Posts
In some infinitesimal moment
lifetimes ago
a spark brought forth a seed.
Some seeds never develop into new life.
Others receive nurturance,
water, sunshine
and time.
Over many moments, many lifetimes,
a fertile seed sprouts into self-sustaining life.
Living creatures can’t help but grow.
It’s their nature.
Towering sequoias rise from tiny seeds.
A spark, a moment
calls love into existence.
Sweet Mary, Joseph and Jesus,
sparks and moments
manifest creation,
life-sustaining seeds.
Over many moments, many lifetimes,
a fertile seed sprouts into a living creature.
Living creatures can’t help but grow.
But even sequoias eventually die.
Hurricanes, twisters
Forces of nature die too.
In some infinitesimal moment
Lifetimes from now
A spark once again births a seed.
Some seeds never create new life.
Others receive nurturance,
water, sunshine
and time.
Your words of support
are soothing and warm,
refreshing and nurturing
like a surprise April shower.
Your words of support rain warmly over my spirit.
Towering sequoias rise from tiny seeds.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Adding dimension to my life
One of the cool results from my most recent Reiki attunement is feeling like I'm getting closer and closer to the heart of what matters to me as a life objective. That I love all things metaphysical is pretty obvious.
What I love are the ideas, the philosophy, the foundational beliefs and knowledge. While at the training my input was consistently on sharing information. EFG is always commenting on how I have a need to feel useful, a way of using information, the implication of which, as I hear it, to control, manipulate, one-up and self-aggrandize.
I'm not gonna say that's never true, but there is also this keen desire to integrate disparate information into a cohesive and comprehensible format to make it more readily digestible for others. It's what I do. It's what I love. I find it invigorating. Go figure. I guess that's why I love teaching, love writing, and read only non-fiction.
In this moment, I can say that what would make me feel like I done my job on earth is if I mastered an understanding of the interrelatedness of the 12 dimensions; the ways and means of how crystals, Reiki and other alternative energy healing techniques work; past lives...etc., etc...
That's what I want for this lifetime. I would feel like my life mission this time around had been satisfied. Fulfilled would be something altogether higher. I'd feel fulfilled if I were able to take this understanding and explain it in simple terms that could help Christian's, Muslims and Jews move closer to an understanding of God and further from the need to cling to the rituals, power structures and illusions that make up man-made systems of mass control, aka religion.
If I could do such a thing as that, I dare say I'd ask God for permission to kick my feet up on his desk...just for a moment.
What I love are the ideas, the philosophy, the foundational beliefs and knowledge. While at the training my input was consistently on sharing information. EFG is always commenting on how I have a need to feel useful, a way of using information, the implication of which, as I hear it, to control, manipulate, one-up and self-aggrandize.
I'm not gonna say that's never true, but there is also this keen desire to integrate disparate information into a cohesive and comprehensible format to make it more readily digestible for others. It's what I do. It's what I love. I find it invigorating. Go figure. I guess that's why I love teaching, love writing, and read only non-fiction.
In this moment, I can say that what would make me feel like I done my job on earth is if I mastered an understanding of the interrelatedness of the 12 dimensions; the ways and means of how crystals, Reiki and other alternative energy healing techniques work; past lives...etc., etc...
That's what I want for this lifetime. I would feel like my life mission this time around had been satisfied. Fulfilled would be something altogether higher. I'd feel fulfilled if I were able to take this understanding and explain it in simple terms that could help Christian's, Muslims and Jews move closer to an understanding of God and further from the need to cling to the rituals, power structures and illusions that make up man-made systems of mass control, aka religion.
If I could do such a thing as that, I dare say I'd ask God for permission to kick my feet up on his desk...just for a moment.
Just Haaaaaaaayyy
This blog thing is taking on a life of it's own. It's my new hobby. I just spent an hour working on Part I of what is supposed to become a three-part series. I'd share the title...but it's a working title.
After working on it for an hour, I wasn't satisfied. It was more show than heart. I remember learning that one...hmmmm, just last year, actually.
Forcing the issue. Instead of just going with the flow. I was about to make this blog my second job instead of the heart-inspired opportunity to share that I want it to be.
Hey, what do you know, there's the real story. I'm learning not to force the issue. That thing I was hinting at and pointing to in the last blog. Three-part series??? It hasn't even been a week of blogging.
When I went on my walk today I was thinking about music clips I could add to my blog. Turning it into more show than sharing. What a homerun in growth for me. It took less than 5 hours for me to unclench my pitbull grip on thinking I needed to entertain rather than simply to be. Not even a week, and I'm the latest, greatest thing to ever happen to the blogosphere.
Its about feeling like enough. Not to needing to do bells and whistles. Learning to feel that what I am, what I offer from the heart, is enough. No one's asking me to entertain them. And even if they were....
And then there's the let down I have to own.
I was so excited when I began my blog. What I hadn't processed was my underlying motivation, assumptions and desires. I started this blog because I felt uncomfortable, guilty, imposing, when I'd send those long emails that put all my feelings and thoughts and inner life out in the open. Not just uncomfortable with the sharing, but even moreso, uncomfortable with the fact that it was a really big deal to me, and I had this strong desire for feedback.
Kinda reminds me of a bit from the Simpsons. Lisa begs her parents for a super stealth diary, a little girl's best friend. When Homer screws it up, she complains he doesn't really know her at all. The irony. Love the Simpson's show. The f'ed up recipe. I'm gonna say one thing and mean another.
"Read it you like, or don't. Comment if you like, or don't...love me if you want, or don't." What would have been honest..."Please read and give me some feedback... that's how I like to be loved."
I stopped doing the long emails when I owned for myself that what I really had an interest in was other people sharing about their inner lives, too. It was always a let down when I'd get people responding with appreciation for my sharing, but no continuing dialogue, no new stimulation, nothing that looked like reciprocating to me. Even though I know intellectually that all my buddies love me dearly, (oh...just remembered what time it is...of the month), I want my love in words, written words.
Then there's the fact taht I often felt kinda silly always going on and on about every little thing in my life, when it seemed like everyone else was too busy with living theirs to waste it dialoguing in print.
OK, point blank, I'd wonder what was wrong with me that I needed to share so much with so many about so little. The minutia of my life is absolutely fascinating to me. How is that everyone else doesn't find my inner life absolutely amazing?
So when I sent the big one out last weekend, the email, I immediately felt that same self-consciousness return. This blog was partly poor attempt at coping strategy. I've got to own that before I can let it be what it is truly meant to be. Facing my unspoken expectation demons.
I wanted to write and write, but I didn't want to have to feel like I was forcing myself on anyone. What I'm owning here and now is that I really did want to force myself on others. I just wanted to get around having to feel guilty about it.
It isn't that I didn't/don't care if people read my blogs, it's just that I wanted them to read them at their leisure. Come to me instead of me going to them. That's what I hadn't figured out. When I posted my first couple blogs, I was expecting that at least half the people I sent the site to would holla back a comment.
