28/01/2021
To want to uplift is a gravity-defying feat at its very core. I can’t think of a more important one to observe oneself learning to master.
The challenge can be a very heavy one indeed, and requires dedication and the repeated use of an unseen muscle group, out of the realm of possibility for so many to consider, because it can’t be oiled and posed and shown off when it's fit. Instead, gaining uplift muscle is the get out of jail card that leads to one’s own freedom— a quietly unseen, magnificent muscle if ever there was one.
The uplifting muscle is connected to all others since they have either a well-oiled, or atrophied version of the same one. It’s located, like a sling of accessible support around each of our connected hearts, pilot-lit with possibility—with blood and tissue and cellular memory, thirsty for more light so it can remember itself. Yet, even when the choice is to give this muscle a regular workout, it can at times hurt when that connected-to-all tissue in us, at the behest of the free will of another, down lifts when we were expecting things to go the other way.
This jerky-feeling move can temporarily knock us onto our uplifting keisters, which as it happens is also part of getting buff at the job, as well.
Uplifting oneself by getting back into the saddle for another go at defying gravity, is part of the job, perhaps the most important part.
Today, as a hardcore student of uplift and similarly challenging things, I find myself dusting off my own chaps a wee bit and nursing a failed uplift attempt.
One doesn’t get fit in this vibrationally aware way by pulling a resistance band from the bottom of a bag every once in a while because it’s supposed to be a good idea, just like occasional workouts don’t quite work for the body either. Occasionally being inspired to uplift, while great, isn’t quite the workout to which I’m referring.To acquire smooth suppleness, a ripped “uplift” muscle requires real commitment— an understanding that lightening any load—anyone’s load anywhere, always— is made easier by choosing to uplift, and having it be as instinctual as breathing. If we say we want ease, yet refuse to uplift, we are fibbing— mostly to ourselves.
My slightly bruised keister realized something in this recent down lift experience of mine. My intuition is extremely helpful in these realizations, I have to say. It tends to direct and edit my “exercise program”. I spin my spurs less when my intuition is running the rodeo.
To explain, I think of uplifting in a metaphorical sense— like offering to take a corner of a heavy slab of concrete to help others with the lift. Since we’re connected, we’re not lifting on our own very much of the time, if at all, anyway. But energies that don’t yet conceive of connection to all things like to hop on the slab and get a free ride during the lift, adding a whole lot of backbreaking gravity to the situation. This wouldn’t be so much of an issue if when lifted they stayed that way, but that’s not how it works. If they’ve yet to develop this muscle themselves, they can’t possibly hang on to their spot on the slab, and fall off, making your attempt at uplift a bust anyway. It is much less tiring to listen to one’s intuition instead. We cannot fight the will of another, which is why fighting anything is so utterly pointless anyway.
So, long story short, I’m checking the weight of my slabs for hitchhikers during daily uplift training, I’ve decided. Going forward, I’ll drop any suspiciously heavy ones like a hot potato if my spidey senses tell me it’s a wise move. Unless that is, any hitchhiker slides off and offers to grab another corner, making it easier on us both.
