Monday, May 23, 2011

Checked out at the Cash Register

I have been bouncing between the book FATE AND DESTINY - The Two Agreements of the Soul by Michael Meade and THE ROBERT MOSS BLOG over the past while. I'm reading the paperback, which I keep at home. Moss' blog is on my Kindle which I keep in my purse. I dip into its wisdom at a local cafes after I've emerged from beneath the basement stairs and migrated there so that I might mingle with other house-bound workers, also connected to their wireless devices, in our sorry attempt to participate in the "outside world". Since both the book and the blog deal with aspects of the soul and spirit, jumping between them further informs and enriches my understanding of the subject matter, influences my dreams and provides tremendous synchronic happenings to boot.

As I mentioned in the previous blog entry, when you are experiencing a dream drought, observing synchronicities that appear throughout one's day can be a great source of inspiration and amusement. Developing this kind of awareness also primes one to be motivated towards, and receptive to, dream recall and moments of intuition.

Yesterday, Sunday May 22nd (the day before Victoria Day) at noon, I (along with every other Burlington resident, it seemed), was maneuvering my way through the obstacle course that grocery store isles become the day before a majour holiday. But, I'm not bothered; in fact I can proudly announce that I have a method which leaves me cool and calm; a model of considerate efficiency. I leave my cart, out of the way of traffic, at the beginning of the isle, I float between carts battling for right of way and weave through traffic jams collecting my goodies along the way. I deposit them upon my return and move to the next isle.

All went without a hitch until at a crucial moment before lining up at the cash when I remembered one more item. I parked my cart at what was an unobtrusive spot when I left it but upon my return, only moments later, had developed into a majour traffic hazard. People were pushing "my stuff" out of the way. I had become, like everyone I'd judged, inconsiderate and as I quickly rushed in to drag my cart out of the way to make amends, I gashed my left forefinger on a wayward piece of wire poking out from the body of the cart.

As I unloaded my stuff onto the conveyer belt, blood gushed out of my finger. Periodically I sucked on it vampire-like to stay the flow, self-conscioiusly imagining blood dripping down the corners of my mouth and my incisors growing longer all the while. The line behind me was forming longer and longer as I struggled.

"Do you have a band aid?" I enquired, recalling my days behind the cash and knowing this was a probability.

"Nope," she answered as my massive pile of groceries grew even higher as, between sips, I stuffed items into assorted bags and bins.

Finally she offered, "I do have some paper towels. And I can wrap this around it." She proudly flashed a tape used to mark large unbaggable purchases as paid and then proceeded to tend to my wound. "Gosh, this reminds me of when I volunteered for a kid's hospital. There you go."

I half-listened, absorbed in my task of getting through the check out as quickly as possible. Only as I made my way out to the parking lot and glanced down at my finger did I appreciate the fact that it was wrapped in the paper towel, secured by a tape decorated with a heart covering my boo boo. Many years ago I was a bored, overworked cashier longing for some break in the routine monotony that this work can be and a connection to the divine spark that resides within us all.
click on image to enlarge
© Nance Thacker 1985

I rewarded myself with a stop-over at the local Starbuck's, and went to the next blogpost where I was to resume in Moss' blog. I've been reading his entries from the beginning and what appeared was SMELL THE SYNCHRONIZING... about Moss' experience at the check out. To appreciate how this whole synchronicity thing works and the implications it has, read the comment stream that follows and especially the one by Moss relating the story of the grumpy cashier who, like me, seemed to be "under her own personal black cloud of misery" as he so succinctly puts it.

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