the most basic Me
Friday, January 04, 2008
The commandments:
1. Be Theresa
2. Love
3. be truthful
4. Integrity
5. listen
6. pay attention
7. art is an act of love
8. dance and sing daily
9. put a bit of color love beauty in the world today
10. laugh and smile (your smile is a gift of love to those around you) ¶ 11:39 AM 0 comments
1. Be Theresa
2. Love
3. be truthful
4. Integrity
5. listen
6. pay attention
7. art is an act of love
8. dance and sing daily
9. put a bit of color love beauty in the world today
10. laugh and smile (your smile is a gift of love to those around you) ¶ 11:39 AM 0 comments
Friday, August 18, 2006
Lessons
I learned this week that when people share gossip with you saying that they are warning you what is being said about you, to make you aware you have enemies, to make you aware of what is going on...really, they tell you as a confession. You listen to bless them like a priest in the confessonal, they go away cleansed and you hope you can eventually be cleansed as well.
My husband tells me I am the nicest person he knows. That I am incredibly sweet and don't deserve this.
I wonder. My heart reminds me of all the little lies, all the small gossips. I try, I really try to squash my need to gossip, but I know, I'm not innocent of gossip. Still, I don't believe I've ever bandied about anything as wicked as what they are saying about me (unless we go back to high school, high school girls are cruel cruel cruel. Perhaps this karma comes from there).
I've learned this week that I'm more beautiful, more powerful and more of a threat to women around me than I have ever been in my life. Why? I don't know. With power, with presence, with success comes hatred, dislike, gossip and attacks. Life lessons.
So, this too will pass.
A friend told a story. When she was younger, she worked for an older doctor--he was perhaps 60, but looked younger. She had worked for him several years and one day he told her...you know, people talk about us. Really? she said. They say we have a thing going on, he laughed. Its ok though. Why is it ok, she said. Well, if they are talking about us, they aren't attacking anyone else.
So, if they attack me, they aren't attacking anyone else. Is that a comfort?
The hurt, of course, is the originator of the stories. A friend, someone I trusted, gave my love to, protected, defended from other people that would gossip and attack her. She made these stories up, sewn together from bits of truth, outright fabrication and a need to hurt the things I love most in my life right now. I wander, how badly is she hurting to have this strong need to attack me? I wonder, why did she never once ask me my version, confirm any portion of what she thought happened? That's what hurts most--the real person who hurt her, a man....she attacked me instead of him and I never saw it coming.
These things pass. People forget. the people that share rumors, believe them, dislike me...they would find another reason to dislike me.
I've learned that I have an almost phobic fear of being disliked. I've been dealing...healing this fear ever since I moved here to the desert. Many of my lessons in the last year have dealt with the need to heal and move past this need to be liked by all. A fear of doing anything that could possibly make people dislike me.
Something like this would have half-killed me a year ago...I'm not sure I..oh. Nonsense. You can handle most anything...think of your life: a childhood of emotional trama, your mother dies when you are 23, your sister 5 years later. You work like a dog, endure sexual discrimination at work, survive post-partum depression, panic attacks. You leave an old life behind, you create a new life in a new place. You've climbed mountains, hiked in other countries, eaten mussels crawling with sea creatures on a raft with white wine, made friends, lost friends, have been punished by love and given the gift of true love, birthed a child without drugs, raised that child.
I'll be fine! ¶ 7:35 PM 0 comments
I learned this week that when people share gossip with you saying that they are warning you what is being said about you, to make you aware you have enemies, to make you aware of what is going on...really, they tell you as a confession. You listen to bless them like a priest in the confessonal, they go away cleansed and you hope you can eventually be cleansed as well.
My husband tells me I am the nicest person he knows. That I am incredibly sweet and don't deserve this.
I wonder. My heart reminds me of all the little lies, all the small gossips. I try, I really try to squash my need to gossip, but I know, I'm not innocent of gossip. Still, I don't believe I've ever bandied about anything as wicked as what they are saying about me (unless we go back to high school, high school girls are cruel cruel cruel. Perhaps this karma comes from there).
I've learned this week that I'm more beautiful, more powerful and more of a threat to women around me than I have ever been in my life. Why? I don't know. With power, with presence, with success comes hatred, dislike, gossip and attacks. Life lessons.
So, this too will pass.