Nope. Just one. (Hi.)
I didn't realize how much it mattered to me until tonight. I created a fiction in my mind that folks were reading it but just not offering up comments. So, I put in a counter. That's the kind of gal I am. Some would call it controlling, other's demanding...desperate and lonely might work, too...self-absorbed, maybe.
Well, I'm getting a little tired of my going's on...
Just thought I'd let my lone reader know that I'm processing how this blogging thing is working for me. I suffer from easy slips into delusions of grandeur. The good news is they are almost always short-lived.
You may recall my believing that my ideas, facts and yap about education in America today was so amazingly unique that I'd be selling loads of my self-published book. More good news. Though my delusions of grandeur are short-lived, new ones burst on the scene before the prior gathers any dust...Before the old one's are even put on shelves to gather dust.
Anywho, lone reader, I lost another couple pounds.
Funny thing, too. The thinner I get, the fatter I feel. Every time I see my smaller self in the mirror it only reminds how much even slimmer I used to be. It isn't a head trip and I ain't complaining. It's just weird. No one ever talks about that phenomenon, and I'm sure it has to be a common one. I was a little sad to see my assets declining along with the rest of me, but I guess there's something to be said for proportionality.
After working on it for an hour, I wasn't satisfied. It was more show than heart. I remember learning that one...hmmmm, just last year, actually.
Forcing the issue. Instead of just going with the flow. I was about to make this blog my second job instead of the heart-inspired opportunity to share that I want it to be.
Hey, what do you know, there's the real story. I'm learning not to force the issue. That thing I was hinting at and pointing to in the last blog. Three-part series??? It hasn't even been a week of blogging.
When I went on my walk today I was thinking about music clips I could add to my blog. Turning it into more show than sharing. What a homerun in growth for me. It took less than 5 hours for me to unclench my pitbull grip on thinking I needed to entertain rather than simply to be. Not even a week, and I'm the latest, greatest thing to ever happen to the blogosphere.
Its about feeling like enough. Not to needing to do bells and whistles. Learning to feel that what I am, what I offer from the heart, is enough. No one's asking me to entertain them. And even if they were....
And then there's the let down I have to own.
I was so excited when I began my blog. What I hadn't processed was my underlying motivation, assumptions and desires. I started this blog because I felt uncomfortable, guilty, imposing, when I'd send those long emails that put all my feelings and thoughts and inner life out in the open. Not just uncomfortable with the sharing, but even moreso, uncomfortable with the fact that it was a really big deal to me, and I had this strong desire for feedback.
Kinda reminds me of a bit from the Simpsons. Lisa begs her parents for a super stealth diary, a little girl's best friend. When Homer screws it up, she complains he doesn't really know her at all. The irony. Love the Simpson's show. The f'ed up recipe. I'm gonna say one thing and mean another.
"Read it you like, or don't. Comment if you like, or don't...love me if you want, or don't." What would have been honest..."Please read and give me some feedback... that's how I like to be loved."
I stopped doing the long emails when I owned for myself that what I really had an interest in was other people sharing about their inner lives, too. It was always a let down when I'd get people responding with appreciation for my sharing, but no continuing dialogue, no new stimulation, nothing that looked like reciprocating to me. Even though I know intellectually that all my buddies love me dearly, (oh...just remembered what time it is...of the month), I want my love in words, written words.
Then there's the fact taht I often felt kinda silly always going on and on about every little thing in my life, when it seemed like everyone else was too busy with living theirs to waste it dialoguing in print.
OK, point blank, I'd wonder what was wrong with me that I needed to share so much with so many about so little. The minutia of my life is absolutely fascinating to me. How is that everyone else doesn't find my inner life absolutely amazing?
So when I sent the big one out last weekend, the email, I immediately felt that same self-consciousness return. This blog was partly poor attempt at coping strategy. I've got to own that before I can let it be what it is truly meant to be. Facing my unspoken expectation demons.
I wanted to write and write, but I didn't want to have to feel like I was forcing myself on anyone. What I'm owning here and now is that I really did want to force myself on others. I just wanted to get around having to feel guilty about it.
It isn't that I didn't/don't care if people read my blogs, it's just that I wanted them to read them at their leisure. Come to me instead of me going to them. That's what I hadn't figured out. When I posted my first couple blogs, I was expecting that at least half the people I sent the site to would holla back a comment.
Nope. Just one. (Hi.)
I didn't realize how much it mattered to me until tonight. I created a fiction in my mind that folks were reading it but just not offering up comments. So, I put in a counter. That's the kind of gal I am. Some would call it controlling, other's demanding...desperate and lonely might work, too...self-absorbed, maybe.
Well, I'm getting a little tired of my going's on...
Just thought I'd let my lone reader know that I'm processing how this blogging thing is working for me. I suffer from easy slips into delusions of grandeur. The good news is they are almost always short-lived.
You may recall my believing that my ideas, facts and yap about education in America today was so amazingly unique that I'd be selling loads of my self-published book. More good news. Though my delusions of grandeur are short-lived, new ones burst on the scene before the prior gathers any dust...Before the old one's are even put on shelves to gather dust.
Anywho, lone reader, I lost another couple pounds.
Funny thing, too. The thinner I get, the fatter I feel. Every time I see my smaller self in the mirror it only reminds how much even slimmer I used to be. It isn't a head trip and I ain't complaining. It's just weird. No one ever talks about that phenomenon, and I'm sure it has to be a common one. I was a little sad to see my assets declining along with the rest of me, but I guess there's something to be said for proportionality.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Better is less than Perfect
Talk about the blessed experience. Sometimes I feel like I should stop being amazed already. But, I'd actually hate if that ever happened. I don't ever want to take for granted the synchonous magic that makes me feel like I don't just live in the world, I am part of it, integral to it, co-creator of my life's script in real time.
The Police. I just love their music. Yeah, everyone often says, "Oh yeah, I like Sting too." Well, yeah, I enjoy Sting. But there's something unique about The Police. It wouldn't have it's flavor without Sting's lyrics, Sting's perspective, Sting's love of spiritual and personal growth, Sting's style of bringing to life the shared ironies of modern living on our modern psyche. The Police, though, just do something different to me. Something I like a lot. I suspect it has to do with the unique, dare I say, the Synchronicity of the three of them in concert.
To say I was disappointed when the tickets went on sale and I went online only to find that all the venues I tried were sold out just a few hours later is...accurate. Truth be told, I didn't find it that depressing or anything, but I was really, really disappointed.
And I might note that I felt kinda old for being so interested in going to a reunion band performance. In my mind, that's always something older folk, middle-aged folk do in some joke of an effort to reclaim their youth. Something about baby-boomers still going to see the Rolling Stones always seemed a bit, well, sad.
Yeah, well, I'm embracing my middle-agedom today.
...
