moments to meditate on all the good things that had already come to me and those I yet hoped would, these words as a mantra came to me:

“I am so glad and grateful that everything that I could ever want or need is already mine and coming to me at just the right time and in just the right way from my loving and infinite source.”

As a writer, words are very important to me and so the well chosen words of The Ten Intentions For A Better World had already left quite an impression on my thinking and continue to. Look at the fourth intent with me:

When we can really internalize that truth, life will become so much more a thing to treasure than a treasure hunt. Many people my age and even younger are already worried about how they are going to keep their survivors from having to pay for an expensive funeral. I’m sorry, but what is done with this house when I longer need it is of not that much concern to me. My wish, which my son is adamant that he will not carry out, is to have my body cremated and disposed of on water, in the woods, or a mountain top. I am not all that picky. If he, my wife or someone must have a marker and a specific place to honor my memory I am willing to compromise and have that little box of ashes interned in a National Cemetery that as an U.S. Army Veteran I am entitled to on Uncle Sam’s dime. But, as the angels, in the story, said to those coming on that first Easter morning to visit Jesus grave, I will not be there but will be long gone.

I am, we all are, so much more than these tiny houses we live in for such a short while, even the longer livers among us. I carry in my pants pocket a small heart shaped medallion that reads on one side, “Thank you for this day, Spirit” and on the other, “I am Holy, I am Whole.” I bought it and carry it because it reminds me each time I touch it or see it who that loving and infinite source truly is. Not some ancient tribal god, good luck charm, or even savior, but my higher self, our higher self. This life is his, hers, our dream and we will wake from it some day, maybe after having a multitude of other dreams as well, dreams in which we, like many of us do in this one, reside in several different houses.

Most of the houses I have lived in this time around have been rentals where I only stayed a few years, if that. Houses come and go but life goes on. More than remembering houses I am for living and remembering lives. If we were to find the Saveopotomus though he or she might look like a dinosaur a closer examination would reveal that the true secret identity of our savior, our loving and infinite source is no secret really at all.

Your friend and fellow traveler,

David White

Fall In Love With Me

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