A friend told a story. When she was younger, she worked for an older doctor--he was perhaps 60, but looked younger. She had worked for him several years and one day he told her...you know, people talk about us. Really? she said. They say we have a thing going on, he laughed. Its ok though. Why is it ok, she said. Well, if they are talking about us, they aren't attacking anyone else.
So, if they attack me, they aren't attacking anyone else. Is that a comfort?
The hurt, of course, is the originator of the stories. A friend, someone I trusted, gave my love to, protected, defended from other people that would gossip and attack her. She made these stories up, sewn together from bits of truth, outright fabrication and a need to hurt the things I love most in my life right now. I wander, how badly is she hurting to have this strong need to attack me? I wonder, why did she never once ask me my version, confirm any portion of what she thought happened? That's what hurts most--the real person who hurt her, a man....she attacked me instead of him and I never saw it coming.
These things pass. People forget. the people that share rumors, believe them, dislike me...they would find another reason to dislike me.
I've learned that I have an almost phobic fear of being disliked. I've been dealing...healing this fear ever since I moved here to the desert. Many of my lessons in the last year have dealt with the need to heal and move past this need to be liked by all. A fear of doing anything that could possibly make people dislike me.
Something like this would have half-killed me a year ago...I'm not sure I..oh. Nonsense. You can handle most anything...think of your life: a childhood of emotional trama, your mother dies when you are 23, your sister 5 years later. You work like a dog, endure sexual discrimination at work, survive post-partum depression, panic attacks. You leave an old life behind, you create a new life in a new place. You've climbed mountains, hiked in other countries, eaten mussels crawling with sea creatures on a raft with white wine, made friends, lost friends, have been punished by love and given the gift of true love, birthed a child without drugs, raised that child.
I'll be fine! ¶ 7:35 PM 0 comments
I’ve entered another world. A world where the divine takes care of you if you just put yourself in her hands.
I walked off the cliff. I expected something to catch me. As if by force of will I could manifest angels to watch me on my way. Or perhaps out of an inner understanding that they’ve been there all along and I’ve forgotten to ask them for help.
Free falling takes some getting used to. Some days, I pause and question what the hell I’m doing—I wake briefly and realize I’m thousands of feet up and floating. I wonder, “why am I writing this check?” I have no guarantee there will be money in the bank when it cashes! But the money comes. I think, “I really need someone to just sit with that makes me feel good for awhile”…and they come.
I hear two conversations at all times. I hear what others say, what I say, I see what they do, how they sit, the set of their mouth, the slouch of their shoulders. High and tight, loose and relaxed. I see their hands flash to their pain, or reach for understanding. And I hear our spirits chit-chatting, the dance of auras moving between us. Sometimes, I see a puzzled glance flash from the person and know they have felt the dance too, if only briefly.
It is easy to tell when I’m understanding the truth of a spirit conversation—spirits attract, repel, they dance in one another’s energy, they nuzzle and cuddle, play tug of war. The heart leaps in joy at connection, or is sluggishly sad that the other heart can’t love yet. Only the ego speaks worlds of resentment, of comments on looks, of comments on the appropriateness of dress or vocation. Only the ego ignores the divine in the other person—the spirits always sniff one another, like reunited wolves, nodding and bowing and sniffing, circling in perfect dance.
I feel people’s bodies, their energy moving through me. It is strange, to feel someone’s nervousness, excitement, or pain as if it were your own. My spirit leaps at times, wanting to sooth and heal them, but my ego doesn’t yet know how. I smile and listen to them. Perhaps that is enough.
I realized the other day that it is impossible to lose anyone. Once we have connected, our spirits know one another forever. Perhaps we already knew one another and just appreciated the reminder of home. ¶ 7:35 PM 0 comments
I walked off the cliff. I expected something to catch me. As if by force of will I could manifest angels to watch me on my way. Or perhaps out of an inner understanding that they’ve been there all along and I’ve forgotten to ask them for help.
Free falling takes some getting used to. Some days, I pause and question what the hell I’m doing—I wake briefly and realize I’m thousands of feet up and floating. I wonder, “why am I writing this check?” I have no guarantee there will be money in the bank when it cashes! But the money comes. I think, “I really need someone to just sit with that makes me feel good for awhile”…and they come.