The Magic? I log on to check my workplace email this morning. I haven't checked it in a few days. There was some "junk" mail from Live Nation. The norm for me would be to either delete it directly or in rare occasions, to open it after a few days when I was really, really bored and all the usual forms of procrastination at the job exhausted. The only reason it didn't happen this morning is because my finger must've slipped. I sincerely was trying to open the work-related stuff first. Really. No...really!
It opens. I prepare to delete it immediately, accepting my fingers or my eyes had erred. But there's an image of the reunited Police that catches my eye. I decide, might as well check it out. Maybe my prayers for a new date--mine and I'm sure thousands of others--have been answered.
Sure enough. There's a new date added. It's about 10:10am. They go on sale....of course...at 10:00am this self same morning. Everyone's busy working away in the room. I've got my credit card number memorized. I can't believe it. The luck, the beauty, the timing, the richness of the moment. Fortunately, I was able to savor it at the same time my fingers correctly clicked and poked at the keyboard to request tickets.
YEAH!!! Well. Actually...YEAH!!! You see I really wanted to go all out and do the $250 seats. I'm not really a concert person. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I've paid to see a star in concert. Prince's 1996 tour I think was the last I paid to attend. I've seen a few folks since then, always as someone else's guest.
The last big concert I attended, which I begged to be taken to, was Erykah Bahdu. Disaster. I didn't take responsibility for my interest in seeing her back in 2002. The result was just bad. No need to go into details. I blamed the person who bought the horrid seats and invited his friends--who bought better seats--without even telling me until we were finding parking and I was already annoyed. Annoyed because, evidently, my insisting he take me, created a little resentment on his part. The way the evening started showed that pretty clearly. Not to be outdone, I called his resentment and raised him. Disaster would not be an overstatement.
Lesson learned. I really, really want to see this concert. I didn't need someone else to take me to see Erykah and I don't need someone else to spring for my seeing The Police. I'm gonna have the evening I want, not force it to be more than what it needs to be. I clicked best available seats and didn't designate $250. I got the $95 ones. Given the way the site keeps reminding the potential buyer that there are only two minutes to complete the transaction or these seats are gone, adios, no concert for you...I didn't want to take any chances and snatched up the $100 high rise nose bleeds.
Success. I check the seating after their purchased. Oh my, that high up? Crap. I settled. Why didn't I insist on the $250 seats.
And this is what I learned about me and my magical life. What I have to watch is always wanting more, more, more and better, better, better. I gotta remember to appreciate that my angels, the universe, God are always providing me what will work best. I can doubt it, but it doesn't make the truth into a lie.
Like the Gumbo that's cooking right now. I got a taste for it yesterday. I bought the gumbo seasoning. Helped, might I add, by a guy who seemed like he was in quite a rush when I initially waved a hand and asked for direction to the right aisle. But, I'm thinking 'cause of my expressing being appreciative, he took the time to check two different places on the same aisle, went above and beyond the expected by walking me over a couple more aisles so that I had the full range of gumbo seasoning options. He kept insisting that at the old store he used to work in, a bigger store, they had lots more choices, a better selection. Anywho. I found a good one. I felt a little bad, like I was letting him down when I told him I was satisfied with what he'd shown me, that I'd made a choice and he could go on without feeling he'd done anything less than what was perfect.
So I use it tonight. I cut up the veggies. I put in the sausage. I add a dash of this and a pinch of that, all from that intuitive place. I sample. It is delicious. Ok. Actually, it reminded me of the phrase, "So good, it'll make you want to slap your mama." I'd never slap my mama, mind you. Who wants to get a beat down? But I did wish someone were here that I could at least pop upside the head and say "You gotta taste this!"
But the Gumbo story doesn't end there. And not just 'cause I like typing. It was so good...I had to mess with it. Then I had to fix my messing with it. It's still really, really good. It'll satisfy me. I just wish I'd have stopped when I felt like slapping somebody.
I've got to watch my need to tamper with perfection. My inability to recognize, accept, appreciate that when it feels right...it is. The end. "Better" isn't the same as "perfect." I'm learning.
I guess you already know I logged back on to order $250 tickets. Surely I can sell the $95 ones later. Or, maybe take a couple of appreciative friends who won't mind my waving to them from the floor. Not that I'm rich, mind you. Just...The Police. Reunion. Sure, they might re-unite for several more years, but what if they don't?
This time, I'm at least not so pressed by the ticking clock not to check the location of the seats before I drop the cash that was really ment to go towward a new living room on a single night of pleasure, especially when I already had seats that turned out to be, though high up, a nice eyeline to the stage. Thank God I checked. Sure, they were on the floor--way, way, way at the back of the floor.
Oh. "Best available" means what it says. And, oh, so "most expensive" is not synonymous with "best available."
My timing was perfect in the first place. My erroneous clicks and deliberate choices had been magical. And I was gonna mess around and mess it up.
Seeking "better" can really mess up a truly good thing. I'm learning. Better usually turns out to be less than perfect...at least when your homebase is magic.
The Police. I just love their music. Yeah, everyone often says, "Oh yeah, I like Sting too." Well, yeah, I enjoy Sting. But there's something unique about The Police. It wouldn't have it's flavor without Sting's lyrics, Sting's perspective, Sting's love of spiritual and personal growth, Sting's style of bringing to life the shared ironies of modern living on our modern psyche. The Police, though, just do something different to me. Something I like a lot. I suspect it has to do with the unique, dare I say, the Synchronicity of the three of them in concert.
To say I was disappointed when the tickets went on sale and I went online only to find that all the venues I tried were sold out just a few hours later is...accurate. Truth be told, I didn't find it that depressing or anything, but I was really, really disappointed.
And I might note that I felt kinda old for being so interested in going to a reunion band performance. In my mind, that's always something older folk, middle-aged folk do in some joke of an effort to reclaim their youth. Something about baby-boomers still going to see the Rolling Stones always seemed a bit, well, sad.
Yeah, well, I'm embracing my middle-agedom today.
...
The Magic? I log on to check my workplace email this morning. I haven't checked it in a few days. There was some "junk" mail from Live Nation. The norm for me would be to either delete it directly or in rare occasions, to open it after a few days when I was really, really bored and all the usual forms of procrastination at the job exhausted. The only reason it didn't happen this morning is because my finger must've slipped. I sincerely was trying to open the work-related stuff first. Really. No...really!
It opens. I prepare to delete it immediately, accepting my fingers or my eyes had erred. But there's an image of the reunited Police that catches my eye. I decide, might as well check it out. Maybe my prayers for a new date--mine and I'm sure thousands of others--have been answered.
Sure enough. There's a new date added. It's about 10:10am. They go on sale....of course...at 10:00am this self same morning. Everyone's busy working away in the room. I've got my credit card number memorized. I can't believe it. The luck, the beauty, the timing, the richness of the moment. Fortunately, I was able to savor it at the same time my fingers correctly clicked and poked at the keyboard to request tickets.
