Feeling Whole, Feeling Peace

Nicole Kavner Miller, PhD

What would it feel like to feel complete within yourself? Is there something that has been holding you back? A fear? An old wound?

What if…you were able to dive into that fear, down into the belly of that whale, and then re-emerge again safe, whole, and healed?

dragonflyandlotus.jpg
Think it’s not possible?
Think that nothing ever changes?
Well, then it’s your thoughts that are the real problem…

In the silence between the thoughts, anything becomes possible. Take the chance…Try sitting in silence for 5 minutes today and see what happens.

If thoughts intrude, don’t be discouraged! That’s what brains do. They create thoughts. Good news! You’re human! Simply acknowledge that your brain has a thought and return your attention to the silence in between.

Even if you are only able to do this for seconds at a time, it is still a few seconds of peace. Peace from thoughts of…

View original post 13 more words

Happy Winter Solstice!

solstice-at-stonehengeOn the darkest day of the year, in what ways can YOU bring more light to the world, instead of darkness? You control the stories in your mind and, therefore, in your world. We are all made of both light and dark; Awareness and Shadow.

The light of awareness brings compassion for yourself and others, wisdom to see things as they really are, and the chance to see and feel love everywhere, even in the darkest of darkness.

Don’t be afraid of the dark. Embrace it, it is you as well, simply remember who you truly are and shine your light within the darkness.  Watch what happens then…

“This is all an elaborate hoax.” INDEED!

What a beautiful observation of the nature of reality… — Nicole

Legendary US film critic Roger Ebert’s wife Chaz recounts her personal memoir of her husband’s passing after an intense battle with cancer in Esquire:

http://www.esquire.com/blogs/news/roger-ebert-final-moments

Ebert’s detailed history with cancer can be read elsewhere, but I was most taken with these words Chaz wrote about her husband’s last few weeks alive. It sounds very much as though Ebert got some clear glimpses of the nondual shortly before he died:

Roger-EbertRoger looked beautiful. He looked really beautiful. I don’t know how to describe it, but he looked peaceful, and he looked young.

The one thing people might be surprised about—Roger said that he didn’t know if he could believe in God. He had his doubts. But toward the end, something really interesting happened. That week before Roger passed away, I would see him and he would talk about having visited this other place. I thought he was hallucinating. I thought they were giving him too much medication. But the day before he passed away, he wrote me a note: “This is all an elaborate hoax.” I asked him, “What’s a hoax?” And he was talking about this world, this place. He said it was all an illusion. I thought he was just confused. But he was not confused. He wasn’t visiting heaven, not the way we think of heaven. He described it as a vastness that you can’t even imagine. It was a place where the past, present, and future were happening all at once.

Via The Nonduality Highlights blog… http://nonduality.org/ http://wp.me/p2AXU-Lh

Sunday, January 5, 2014 – Editor: Dustin LindenSmith

Grandma

Last month, I felt a pull to visit my grandparents’ graves. Not one to believe that the soul/spirit remains in one static place after death, nevertheless, I found myself driving, alone, to sit and pay my respects to them on what would be their wedding anniversary. It reminded me of this blog piece I’d written for another website last year. For those who haven’t seen it…it follows here…

grandma-and-nikkiMy grandmother was always the one who seemed to know what to do. She was always the logical one. She loved me endlessly, unconditionally, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t tell me that I was wrong if she disagreed with me. I lived in her home from four years old to eleven years old and considered her my second mother, and spent my childhood listening to my grandparents and their friends having big raucous parties filled with serious discussion and heated political debate, challenging games of scrabble, Cab Calloway songs, and lots of love.

In February of 1994, one month after the Northridge Earthquake shook me to my core, my grandmother was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. She didn’t smoke, and no one could tell her why this had happened to her. She had battled asthma all her life and had recently overcome a bad fall and injury to her hip, and a bout of Lyme Disease. She was always pretty resilient.

But Cancer was different.

By October of that year, I had moved to New York to be closer to her. The months I spent with her before her death were moving and horrible, loving and transformational. We talked about beliefs and life after death. I believed in it, she did not. Though despite this, she was not afraid.

She passed away on Valentine’s Day 1995, one year after her diagnosis. A day devoted to love was forever indelibly linked to a beloved grandmother’s death. This was the first time that I had ever lost someone I was close to. I can remember her funeral. Sitting in the memorial service, the rain was pouring down, streaming down the windows as if the world was crying for her. I was still in disbelief that she was gone.

Later that day, back at the house, the family gathered for food and reminiscing. But mostly, there was chatter. Lots of chatter. The chatter of people who were connected by blood, but hadn’t seen each other in years. I felt confused. How could these people who loved her be chattering about their own lives right now? What was all this meaningless chatter. I couldn’t take it. I was overwhelmed with grief. I ran upstairs to a bedroom and crawled beneath the collected coats and scarves amassed on the bed. Curled up and silent, I wished for the release of sleep.

For the next three nights in a row, I dreamed of my grandmother. In each dream, it was the same. We were sitting in her kitchen, as I spent many, many years of my childhood and adult life doing. She told me to look after my grandfather. After the third night, she was gone. That is…until one night, a couple of years later, when I was going to bed and I said a small prayer. I told my grandmother that I missed her and that I loved her and I heard, as clear as day, a voice that sounded like it was heard over a transistor radio, “I love you too.” I started for a moment and asked the voice if she had spoken to anyone else. My mother, a cousin… but there was no answer.

I then asked, “Are you happy? Are you OK?” In the next moment, I felt glowing warmth over my entire body, as if I were lying on a beach in the warm summer sun. In that moment, I knew she was okay. I felt relieved. I felt love.