I hear two conversations at all times. I hear what others say, what I say, I see what they do, how they sit, the set of their mouth, the slouch of their shoulders. High and tight, loose and relaxed. I see their hands flash to their pain, or reach for understanding. And I hear our spirits chit-chatting, the dance of auras moving between us. Sometimes, I see a puzzled glance flash from the person and know they have felt the dance too, if only briefly.
It is easy to tell when I’m understanding the truth of a spirit conversation—spirits attract, repel, they dance in one another’s energy, they nuzzle and cuddle, play tug of war. The heart leaps in joy at connection, or is sluggishly sad that the other heart can’t love yet. Only the ego speaks worlds of resentment, of comments on looks, of comments on the appropriateness of dress or vocation. Only the ego ignores the divine in the other person—the spirits always sniff one another, like reunited wolves, nodding and bowing and sniffing, circling in perfect dance.
I feel people’s bodies, their energy moving through me. It is strange, to feel someone’s nervousness, excitement, or pain as if it were your own. My spirit leaps at times, wanting to sooth and heal them, but my ego doesn’t yet know how. I smile and listen to them. Perhaps that is enough.
I realized the other day that it is impossible to lose anyone. Once we have connected, our spirits know one another forever. Perhaps we already knew one another and just appreciated the reminder of home. ¶ 7:35 PM 0 comments
Monday, August 14, 2006
Little Rituals
Little rituals can be vital to the shape of my day. I had a powerful reminder of this the other day when my husband suggested I learn to drink my tea in the morning with regular milk. To his surprise, I started crying.
I’ve packed my life so full right now that I sometimes feel I don’t even have time to breathe. Certainly, I’m less stressed that previous times in my life-I’ve learned coping strategies that help maintain balance, but the fact remains that my weeks are so full, I have little leisure. One thing that I do have in my days is my little rituals.
In the morning, I make myself a cup of tea. Until a few weeks ago, this was an elaborate coffee ritual, but I’ve switched to tea. The tea: equal trade darjeeling. Water: brought to a rolling boil. the tea bag carefully steeped about 3-4 minutes until it is a rich, translucent brown. In a china mug--not plastic. a small amount of sugar, just to bring the taste of the tea out a tad. And Whipped Cream on top.
The whipped cream is my extravagance. Such a luxury--frothy white and slightly sugary. half and half doesn’t have the rich fattiness of whipping cream.
My husbands error was simply not understanding how very much this luxury has come to mean. My one time of the day I allow myself to fully relax. No work, no fretting, just me focused on setting up, making, and drinking this cup of tea.
Afterwards, life comes crashing in, but for 15 minutes in the morning, I have luxury. ¶ 8:21 AM 0 comments
Little rituals can be vital to the shape of my day. I had a powerful reminder of this the other day when my husband suggested I learn to drink my tea in the morning with regular milk. To his surprise, I started crying.
I’ve packed my life so full right now that I sometimes feel I don’t even have time to breathe. Certainly, I’m less stressed that previous times in my life-I’ve learned coping strategies that help maintain balance, but the fact remains that my weeks are so full, I have little leisure. One thing that I do have in my days is my little rituals.
In the morning, I make myself a cup of tea. Until a few weeks ago, this was an elaborate coffee ritual, but I’ve switched to tea. The tea: equal trade darjeeling. Water: brought to a rolling boil. the tea bag carefully steeped about 3-4 minutes until it is a rich, translucent brown. In a china mug--not plastic. a small amount of sugar, just to bring the taste of the tea out a tad. And Whipped Cream on top.
The whipped cream is my extravagance. Such a luxury--frothy white and slightly sugary. half and half doesn’t have the rich fattiness of whipping cream.
My husbands error was simply not understanding how very much this luxury has come to mean. My one time of the day I allow myself to fully relax. No work, no fretting, just me focused on setting up, making, and drinking this cup of tea.
Afterwards, life comes crashing in, but for 15 minutes in the morning, I have luxury. ¶ 8:21 AM 0 comments
Sunday, July 30, 2006
I asked for clarity, understanding of his feelings, and prediction.
I had three dreams:
In one, one of my Aunts had died, August 17th. We were looking at old albums and newspaper clippings and I was trying to figure out what happened to her. What year, I have no idea. There was confusion as to which aunt had passed on. I woke hoping that was an attempt to process my mother's death rather than a prediction.