YEAH!!! Well. Actually...YEAH!!! You see I really wanted to go all out and do the $250 seats. I'm not really a concert person. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I've paid to see a star in concert. Prince's 1996 tour I think was the last I paid to attend. I've seen a few folks since then, always as someone else's guest.
The last big concert I attended, which I begged to be taken to, was Erykah Bahdu. Disaster. I didn't take responsibility for my interest in seeing her back in 2002. The result was just bad. No need to go into details. I blamed the person who bought the horrid seats and invited his friends--who bought better seats--without even telling me until we were finding parking and I was already annoyed. Annoyed because, evidently, my insisting he take me, created a little resentment on his part. The way the evening started showed that pretty clearly. Not to be outdone, I called his resentment and raised him. Disaster would not be an overstatement.
Lesson learned. I really, really want to see this concert. I didn't need someone else to take me to see Erykah and I don't need someone else to spring for my seeing The Police. I'm gonna have the evening I want, not force it to be more than what it needs to be. I clicked best available seats and didn't designate $250. I got the $95 ones. Given the way the site keeps reminding the potential buyer that there are only two minutes to complete the transaction or these seats are gone, adios, no concert for you...I didn't want to take any chances and snatched up the $100 high rise nose bleeds.
Success. I check the seating after their purchased. Oh my, that high up? Crap. I settled. Why didn't I insist on the $250 seats.
And this is what I learned about me and my magical life. What I have to watch is always wanting more, more, more and better, better, better. I gotta remember to appreciate that my angels, the universe, God are always providing me what will work best. I can doubt it, but it doesn't make the truth into a lie.
Like the Gumbo that's cooking right now. I got a taste for it yesterday. I bought the gumbo seasoning. Helped, might I add, by a guy who seemed like he was in quite a rush when I initially waved a hand and asked for direction to the right aisle. But, I'm thinking 'cause of my expressing being appreciative, he took the time to check two different places on the same aisle, went above and beyond the expected by walking me over a couple more aisles so that I had the full range of gumbo seasoning options. He kept insisting that at the old store he used to work in, a bigger store, they had lots more choices, a better selection. Anywho. I found a good one. I felt a little bad, like I was letting him down when I told him I was satisfied with what he'd shown me, that I'd made a choice and he could go on without feeling he'd done anything less than what was perfect.
So I use it tonight. I cut up the veggies. I put in the sausage. I add a dash of this and a pinch of that, all from that intuitive place. I sample. It is delicious. Ok. Actually, it reminded me of the phrase, "So good, it'll make you want to slap your mama." I'd never slap my mama, mind you. Who wants to get a beat down? But I did wish someone were here that I could at least pop upside the head and say "You gotta taste this!"
But the Gumbo story doesn't end there. And not just 'cause I like typing. It was so good...I had to mess with it. Then I had to fix my messing with it. It's still really, really good. It'll satisfy me. I just wish I'd have stopped when I felt like slapping somebody.
I've got to watch my need to tamper with perfection. My inability to recognize, accept, appreciate that when it feels right...it is. The end. "Better" isn't the same as "perfect." I'm learning.
I guess you already know I logged back on to order $250 tickets. Surely I can sell the $95 ones later. Or, maybe take a couple of appreciative friends who won't mind my waving to them from the floor. Not that I'm rich, mind you. Just...The Police. Reunion. Sure, they might re-unite for several more years, but what if they don't?
This time, I'm at least not so pressed by the ticking clock not to check the location of the seats before I drop the cash that was really ment to go towward a new living room on a single night of pleasure, especially when I already had seats that turned out to be, though high up, a nice eyeline to the stage. Thank God I checked. Sure, they were on the floor--way, way, way at the back of the floor.
Oh. "Best available" means what it says. And, oh, so "most expensive" is not synonymous with "best available."
My timing was perfect in the first place. My erroneous clicks and deliberate choices had been magical. And I was gonna mess around and mess it up.
Seeking "better" can really mess up a truly good thing. I'm learning. Better usually turns out to be less than perfect...at least when your homebase is magic.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
That fateful Quake
I've been doing more thinking about the impact of that fateful night alone during the Northridge Quake. I just had an amazing day. I can tell the meds are out of my system. I'm remembering how I use to go through life. Totally in tune. With goals, but no agenda. Everything that happened to me was meaningful and magical.
You may be thinking...you've been that way these last few years. NO. It can be even better. It was even better today. I promised my plants I'd water them. I did...and that was magic. That story later if I get to it.
I went out to return some items I'd bought while on my meds. Things that didn't work out. Good ideas, but not the right implementation. Curtains, for instance. I was gonna do this involved project for my bath. I'd bought a pair from place A and a pair from place B. Took 'em both back. After returning the final item at a store in one of those huge outdoor shopping complexes, I decided to try a few stores. Sans meds, I didn't get in my car to drive from store to store...yes, I usually would.
This time I was in the mood to lolly-gag and walk the 1/2 mile to the next store that sold curtains. Ok, 1/4 mile. It was so totally pleasant. No rush. I end up trying every store in the center that sold any kind of curtains. I exhaust them all and found nothing. As I'm walking back, one of the stores calls to me to come back. I do. I remembered they had nice facilities and nature was calling. If nothing else, that alone was a good reason for a second visit.
I take a little more time, look a little closer at the offerings. While I checking some stuff out, this old woman gets right in my line of sight. I can't believe the audacity. Surely, she couldn't be that unaware of others, that clueless. I guess she heard my thoughts. Or maybe, it was the way I got up from my stooping position and began to walk away. She sees me. Apologizes. We end up having a whole conversation on the high cost of curtains these days. I love her English countryside accent. The Asian chick with her was either a daughter-in-law or live-in assistant. She was none too interested in yet another dilly-dallying conversation with a stranger. I got a thing for English accents so we make it into a whole little powwow on places to shop for curtains, other options like blinds. Sensing that her shopping companion is ready to move on, we end the conversation.
Immediately following that nice little chat, I find this little hidden shelf of goodies--and I do mean hidden. And there I found the curtains that are hanging up in my kitchen right now. Actually it is a perfect valance. Cost? $5 with tax. They were clearance and then a sale on top of that. That's how my life has always been. Is supposed to be. Not the running around buying and returning incomplete project bullshit I got used to.
Thank you angels for putting that old woman in my line of sight and having her slow me down to look at the shelf hidden by hanging curtains directly behind where we chatted. The valance is just the right size to maintain privacy but let in max light from the top half of the window. It even has these little double fabric squares which, with it's perfect width, allow for just the right thickness where I need it.
So what does have to do with the quake? Nothing. Just that when I got home and had the magical shopping experience and then a wonderful hour watering and caring for my plants, I got to wondering how with a life so magically perfect, that whole quake event could have happened the way it did.
I mean, WHY, WHY, WHY was I alone THAT night. XYZ and I had only known each other a couple months, but had spent every single night together from the day we met. EVERY night up and until quake night.
