God and my little games
by Chelsey Johnson Dec 12, 2014
Sometimes I play small. My typical small games include: turning things (and people's feelings) into problems to solve, using my emotions to pretend I am a victim, worrying and being over-responsible, self-deprecation, diluting the potency of my communications to protect myself from being disliked, second guessing myself, and pretending I have less power than I actually do.
Stepping into this community of deep sight, I am called to have full access to my power. I vacillate, playing well and hard and then hitting up against my ceiling and reverting to my old games.
I was asked why I don't use it, the power that I have. The answer was clear almost instantly. I do it so I don't need God.
If I used it, I could actually reach my limits, and then I would need God, or Spirit, or the Universe, or life to fill me. To pick me up. To hold me. I would have to admit I can't do everything on my own. I would have to give up the farce of control, relinquish my grip on the fantasy that I can avoid surrendering and still be fully expressed. In some ways, it feels like needing to die in order to live.
The reservoir of love, the true thing I withhold, is held in walls of scarcity and the skepticism that God, or whatever it is that powers us all, will fill me if I am emptied. Skepticism is an insidious thing, halting any forward movement by its presence and nature. Unlike the open-mind of research, the state of skepticism allows doubt to justify ignoring felt-sense truth; instead of living full out and learning in real time, I use it as a stalling tactic. My brain allows me to tamp down my love with the threat that it is a finite resource, and so I never fully open and play with all of my heart.
I want to love. I want to play. I want to feel God. And it is a practice. It is learned through doing, it can't be made pretty with preparation. The game is now. every. single. moment. is a chance to play.