Everything that is around us holds meaning for our lives: everything we see, hear, experience, even if it doesn’t make sense or seem important at the time.

In fact, it would be fair to say that nothing, in this Universe that seeks continually to create energetic balance as a principle of its Oneness, is random.

At one time, the tree that fell in the forest was felt in small vibrations, by those living in the forest, or those thinking about the forest. Nowadays, the tree that falls in the forest is likely filmed and put on YouTube within the hour.

We’re not more interconnected than we used to be; we’re just more aware of this connection—as if we’re being presented a new understanding of Oneness. 

I've been thinking lately about Oneness, interconnectivity and how social media and the internet have been game changers these last decades.The thing is, it's almost impossible to get out of the game.

Sure, the connectivity was all there before—we just couldn't see it, hear it…we weren't cognizant of our connection. But now, the game's on 24/7, in ways we sometimes can't get clear of, even when we unplug, turn off, disengage.

For some of us, when we begin to use social media (which is basically connection via the energy,) we may start to intuit or have a flash or hit of knowing or recognizing information or details about each person we come in contact with. So that every single Twitter feed arrives with a full picture or sense of the person who’s sending it.

This isn’t always pleasant or desired.

It's similar to what happens when you head into a crowd. If you stop and take in the energy of the crowd, if you open to the connection—then all of the information about everyone just floods in.
Again, it’s not always pleasant or desired.

The difference is, we used to have this sensation in public, whenever we sought connection. But now, social media has become a template or a trainer to allow us to recognize the bigger connection—to everyone, all things, all time, all events, to everything—that's always been there.

It can't be turned off, because it's what we are.

There is discomfort, as we all move to this realization.
There's also a lot of excitement, as we understand that we are changing. 

A guru I once knew used to call everyone her students.

“I teach my students this"
"I want my students to learn this.”
"My students need to know this.”
 
It made an impact on me because sometimes I do call folks who are actively doing coursework with me, "students."  
 
But what I really think is this: We’re all each other’s teachers.

We're all students
We're all teachers. 
How could it possibly be otherwise?

Once I tried to give a homeless person a $20 bill, and he shrieked at me and stormed away. He wasn’t here to serve my idea of what he needed. He was his own person, maybe in need of money, maybe not. It wasn’t my place to determine.
Thank you, teacher.

Another time I was sure I could help a friend with a problem: the solution was so simple, I could see it all so clearly! My friend rejcted all of my ideas and did what she wanted. It wasn’t my life to decide. 
Thank you, teacher.

I know a woman who is a spiritual leader, who is able to bring people into transformative states in a single encounter.
Thank you, teacher.

I know a man who does not use spiritual terms, who has no religion or belief system, and is one of the nicest people I know.
Thank you, teacher.

We all learn from each other.
We’re all in together.

When we let go of the ideas that we know more than others, or less than others, and simply accept the fact that we're all on the path, learning as we go… this is enormous freedom.         

Each day, we awaken just a little bit more.
Each day, we step out a little big further from our prison of illusion and fear.
Each day, we move a little bit further in a life where your soul is leading.

Everything's our teacher.
Thank you, Universe. 

Yogi Tea, run mostly here in Oregon, is an herbal tea designed for a particular mood or health enhancement, such as:
 
Detox
Super Antioxidant
Perfect Energy
Positive Energy
Stress Relief
Calming
…you get the idea.
 
I'm not promoting them... as a company, they have had their share of spiritual struggles. 

Yet in my recent preparation of a cup of their Ginger, I tore open the package, stewed the teabag in hot water, and read the inspirational message on the tiny paper tab.
 
“Our intuition comes from innocence.”
Of course, this is true.
 
This is what Jesus meant, when he said that we should be as innocent as children.
This is what Buddha meant, when he said we should strive for beginner’s mind.
This is what all the great teachers mean, when they tell us to be free.
 
Innocence does not mean naïve.
Some of the most worldly people remain innocent.

To be innocent is to be free and clear from all the negative self talk and anger and fear and pain that so often trap us.
 
To be innocent is to show up open to the world, with our hearts full of hope. And in this openness, in our willingness to be led by a Universe of dazzling love, we intuit all we need to know. 

We were delighted to spy a young deer around the bar where our two very old llamas and two goats live.
 
They make up a small herd, and they wander the forests and meadows here, eating the blackberries and grasses to contentment.
 
The deer was a surprise: a young deer, on its own, is never a good sign. It means the mother is gone, or dead. A deer of that age can’t survive well alone, even out here in this space that’s becoming increasingly more suburban with every year.
 