A little detail to add. I only fulfilled my promise to my plants made the day before to water them after I had to turn off my dvd early. Doctorfriend got me hooked on the HBO show The Wire. I'm gonna stop saying I'm going to get cable and admit what all my friends, family and students have known for years. I'm not getting cable. Just not.
So I'm watching the show on DVD. There's a character that is oh-so-clearly Ethiopian. Once you've been married to one, you can't fail to spot them dead on. I'm about seven episodes into season one. His character sees the light, is ready to get drug free. (Hmmm. Just saw how that might resonate particularly strongly with me right about now.) For some reason, I get this sudden lust for the character. It reminds me of XYZ. He reminds me of XYZ.
I get a little teary-eyed. It hits me that I didn't file for divorce until I got on the meds.
No, I'm not blaming the meds for my divorce. That was gonna happen more than likely. Pretty likely. I don't regret being divorced. I don't regret the marriage either, mind you. But it made me appreciate that I exited the marriage drugged and, perhaps, have some conscious-level processing still to do. That's when I got up and treated all my plants to food and water, love and care and cleaned them and their environment. All the while, I was processing, wondering.
As some of y'all know, XYZ has a bit of metaphysical inclination to him--how could he not. He's been known to joke/admit that he'd promised me in another life that he'd marry me. He didn't. Perhaps I cursed him. (I'm too karmically aware now for such a trifle). Anyway, he claims to have known he Needed to marry me for karmic reasons. I was neither offended or surprised. In fact, it resonated rather easily with me. Even seemed honest, likely and true.
If I hadn't been left alone on that scary, scary night, I don't think I'd have rushed to marry him. Given his strong desire for children, and worse, for me to be the mother of his children, and my strong disinterest in making them, I have to wonder what either of us were thinking. When both our fathers died within months of each other, each of them offering their blessing to us before they left, we just figured it was all in the master plan.
I can't emphasize enough how much my post-quake state of fear and feeling...ungrounded...contributed to getting married at that time in my life. Again, not to dare to call it any kind of mistake. Just an appreciation of the sequence of events, the timing, the impact.
And so, today I am back to appreciating how things in my life always just seem to flow. I'm trying to say I feel like I just solved a big mystery.
Why two months of night pillow comfort followed by one scary, crazy death-calling night alone? Perhaps to create a karmically needed sense of dependence. A prerequisite to sealing a deal made lifetimes ago? I'm only speculating.
The beautiful part is being able to look back on the quake and the fear and give it a context. A part played. A role. Even if it is the only the fiction of a hyperactive mind, it offers me a comforting perspective from which to take out the senselessness.
Did I mention I'm feeling oh-so-me today?
Oh yeah. And then there's the joy of finding out today that yes, I do have what it takes to process my emotions. When that lusty moment for the Ethiopian actor came upon me and I realize that today was the first day I was dealing with my divorce of 8 years sans medication, there was a temporary fear. What if there are all these emotions and issues that I haven't dealt with that suddenly come to the surface???
I wish you could all hear the hummmpppph I just let out. Yeah, right. You know, fear just really has never been a big part of who I am. I guess that's why the experience of it that fateful quakeful night made such an impact.
It's good to be back.
You may be thinking...you've been that way these last few years. NO. It can be even better. It was even better today. I promised my plants I'd water them. I did...and that was magic. That story later if I get to it.
I went out to return some items I'd bought while on my meds. Things that didn't work out. Good ideas, but not the right implementation. Curtains, for instance. I was gonna do this involved project for my bath. I'd bought a pair from place A and a pair from place B. Took 'em both back. After returning the final item at a store in one of those huge outdoor shopping complexes, I decided to try a few stores. Sans meds, I didn't get in my car to drive from store to store...yes, I usually would.
This time I was in the mood to lolly-gag and walk the 1/2 mile to the next store that sold curtains. Ok, 1/4 mile. It was so totally pleasant. No rush. I end up trying every store in the center that sold any kind of curtains. I exhaust them all and found nothing. As I'm walking back, one of the stores calls to me to come back. I do. I remembered they had nice facilities and nature was calling. If nothing else, that alone was a good reason for a second visit.
I take a little more time, look a little closer at the offerings. While I checking some stuff out, this old woman gets right in my line of sight. I can't believe the audacity. Surely, she couldn't be that unaware of others, that clueless. I guess she heard my thoughts. Or maybe, it was the way I got up from my stooping position and began to walk away. She sees me. Apologizes. We end up having a whole conversation on the high cost of curtains these days. I love her English countryside accent. The Asian chick with her was either a daughter-in-law or live-in assistant. She was none too interested in yet another dilly-dallying conversation with a stranger. I got a thing for English accents so we make it into a whole little powwow on places to shop for curtains, other options like blinds. Sensing that her shopping companion is ready to move on, we end the conversation.
Immediately following that nice little chat, I find this little hidden shelf of goodies--and I do mean hidden. And there I found the curtains that are hanging up in my kitchen right now. Actually it is a perfect valance. Cost? $5 with tax. They were clearance and then a sale on top of that. That's how my life has always been. Is supposed to be. Not the running around buying and returning incomplete project bullshit I got used to.
Thank you angels for putting that old woman in my line of sight and having her slow me down to look at the shelf hidden by hanging curtains directly behind where we chatted. The valance is just the right size to maintain privacy but let in max light from the top half of the window. It even has these little double fabric squares which, with it's perfect width, allow for just the right thickness where I need it.
So what does have to do with the quake? Nothing. Just that when I got home and had the magical shopping experience and then a wonderful hour watering and caring for my plants, I got to wondering how with a life so magically perfect, that whole quake event could have happened the way it did.
I mean, WHY, WHY, WHY was I alone THAT night. XYZ and I had only known each other a couple months, but had spent every single night together from the day we met. EVERY night up and until quake night.
A little detail to add. I only fulfilled my promise to my plants made the day before to water them after I had to turn off my dvd early. Doctorfriend got me hooked on the HBO show The Wire. I'm gonna stop saying I'm going to get cable and admit what all my friends, family and students have known for years. I'm not getting cable. Just not.
So I'm watching the show on DVD. There's a character that is oh-so-clearly Ethiopian. Once you've been married to one, you can't fail to spot them dead on. I'm about seven episodes into season one. His character sees the light, is ready to get drug free. (Hmmm. Just saw how that might resonate particularly strongly with me right about now.) For some reason, I get this sudden lust for the character. It reminds me of XYZ. He reminds me of XYZ.
I get a little teary-eyed. It hits me that I didn't file for divorce until I got on the meds.
No, I'm not blaming the meds for my divorce. That was gonna happen more than likely. Pretty likely. I don't regret being divorced. I don't regret the marriage either, mind you. But it made me appreciate that I exited the marriage drugged and, perhaps, have some conscious-level processing still to do. That's when I got up and treated all my plants to food and water, love and care and cleaned them and their environment. All the while, I was processing, wondering.