In another, I was flirting with a man in front of my husband (understand, this is an allowed thing in our marriage), but I didn't want things to go too far though it was very exciting. I later went to the man's place of work, he was a police officer and he was in trouble--supposively for having sex with me. Of course, we hadn't and I was glad because he wasn't in trouble any longer.
In the third, I was on a luxury boat. I was with a man--my husband, lover? I don't know which. I was a beautiful trim blond. There was another woman there, a beautiful blond--we looked like twins. I knew she was after the man and I refused to leave his side. Finally, I got up and said I was going downstairs to shower and take a nap. A look passed between the two and I knew, he was already lost to me. I went downstairs and turned on the water, but immediately went back up--they were already making out. The thing is--at the beginning of the dream, I'm not sure which woman was me.
The meaning seems most clear in the third dream. You see, I've had this ongoing flirtation with a married male friend of mine. We've never touched--we've made it very clear that there won't be an affair. But his feelings for me confuse me--I can never even figure out if he's really enjoying the friendship or just humoring me. Funny, that we can have an open converation about what the relationship isn't, but can't about what it is. I think the third dream may be about him--that he is that man--interchangeable women. I'm just a cute face to flirt with, nothing more. The next woman that comes along will mean just as much. Of course, it could be about me--a possible future if I keep flirting with other men. Older, dating/married to a rich man, but interchangable, ready to be cast off as old goods even when I'm still as pretty and trim as the next woman.
The night before I had three dreams as well. I hadn't asked for anything in particular. These dreams were vivid and haunting--the kind you can't shake the next day.
In the first, I saw an angel. She was real. I was watching the sunset and suddenly the world twisted and I saw a huge shape rise and coalesce into the shape of a woman, then a dragon, then a horse with wings. She was riding the horse and they turned and swept through the sky.
In the second, I was running from something. It reminded me of the Aladdin story--I was escaping a magician of sorts. My german shepherd Udo was running with me and lights blinked and glowed under his skin. We arrived at a house--a place of safety--but for some reason I didn't think it appropriate to let the dog in. But I was worried "they" would find him with the blinking lights. I was holding him, looking at the lights and wondering how to save him.
In the third, I was in a house, in a room with my husband. I could hear voices in the house, other people settling in for bed. I got up, walking the dark halls and suddenly someone grabbed hold of me. I felt myself embraced against the chest of a tall man and knew who it was. I felt so safe, so secure, so happy to be there. I knew I was going to be kissed, but I couldn't move suddenly, I was frozen, leaning backwards. And worried that my mouth had that night taste in it. Inappropriate for a first kiss. I unfroze, but we just stood there, holding one another in a hug. I woke. ¶ 10:39 AM 0 comments
I had three dreams:
In one, one of my Aunts had died, August 17th. We were looking at old albums and newspaper clippings and I was trying to figure out what happened to her. What year, I have no idea. There was confusion as to which aunt had passed on. I woke hoping that was an attempt to process my mother's death rather than a prediction.
In another, I was flirting with a man in front of my husband (understand, this is an allowed thing in our marriage), but I didn't want things to go too far though it was very exciting. I later went to the man's place of work, he was a police officer and he was in trouble--supposively for having sex with me. Of course, we hadn't and I was glad because he wasn't in trouble any longer.
In the third, I was on a luxury boat. I was with a man--my husband, lover? I don't know which. I was a beautiful trim blond. There was another woman there, a beautiful blond--we looked like twins. I knew she was after the man and I refused to leave his side. Finally, I got up and said I was going downstairs to shower and take a nap. A look passed between the two and I knew, he was already lost to me. I went downstairs and turned on the water, but immediately went back up--they were already making out. The thing is--at the beginning of the dream, I'm not sure which woman was me.
The meaning seems most clear in the third dream. You see, I've had this ongoing flirtation with a married male friend of mine. We've never touched--we've made it very clear that there won't be an affair. But his feelings for me confuse me--I can never even figure out if he's really enjoying the friendship or just humoring me. Funny, that we can have an open converation about what the relationship isn't, but can't about what it is. I think the third dream may be about him--that he is that man--interchangeable women. I'm just a cute face to flirt with, nothing more. The next woman that comes along will mean just as much. Of course, it could be about me--a possible future if I keep flirting with other men. Older, dating/married to a rich man, but interchangable, ready to be cast off as old goods even when I'm still as pretty and trim as the next woman.
