From Thimble to Hot Tub

I try not to measure my life with words like time, period, or years. Those words are too small—they never hold the full story. Instead, I have come to see my eighty-one journeys around the sun as seasons. And looking back, I can now understand why each one arrived when it did. Even the earliest—when I was perhaps two, if numbers must be used—seemed to prepare me for what would follow. That first season, I believe, shaped all the rest.

I still see my sister carrying a kettle, singing out, “Watch out everybody, watch out.” I see her catch her foot on a curled edge of linoleum nailed to the kitchen floor. The liquid inside was scalding, and it splashed across my small, bare arms with a pain that felt enormous. A few drops also landed on my mother’s arm. She barely flinched. I remember that now—how she simply wiped it from my skin, as if it were nothing. Clearly, it could not have been that hot. But I have never forgotten that season. I tucked it away in a thimble at the back of my mind.

As the years passed—or rather, as more seasons unfolded—that thimble grew too small. So, I moved them into a bucket. Then a bathtub. And now, the vessel has grown so large that I need a hot tub. In that hot tub a sea of memories floats, because I have always paid close attention. Perhaps that is the gift of that first season. I have seen many: good things, bad things, and ugly things as hell. Still, every season has drawn me nearer to understanding the will of God.

I am not a religious man, if religion means showing up to a prescribed building each week. But I do believe I am watchful of God’s purposes, and I hold with all my heart that a divine Creator exists. I enjoy reading scriptures from many traditions, and I understand why religions arise. Most are born from a sincere wish to guide people toward conduct worthy of God. Yet I have also noticed, across many seasons, that those elected—or those who elect themselves—often twist the spirit of the faith to fit their own narratives.

People are easily led. They adopt the customs and commands of their leaders. Few thinks for themselves; most follow blindly. That is fine, so long as their leaders are balanced and rooted in God’s word, not merely in worldly gain. This is why I lean toward the teachings of Maat. Maat does not dictate behavior. Instead, it offers examples of conduct that, over many seasons, have proven harmful. That is quite different from a religion that issues commands. Most people already know right from wrong—they are simply steered toward wrongdoing by following the crowd. And most religions are inherited. Many believe their ancestors were right, no matter how vile their actions appear to others.

There have been seasons when I strayed from the wisdom I had already gathered. It is astonishing to look back and see how many mistakes we might have avoided if we had only studied our own previous seasons. For me, the pattern is clear: every time I erred, I turned away from what I already knew was true. And each time, I can perceive a message—what I believe to be God's voice. All seasons are good. Some are obnoxious. Some humiliating. Some deeply depressing. And some, most gratifying. But everyone carries a message. I have learned to rise from the low seasons by revisiting the glorious ones. I have learned to make lemonade from lemons. Often, it is simply a matter of how we choose to think. We can transform a negative situation into a positive one through a shift in mindset. I have found that when I search for the meaning within a season, God somehow grants me the strength to endure it—or even turn it into something better.

Now I possess a hot tub brimming with positive energy. If we truly regard all energy as positive, we can alter its polarity. Our whole universe exists because of energy. It brings forth many good things, and it has sparked many wars also, however. But most of us do not realize that energy does not dwell only in the physical realm. It exist in all dimensions physical, mental, and spiritual. Some of us have been blessed, but these blessings could have been perceived as physical abuse, but they, nonetheless, forced us to master dimensions unobservable by others.

Many religious doctrines speak of spiritual energy as invisible things. Others have been twisted and speak only of what can be seen, touched, smelled, heard, or tasted—purely physical things. Yet some among us have been compelled to perceive through other dimensions. We are the people who carry vast reservoirs of positive energy, ready to draw from at a moment's notice.