As some of y'all know, XYZ has a bit of metaphysical inclination to him--how could he not. He's been known to joke/admit that he'd promised me in another life that he'd marry me. He didn't. Perhaps I cursed him. (I'm too karmically aware now for such a trifle). Anyway, he claims to have known he Needed to marry me for karmic reasons. I was neither offended or surprised. In fact, it resonated rather easily with me. Even seemed honest, likely and true.
If I hadn't been left alone on that scary, scary night, I don't think I'd have rushed to marry him. Given his strong desire for children, and worse, for me to be the mother of his children, and my strong disinterest in making them, I have to wonder what either of us were thinking. When both our fathers died within months of each other, each of them offering their blessing to us before they left, we just figured it was all in the master plan.
I can't emphasize enough how much my post-quake state of fear and feeling...ungrounded...contributed to getting married at that time in my life. Again, not to dare to call it any kind of mistake. Just an appreciation of the sequence of events, the timing, the impact.
And so, today I am back to appreciating how things in my life always just seem to flow. I'm trying to say I feel like I just solved a big mystery.
Why two months of night pillow comfort followed by one scary, crazy death-calling night alone? Perhaps to create a karmically needed sense of dependence. A prerequisite to sealing a deal made lifetimes ago? I'm only speculating.
The beautiful part is being able to look back on the quake and the fear and give it a context. A part played. A role. Even if it is the only the fiction of a hyperactive mind, it offers me a comforting perspective from which to take out the senselessness.
Did I mention I'm feeling oh-so-me today?
Oh yeah. And then there's the joy of finding out today that yes, I do have what it takes to process my emotions. When that lusty moment for the Ethiopian actor came upon me and I realize that today was the first day I was dealing with my divorce of 8 years sans medication, there was a temporary fear. What if there are all these emotions and issues that I haven't dealt with that suddenly come to the surface???
I wish you could all hear the hummmpppph I just let out. Yeah, right. You know, fear just really has never been a big part of who I am. I guess that's why the experience of it that fateful quakeful night made such an impact.
It's good to be back.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
The email that began the blog
So as you know, I've stopped taking my SSRI prescription. My plan was to taper, but then I decided what the heck. Actually, being honest, I shared my taper strategy with my doctorfriend and sensed that her professional opinion was that it wasn't necessary to string it out in the complicated way I described.
Since it had already been a couple days sans meds, I decided to skip the tapering altogether. This afternoon, a Reiki meditation outside. Shared some of the energy with my environs, the trees, and a plant whose health has been failing for some time.
Before I go on...so you'll have some context. I prefer typing my journal entries to writing. I type faster than handwrite. So, instead of typing it just for myself, expect my old-fashioned email journaling to be up and at it again for a while. (ie. expect long emails to be the norm again, for a time, till I stop being fascinated and amazed with every little new awareness through the process.) PSYCHE--NO long emails...just this new blog now.
Before I can tell you the meaning of the subject title, I'd like to go short version on why I got on the meds when I did in the first place. I'd been ADD my whole life. The only difference in my late 20's was law school's set-up made it more obvious that I was using a whole lot of coping strategies to get through my day. Then, right after that, I took a job I never ever talk about, pursuing the title and money, with an "I'll-show-you" motivation 'cause I felt insulted by the meager raise offered from my then soon-to-be-convicted-theif-of-a-boss. (I left a near-perfect gig that would probably have me a big-deal dean about now on an impulse of anger. As the universe would have it, there was an even easier gig waiting for me.)
In that job born of spiteful revenge, the rules of the office changed everyday, my boss was an advanced alcoholic...it was hell for the ADD coping strategies I'd developed and mastered. I looked and felt like I couldn't do shit.
Taadaa.
The diagnosis.
The medication.
In an interesting counseling session, the post-traumatic stress disorder was added to my list of issues. It came out that soon after the Northridge quake, I, like so many others in the water-table area I lived on, were totally and completely freaked out by the experience. For me...I began to imagine a presence in the hallway. Moving through the hall I'd stood in to ride out that extremely long earth rock and roll was fine during the day. At night, especially middle of the night, I could only do it if my honey was home with me. One day soon after the earthquake, I actually had to call my mom to drive 25 miles to pick me up because I couldn't stay in the house one more minute with that "presence." What a Mom!!! She did so without making me feel any crazier, dumb or embarassed than I already felt. No complaints, either. And poor honeyofmine...I insisted he change his work hours because I couldn't get enough sleep for my day job when he worked his crazy night shift. Not only that, since I'm laying it all out, I moved the bed to the dining room until he changed his hours because I couldn't sleep in the room, through the hallway, where I'd experienced that crazy quake. As luck would have it, though we'd spent nearly every night together from the day we met, on the night of the earthquake, before we had married, he spent the night at his sister's house because he felt he'd been neglecting spending time with her when she was the one who'd taken care of him all the years he'd been in the states...till he met me.
In other words...I was madly in love, first night alone, and whamo! I actually had made my peace with God during the earthquake, so certain that the building was coming down, I expeced that hallway door jam was gonna be my swan song.
So back to tonight.
Of course, being the google gal that I am, I totally looked up the possible side effects of cold turkey. Dizziness, insomnia, stuff like that. Sure enough come 11:00pm, I am nowhere near sleepy. Which is also part of my natural rhythm when I can wake up on my own terms, at my own hour...which I did this called-in-sick morning. I try chamomile tea to get sleepy.
With an 8am dentist appointment, I hit the sack and hoped for the sleep. I meditate in bed, first. I've got one of my crystals pumping up my etheric bodies. Yeah, in retrospect, shooting for sleep while coarsing energy through my etheric bodies does seem a bit counter-productive.
I manage to fall asleep, but my head is spinning. To try to describe that sensation would be paragraphs and paragraphs in my current 3:00am inarticulate understanding. Suffice it to say, I'm ready to pop a pill to get some sleep. Not the same pill I'm giving up mind you...but yes, a pill. Baby steps. Larger goals. Dentist appointment at 8am and I don't want to be anxious and moody from lack of sleep. It took two years for me to go back...which is three times faster than usual.
Here's what happens...
My head is spinning. It feels very, very uncomfortable. I decide to go take a sleep-aid. All the tea did was send me from my warm bed out to the restroom several minutes prior.
I get up. I walk to the medicine cabinet. I try to open it. It doesn't move. I freak out. I presume if I turn on the light I'll be able to see why I can't get the cabinet open. As some of my guests have noted, I'm not big on using lights. I walk through my home in the dark more than not cause I already know where everything is. In fact, since I'm putting my true self in print, I have an uncanny ability to see without light. In my home or someplace foreign, if I drop something in the dark, I can "pick-up" its location pretty easy with a little intention to do so. (In case you don't know that about me and were wondering why I didn't reach for the lights first.)