The night before I had three dreams as well. I hadn't asked for anything in particular. These dreams were vivid and haunting--the kind you can't shake the next day.
In the first, I saw an angel. She was real. I was watching the sunset and suddenly the world twisted and I saw a huge shape rise and coalesce into the shape of a woman, then a dragon, then a horse with wings. She was riding the horse and they turned and swept through the sky.
In the second, I was running from something. It reminded me of the Aladdin story--I was escaping a magician of sorts. My german shepherd Udo was running with me and lights blinked and glowed under his skin. We arrived at a house--a place of safety--but for some reason I didn't think it appropriate to let the dog in. But I was worried "they" would find him with the blinking lights. I was holding him, looking at the lights and wondering how to save him.
In the third, I was in a house, in a room with my husband. I could hear voices in the house, other people settling in for bed. I got up, walking the dark halls and suddenly someone grabbed hold of me. I felt myself embraced against the chest of a tall man and knew who it was. I felt so safe, so secure, so happy to be there. I knew I was going to be kissed, but I couldn't move suddenly, I was frozen, leaning backwards. And worried that my mouth had that night taste in it. Inappropriate for a first kiss. I unfroze, but we just stood there, holding one another in a hug. I woke. ¶ 10:39 AM 0 comments
Thursday, July 27, 2006
I think it's past time to do a catch-up post--who am I now, what am I doing with my life??
(whenever I ponder this, the start of a poem chants in my head...I am mother, daughter, sister, lover. /I am biologist, trivia gura, friend, and poet. /I am here and now, there and then /and finding my way back again. /tell me where are you if you want my truth?....)
we traveled for almost a year. I grew. I went through a long wake-up out of mania from too many years of hard work, brain-drain, depression and not dealing with grief and anger. I did the Artists Way and found more drawer in me than writer at that time. I opened up again. My husband and I began to love again after sleepwalking in our relationship for years. I watched my daughter grow.
We moved to Tucson. I opened a business. I alternate between workaholic and learning to love my family, balance my work, and learning so very much about myself. I healed a lot. I am no longer in constant pain (my back had developed a constant ache). I am writing again. I am finding a community. I am finding wonderful friends and at the same time just lost a friendship--can I even remember ever loosing a friendship I couldn't (or didn't want to?) fix?
I am sad that she hates me so much and don't know what I did other than be. But I've learned that I have a overdeveloped need to be loved--I freak if I think someone doesn't like....but I've started to outgrow that...I can handle it. I deal with too many people now to not have some people decide they don't like me!
I'm learning how differnet being an employee is from being a business owner. ¶ 5:41 PM 0 comments
(whenever I ponder this, the start of a poem chants in my head...I am mother, daughter, sister, lover. /I am biologist, trivia gura, friend, and poet. /I am here and now, there and then /and finding my way back again. /tell me where are you if you want my truth?....)
we traveled for almost a year. I grew. I went through a long wake-up out of mania from too many years of hard work, brain-drain, depression and not dealing with grief and anger. I did the Artists Way and found more drawer in me than writer at that time. I opened up again. My husband and I began to love again after sleepwalking in our relationship for years. I watched my daughter grow.
We moved to Tucson. I opened a business. I alternate between workaholic and learning to love my family, balance my work, and learning so very much about myself. I healed a lot. I am no longer in constant pain (my back had developed a constant ache). I am writing again. I am finding a community. I am finding wonderful friends and at the same time just lost a friendship--can I even remember ever loosing a friendship I couldn't (or didn't want to?) fix?
I am sad that she hates me so much and don't know what I did other than be. But I've learned that I have a overdeveloped need to be loved--I freak if I think someone doesn't like....but I've started to outgrow that...I can handle it. I deal with too many people now to not have some people decide they don't like me!
I'm learning how differnet being an employee is from being a business owner. ¶ 5:41 PM 0 comments
I realized I had posted the genesis of a recent poem a few weeks ago--my May 13th entry. The finished poem:
The Veil
We ride between the slip-stream
the soul between
folding pressure of time,
a dance in electric emotion.
your heart calls to mine,
but there is no distance
between us.