So we were happy to find it sheltering with the herd; never actually in the barn, but looking on from a distance. We put out extra food, and hoped it would stay.
 
A few days later, the deer was gone.
A few days later, we found the skeleton, in the lower field, where the coyotes roam.
 
It’s very sad to see such a young, beautiful animal come to such an end.
It’s difficult to think of it: what happened and why, and all the circumstances that occurred that resulted in the young deer to be alone, without its mother, and the deer to be in that open field, in the pall of night, when the coyotes were traveling through.
 
Life has these pieces of sadness.
 
I don’t even want to think too much about the deer, because I will slip into other lifetimes where I saw this or was this, witness or deer or coyote, and it will send me into a well of pain.
Saying, "it’s nature's way" doesn't help me with this.
It's just pain, and loss, and such a shame.
What could have been, now won’t be.
 
I guess… I guess I’m glad I saw the young deer. I’m glad we sheltered it, at least for a few days, and welcomed it and gave it food, and saw its beauty and its vulnerability, and loved it.
 
Now that I know what happened, I wondered… should we have tried to keep it, or hold it with us?
 
But that wasn’t its destiny as deer.
 
It’s a wild creature, not meant for a barn.
 
I often find this whole Universe is beyond understanding.
 
Nothing is random, I know. Which makes it even harder to understand the things that happen that are so sad, so ugly, so hard.
 
In this life, we’re here be part of, and to appreciate. We're here to witness and to remember. And sometimes, when things are sad and confusing, tragic and unspeakable, we can’t do more than just show up and love. 

​We sometimes joke that we have OCD, when we’re being particularly fussy about objects or stuff or things.
 
My OCD kicked in, we say as we rearrange something on our desk.
I’ve got OCD, we say as we clean something.
It’s OCD, we say as we move something from one part of the room to another.
 
Now of course, clinical OCD is a real issue, and people who have it suffer.
I’ve known many people suffering from this, and it is a tough road.
 
Yet many of us who are sensitive also experience some aspects of OCD, such as being extremely aware of the objects around us.
 
For example, if someone you live with moves a chair from one spot to another in the room, it’s something most people might not notice, or even care about.
 
But for the sensitive person, this shift will be registered immediately: you will sense the change in the energy of the room, a disturbance in the force, so to speak.
 
If you need to have things just so, as many highly sensitive people do, understand that it is not about being fussy or picky or weird or a perfectionist.
 
It’s about needing the energy in your surroundings to be a vibrational match to you.; to be a match to your personal frequency, to the layer or level of energy you’re usually in.
 
It’s a kind of vibrational resonance, and to the sensitive person, everything… and by this I mean everything… plays a part. The chair, the book, the pen, the paper, the way the desk is centered between the window, the temperature in the room, the sounds outside.
 
If something is off. you’re going to notice it. And if you can change it, you probably will. And if you can’t, you’ll notice it and name it and work around it.
 
Every object holds energy. We, the animate, are not more energetic than the inanimate. It’s all energy. And if you’re sensitive, you feel and notice it all.

Have you ever tucked into yourself when you’re out and about in a public place, and noticed the quiet ones?
 
You know… the introverts, the shy, the highly sensitive, the socially awkward, the observers, the folks with their minds most definitely on a different plane of awareness?
 
So often, we’re distracted by the loudest person in the room: the biggest personality, the most alpha dog.
 
And yet, when we turn our heads away from the big noise, and instead look to where all that steady calm is coming from, we notice a whole new kind of power and presence.
 
You might be a quiet one yourself.
Most sensitives, intuitives, healers, mystics and seekers are.
 
When you tuck yourself back into yourself and hang out in a spot that you can observe, you notice how the energy is moving in room. You notice the emotions that come from all people, and you see their truth. You even notice the vibration of the objects in the room: how everything is in energetic symphony with everything else all the time, one big wave of Oneness flowing through it all.
 
I find myself frequently tucked back in, having learned that this is an easier way to go through crowded places where there is a lot of big, loud, extroverted energy.
 
It’s not spacing out, it’s not hiding. It’s more like putting on my personal cloak of invisibility, so that I can float and flow in the reality more easily, without be distracted by other people’s stuff.
 
I notice, when I’m wearing my quiet garb, that there are others with their garb on too. We smile as we see each other, tucked back in, observing everything, observing each other, observing ourselves.
 
There’s a lot of energy in the room all the time. When you tuck back in and go still, you can see there’s more than the noise, the cacophony, the drama, the distraction.
 
There’s God in the room, all the time.