The lights won't come on. I see myself move the switch. But nothing happens. I momentarily wonder if there's some kind of power outage or something.
I return to bed.
And then I'd begin to realize that it was all just a dream. I'd never actually gotten up. My trip from and back to my bed had been just a dream. But it was sufficiently real enough that the spinning stopped.
It would stop long enough for me to fall asleep and then it would return.
This same unsuccessful dream to get the sleep-aid happened twice more over the course of what may have been 30 minutes to an hour. Each time, I grew more and more frustrated that the lights wouldn't click on and that I couldn't open the cabinet. I'd see myself sulk back in confusion to the bed, crawl in, and then realize my body had never left the warmth of the bed. I'd return to myself and then wake up. Talk about an annoying recurring dream.
Finally, after the third, enough is enough. I pull myself out of sleep to get the pill. The pill I didn't really want to take, but felt I needed to have a well-functioning 8:00am trip to the dentist.
Easy pleasy. I get up. I feel my feet on the ground. I double check I can really feel the ground. Lights come on. Cabinet opens...
Back to sleep.
(Then another vivid dream...but I'm getting too sleepy to weave so many intersections in one long email at this hour...so my mind has very kindly made it difficult to access the details of the dream that got me awake enough to come online and share this...)
Here's the beleagured point.
I believe I was doing a very basic out-of-body this evening. The part of me that was ready to get the sleep-aid got up to get it. My body stayed in bed. That's why I couldn't move the cabinet, or move the light switch, but felt like I was certainly and truly in that part of the room. I was. Some portion of my spirit self.
The same spirit self that allows me to see without eyes when I'm looking for something in insufficient light. The same spirit self that allowed me to know, a few weeks back, exactly where a client was when she had walked off--1 1/2 miles from home. I just honed in on her energy. Could practically see her walking down the street. Her mom and family friend had hopped in my car. I offered to help them look, confident we'd find her without random, fruitless street touring. A straight shot. To be honest, even as I was confident of my success, it still surprised me that she was exactly where I saw her.
It's kind of weird to be different...that way.
Which brings me back to my PTSD after the earthquake. Oh yeah, something I dreamt helped me figure this out, and that's when it all added up to something worth sharing...
The reason I couldn't walk through that hallway, the reason I got so overcome with fear and needed my mom to pick me up cause honeydear had the car and was at work, but I couldn't spend not another second inside that apartment...I think the resonance of my fear from that earthquake left the equivalent of a psychic scream footprint in the place I'd stood.
My overall point in sharing this experience is to publicly acknowledge what only my oldest buddy has heard me admit. I stayed on the drugs because it numbed me to my psychic experiences. They scared me. Not "to death" like that Northridge quake, but they always made me feel a little crazy. That my impulsiveness was supposedly muted was just icing.
The experience tonight resolved itself nicely when I could see that what, in the past, would have been hyper vivid dreams, was nothing more than an out-of-body. My PTSD, just a sensitivity to the echoes of my own fears.
One of the consequences of working with my crystals, doing Reiki and all my continued reading and delving into the metaphysical is having reached a level of comfort with my beyond-the-five-senses experiences.
In sum, the reason I decided I can handle getting off the drugs now is 'cause I'm not afraid of feeling crazy anymore.
Thanks, Sistergirl.
It was Sistergirl who made straight-out and clear that the reason I take drugs is because of other people's craziness, not my own. Basically, my fear of being different, of being judged, of being called crazy by people who can do nothing but doubt what my experience tells me is real.
The subject line: Now that I'm more tutored and learned in metaphysics, I no longer fear the label of "crazy" for the experiences I lend myself to in life.
So, that's gotta inspire some thoughts, comments. Share if you like. Or don't.
Since it had already been a couple days sans meds, I decided to skip the tapering altogether. This afternoon, a Reiki meditation outside. Shared some of the energy with my environs, the trees, and a plant whose health has been failing for some time.
Before I go on...so you'll have some context. I prefer typing my journal entries to writing. I type faster than handwrite. So, instead of typing it just for myself, expect my old-fashioned email journaling to be up and at it again for a while. (ie. expect long emails to be the norm again, for a time, till I stop being fascinated and amazed with every little new awareness through the process.) PSYCHE--NO long emails...just this new blog now.
Before I can tell you the meaning of the subject title, I'd like to go short version on why I got on the meds when I did in the first place. I'd been ADD my whole life. The only difference in my late 20's was law school's set-up made it more obvious that I was using a whole lot of coping strategies to get through my day. Then, right after that, I took a job I never ever talk about, pursuing the title and money, with an "I'll-show-you" motivation 'cause I felt insulted by the meager raise offered from my then soon-to-be-convicted-theif-of-a-boss. (I left a near-perfect gig that would probably have me a big-deal dean about now on an impulse of anger. As the universe would have it, there was an even easier gig waiting for me.)
In that job born of spiteful revenge, the rules of the office changed everyday, my boss was an advanced alcoholic...it was hell for the ADD coping strategies I'd developed and mastered. I looked and felt like I couldn't do shit.
Taadaa.
The diagnosis.
The medication.
In an interesting counseling session, the post-traumatic stress disorder was added to my list of issues. It came out that soon after the Northridge quake, I, like so many others in the water-table area I lived on, were totally and completely freaked out by the experience. For me...I began to imagine a presence in the hallway. Moving through the hall I'd stood in to ride out that extremely long earth rock and roll was fine during the day. At night, especially middle of the night, I could only do it if my honey was home with me. One day soon after the earthquake, I actually had to call my mom to drive 25 miles to pick me up because I couldn't stay in the house one more minute with that "presence." What a Mom!!! She did so without making me feel any crazier, dumb or embarassed than I already felt. No complaints, either. And poor honeyofmine...I insisted he change his work hours because I couldn't get enough sleep for my day job when he worked his crazy night shift. Not only that, since I'm laying it all out, I moved the bed to the dining room until he changed his hours because I couldn't sleep in the room, through the hallway, where I'd experienced that crazy quake. As luck would have it, though we'd spent nearly every night together from the day we met, on the night of the earthquake, before we had married, he spent the night at his sister's house because he felt he'd been neglecting spending time with her when she was the one who'd taken care of him all the years he'd been in the states...till he met me.
In other words...I was madly in love, first night alone, and whamo! I actually had made my peace with God during the earthquake, so certain that the building was coming down, I expeced that hallway door jam was gonna be my swan song.
So back to tonight.
Of course, being the google gal that I am, I totally looked up the possible side effects of cold turkey. Dizziness, insomnia, stuff like that. Sure enough come 11:00pm, I am nowhere near sleepy. Which is also part of my natural rhythm when I can wake up on my own terms, at my own hour...which I did this called-in-sick morning. I try chamomile tea to get sleepy.
