Now here’s a disturbing thought.
What if humanity being brought to its knees, as some commentators so colorfully phrase it, is partly in aid of us learning how to accept help?
Or even recognize that we need help, and that help is available, never mind actually asking for it.
Assistance can be found first and foremost, I believe, from within our own infinite selves. Those many higher dimensional selves of which we are the physical expression at the moment, as described by, for example, Alex Collier.
After all, those higher selves appear to be an unbreakable connection with Spirit, with All That Is, with all the benevolent Beings of Light who are evidently just itching to lend us a hand.
And what if, in my finite personal instance of “disability,” it’s all in aid of me being willing to ask for help?
I must say, it’s rather nice to stroll about the yard with our wonderful longtime landscaper, Alfredo, discussing weeds, and using castor bean pellets to repel the gophers, and spraying the fungus in the Dymondia…
“It’s hard for me to do any weeding, because of my hip,“ I explained somewhat apologetically.
As if I ought to always be perfectly physically capable of anything and everything.
For once, I didn’t creep back into the house feeling as if I’d shirked my responsibility and handed it off to someone else.
No. It’s a shared responsibility. Using resources in a way that benefits me as well as the landscaper and his employees through the accomplishment of gainful work. At this point, the exchange of money for services is still the way many people in Western society get things done.
Many channels have said that Gaia herself asked for help some 80 years ago, and willing assistance in the form of Light energy began beaming to Earth immediately.
Goodness. If this massive archangel called out for help, who am I to be too proud to do the same?
It is partly pride. It’s also the ingrained programming, the old patterning as Dr. Peebles has called it, still operating from the little girl who was tasked early on with self-responsibility, and praised for doing things all on her own. It is she, dear little soul, that balks at raising a hand and whimpering, help…
Perhaps pride, in this instance, is yet another offshoot of fear.
What if I ask for help, and nobody is there?
I wonder how many lifetimes, and even within this lifetime, the hand has been raised and the call has not been answered.
What a terrible burden of abandonment that has been. And perhaps this is so for many of us.
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