Stolen Post from FB

This is a stolen post from Facebook, but I loved it so much that I wanted to share it; you can read more from Denise Lynn

(if that link does not work, try this https://deniselinnseminars.com/)

My rough draft of the book I'm working on is complete... and now I have to cut out about 2/3 of what I've written. It's too long. This story probably won't make the cut. And it's probably way too long for posting here too, but I'm posting it anyway on this lovely misty morning.(It's about frogs in the toilet... and doing the right thing !) Have a wondrous Monday!! Here at our country home in mountains of California, early spring in my favorite time of year. It's the time that I call "Frog-Cricket Time" . . . and it only lasts for a few short weeks.

It's a magical time of year—the air is still moist after the rains and the frogs are high on life, as they lull us to sleep every night with their raucous chorus. And yet, it's warm enough for the crickets and their sweet tones to join in. Together the frogs and crickets make a nocturnal symphony that opens my heart wide and deep. Soon, however, as summer approaches and temperatures rise, the frogs recede into their hidden crevices to wait out the summer heat and the crickets seize the night.It's during this time of year that I embark on what I believe to be a supreme act of love. (Okay it's not that supreme, but it's definitely an act of love.

You'll see why.) At this time of year, the frogs crave water and although I've created have lots of small pools and mini-ecosystems for them around the land, somehow they have their own preference for their water source. They don't seem to notice how wonderful their outdoor pools are, or the fact that that I put frog food tablets in their little ponds, or that I make sure that there is a balance of algae and fresh flowing water.

No matter how lush I think I've made their environment, there is something about the water in our toilets that drives them into a state of froggy ecstasy. Somehow they find a way to wiggle themselves into our toilets, even if the lid is shut. They seem like kids who can swim in the local water hole, but prefer to sneak over the fence into a neighbor's backyard to swim in their pool.However, in my mind, there are very few things more disconcerting that getting ready to plop down on the toilet, and to see green beady eyes staring up at me in disbelief. I can almost hear them saying, "You're kidding, right? You're not really going to sit here?" And instead of desperately trying to get out of their porcelain paradise, they dive into the water and disappear into some secret inner chamber, waiting until the "bare-ass monster" leaves. I could be cavalier, and ignore the fact they are there and then flush, but I know that I will be sending them into Froggy Nirvana (well, not exactly Samadhi . . . it's more like the septic system, but "Nirvana" sounds better.)

So I contain my earthly needs and await their return, so I can sneak up on them and grab them before they dive into the bowl again. This takes patience and a certain amount of humility to wait in hiding by a toilet bowl (hence my comment about a "Supreme Act of Love.")You might ask—someone actually did—why don't I cover the toilets with Saran Wrap until I need to use them, but quite frankly the idea of forgetting that the toilet is covered in clear plastic wrap doesn't appeal to my sensitivities. So I continue, every spring, to be the unsung savior of frogs and wait for Cricket Time.From a typical "New Age" perspective, in every moment we should always do what brings us bliss and joy. But honestly there are lots (and lots) of things I do in life that don't bring me joy or even close to it.

But I do them because it's the right thing to do. Now maybe sneaking up on frogs with my net in hand—as they blithely swim in my toilet bowl—and trying to save them from an early demise, might not seem like it's fits in the hallowed category of "the right thing to do," especially compared with nursing a sick child through the night or picking up a friend at midnight who missed the bus.

However, it's what feels right to me. Everyday I have hundreds of choices to make—most are small decisions, but they are choices never the less. Some of these choices make me blissed out-of-my-mind, but some are gritty, grimy choices. They are not fun or enjoyable or even slightly pleasurable. Yet I continue to choose to do these things because they feel like the "right thing to do." To me these are acts of love.They can be as small as rescuing frogs or as large as helping to a friend who's in need, even if it means missing an important appointment.

And in every moment, when I make the choice to do something because it feels right—even if it isn't pleasurable—I'm glad that I did. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that we need to suffer to grow, and I really don't believe in self-sacrifice. And there are definitely times to say, "No, I'm not available to help you right now" and then take a long, hot bath instead. But there are also times just to do something because it feels like the right thing. It gives me a feeling of well-being to live in accordance with my deeply held values. Even if some of my decisions mean that I'm temporarily uncomfortable, I experience profound satisfaction from living with a sense of authenticity.

When I make these decisions because they are "the right thing to do" I'm being consistent with the way that I see the world and what I believe is important in life . . . and this brings me joy. (So maybe I do believe the New Age tenet that you should always do what brings you joy.)