With an 8am dentist appointment, I hit the sack and hoped for the sleep. I meditate in bed, first. I've got one of my crystals pumping up my etheric bodies. Yeah, in retrospect, shooting for sleep while coarsing energy through my etheric bodies does seem a bit counter-productive.
I manage to fall asleep, but my head is spinning. To try to describe that sensation would be paragraphs and paragraphs in my current 3:00am inarticulate understanding. Suffice it to say, I'm ready to pop a pill to get some sleep. Not the same pill I'm giving up mind you...but yes, a pill. Baby steps. Larger goals. Dentist appointment at 8am and I don't want to be anxious and moody from lack of sleep. It took two years for me to go back...which is three times faster than usual.
Here's what happens...
My head is spinning. It feels very, very uncomfortable. I decide to go take a sleep-aid. All the tea did was send me from my warm bed out to the restroom several minutes prior.
I get up. I walk to the medicine cabinet. I try to open it. It doesn't move. I freak out. I presume if I turn on the light I'll be able to see why I can't get the cabinet open. As some of my guests have noted, I'm not big on using lights. I walk through my home in the dark more than not cause I already know where everything is. In fact, since I'm putting my true self in print, I have an uncanny ability to see without light. In my home or someplace foreign, if I drop something in the dark, I can "pick-up" its location pretty easy with a little intention to do so. (In case you don't know that about me and were wondering why I didn't reach for the lights first.)
The lights won't come on. I see myself move the switch. But nothing happens. I momentarily wonder if there's some kind of power outage or something.
I return to bed.
And then I'd begin to realize that it was all just a dream. I'd never actually gotten up. My trip from and back to my bed had been just a dream. But it was sufficiently real enough that the spinning stopped.
It would stop long enough for me to fall asleep and then it would return.
This same unsuccessful dream to get the sleep-aid happened twice more over the course of what may have been 30 minutes to an hour. Each time, I grew more and more frustrated that the lights wouldn't click on and that I couldn't open the cabinet. I'd see myself sulk back in confusion to the bed, crawl in, and then realize my body had never left the warmth of the bed. I'd return to myself and then wake up. Talk about an annoying recurring dream.
Finally, after the third, enough is enough. I pull myself out of sleep to get the pill. The pill I didn't really want to take, but felt I needed to have a well-functioning 8:00am trip to the dentist.
Easy pleasy. I get up. I feel my feet on the ground. I double check I can really feel the ground. Lights come on. Cabinet opens...
Back to sleep.
(Then another vivid dream...but I'm getting too sleepy to weave so many intersections in one long email at this hour...so my mind has very kindly made it difficult to access the details of the dream that got me awake enough to come online and share this...)
Here's the beleagured point.
I believe I was doing a very basic out-of-body this evening. The part of me that was ready to get the sleep-aid got up to get it. My body stayed in bed. That's why I couldn't move the cabinet, or move the light switch, but felt like I was certainly and truly in that part of the room. I was. Some portion of my spirit self.
The same spirit self that allows me to see without eyes when I'm looking for something in insufficient light. The same spirit self that allowed me to know, a few weeks back, exactly where a client was when she had walked off--1 1/2 miles from home. I just honed in on her energy. Could practically see her walking down the street. Her mom and family friend had hopped in my car. I offered to help them look, confident we'd find her without random, fruitless street touring. A straight shot. To be honest, even as I was confident of my success, it still surprised me that she was exactly where I saw her.
It's kind of weird to be different...that way.
Which brings me back to my PTSD after the earthquake. Oh yeah, something I dreamt helped me figure this out, and that's when it all added up to something worth sharing...
The reason I couldn't walk through that hallway, the reason I got so overcome with fear and needed my mom to pick me up cause honeydear had the car and was at work, but I couldn't spend not another second inside that apartment...I think the resonance of my fear from that earthquake left the equivalent of a psychic scream footprint in the place I'd stood.
My overall point in sharing this experience is to publicly acknowledge what only my oldest buddy has heard me admit. I stayed on the drugs because it numbed me to my psychic experiences. They scared me. Not "to death" like that Northridge quake, but they always made me feel a little crazy. That my impulsiveness was supposedly muted was just icing.
The experience tonight resolved itself nicely when I could see that what, in the past, would have been hyper vivid dreams, was nothing more than an out-of-body. My PTSD, just a sensitivity to the echoes of my own fears.
One of the consequences of working with my crystals, doing Reiki and all my continued reading and delving into the metaphysical is having reached a level of comfort with my beyond-the-five-senses experiences.
In sum, the reason I decided I can handle getting off the drugs now is 'cause I'm not afraid of feeling crazy anymore.
Thanks, Sistergirl.
It was Sistergirl who made straight-out and clear that the reason I take drugs is because of other people's craziness, not my own. Basically, my fear of being different, of being judged, of being called crazy by people who can do nothing but doubt what my experience tells me is real.
The subject line: Now that I'm more tutored and learned in metaphysics, I no longer fear the label of "crazy" for the experiences I lend myself to in life.
So, that's gotta inspire some thoughts, comments. Share if you like. Or don't.
Welcome
So...Here's the deal. I'm not interested in forcing folks to hear my musings. After sending out a really, really...really...long email last night, I realized that I don't like the idea that maybe I'm forcing myself, my views, my eagerness to share, vent, relate on folks who might prefer to just keep life a little lighter, a little simpler.
To that end...I've set up this blog instead. At any time, you can come online and read up on the latest, greatest news in my spiritual, personal transformation and development.
If I can find a way to limit the readership to invited folks only, I may do that at some point. For now I"m gonna let it ride.
My ONLY request.
No..My ONLY requirement for those of you who know me is that you let me stay private. Share a blog or the whole site if you like with folks I don't know. I only ask that if you read something worth sharing, share the reading and not ME. If they don't already know me, there's a reason. Leave it that way.
For now, I'm allowing readers to post comments. If I see something I don't like, I'll delete it. If I see a bunch of stuff I don't like, I'll just stop allowing it. My blog, my prerogative.
That's all for now. On some occasions, I may send an email to someone(s) to let them know something of interest to them may be up. Or highlight a new posting. Otherwise....
Consider this my attempt at being a little more considerate.
To that end...I've set up this blog instead. At any time, you can come online and read up on the latest, greatest news in my spiritual, personal transformation and development.
If I can find a way to limit the readership to invited folks only, I may do that at some point. For now I"m gonna let it ride.
My ONLY request.
No..My ONLY requirement for those of you who know me is that you let me stay private. Share a blog or the whole site if you like with folks I don't know. I only ask that if you read something worth sharing, share the reading and not ME. If they don't already know me, there's a reason. Leave it that way.
For now, I'm allowing readers to post comments. If I see something I don't like, I'll delete it. If I see a bunch of stuff I don't like, I'll just stop allowing it. My blog, my prerogative.
That's all for now. On some occasions, I may send an email to someone(s) to let them know something of interest to them may be up. Or highlight a new posting. Otherwise....
Consider this my attempt at being a little more considerate.
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