We are the same
One
conversation under skin
a power dance,
romance across lines of flowing white
tendrils catch me in a silky web of
comforting seduction before the feast.
veil pierced
time slips
past and present one
how do we know where to go?
when to go?
how to go?
we only know the taste
of need to know
how to close the distance,
but there is no distance
between us we
are the same
One
Feast that satisfies no physical hunger.
Soul need
Swallow this sticky soul bun,
this chakra salsa, cinnamon dance.
Heart beat music
swallows the sound
of memory connecting cells.
Now
there is no distance
between us. We are the same
One. ¶ 5:38 PM 0 comments
The Veil
We ride between the slip-stream
the soul between
folding pressure of time,
a dance in electric emotion.
your heart calls to mine,
but there is no distance
between us.
We are the same
One
conversation under skin
a power dance,
romance across lines of flowing white
tendrils catch me in a silky web of
comforting seduction before the feast.
veil pierced
time slips
past and present one
how do we know where to go?
when to go?
how to go?
we only know the taste
of need to know
how to close the distance,
but there is no distance
between us we
are the same
One
Feast that satisfies no physical hunger.
Soul need
Swallow this sticky soul bun,
this chakra salsa, cinnamon dance.
Heart beat music
swallows the sound
of memory connecting cells.
Now
there is no distance
between us. We are the same
One. ¶ 5:38 PM 0 comments
Seems like I'm missing a post somewhere, but oh well.
I wonder at my attitude today--am I getting older and wiser or just more lax? I am currently working two jobs--I own a company and work part time as a consultant. Today I was feeling really ill--partially from my period, but much more than normal pain and nausea. Consequently, even though there was a deadline today, I found myself unable to bring my focus to working on a document that was due for the consulting firm.
A very small part of me worries that I've 'let them down' and the owner will 'be mad at me', but to be honest, I can't bring myself to too big a sense of worry or my old sense of impending doom. I think, well, what if I am fired or they cut hours--more time for my business. I am financially fine for the next two weeks--I can always sell more ads. What a stage I've come to!! Being fine if only I have money to cover two weeks of expenses!!!
To be truthful, if I look at my pattern over the last few years, it is obvious that consulting is just not for me any more. I thought this job would work because it is so much more just research and flex hours and so forth. And actually, it has been fun. Until there is a deadline!!
Part of this work and recent reading of Michael Crichton's State of Fear has led to a place where I wonder if I may start trying to write some science articles...exposes...perhaps commenting on endangered species listing packages or environmental group letters on my own.
I do feel it is time to start writing again. I have been writing more poetry (I actually submitted one to an online magazine and was accepted--I must say though that I'm not really that impressed with their overall quality and I smell "vanity press:). I am so impressed with my friend A--she's writing a novel. She jsut decided to and is writing every night. I "wish" I could do that. Of course, that's silly to say...If I truly wished it, I'd do it. I have learned that I am fully in control of what I do and what my priorities are!
A lesson that I've learned in the last year: I truly do have the ability to choose my attitude. I can be depressed and worried, or I can be positive and happy (and thereby manifesting good things). The other day, I started worrying and getting sad again about the recent breakup of a friendship and I told myself, "you are not going to be stressed. Think of all the wonderful things that are going to happen in the next week." And I came up with a list of things--one of which was receiving at least $1000 in income--and I got to the post office and had over $900 in income. This has become normal in my life right now--I hold the ability to manifest positive change or negative energy and fears.
A couple recent poems (the second one being the better, the first more illustrative of my mood last weekend!):
I wonder at my attitude today--am I getting older and wiser or just more lax? I am currently working two jobs--I own a company and work part time as a consultant. Today I was feeling really ill--partially from my period, but much more than normal pain and nausea. Consequently, even though there was a deadline today, I found myself unable to bring my focus to working on a document that was due for the consulting firm.
A very small part of me worries that I've 'let them down' and the owner will 'be mad at me', but to be honest, I can't bring myself to too big a sense of worry or my old sense of impending doom. I think, well, what if I am fired or they cut hours--more time for my business. I am financially fine for the next two weeks--I can always sell more ads. What a stage I've come to!! Being fine if only I have money to cover two weeks of expenses!!!
To be truthful, if I look at my pattern over the last few years, it is obvious that consulting is just not for me any more. I thought this job would work because it is so much more just research and flex hours and so forth. And actually, it has been fun. Until there is a deadline!!
Part of this work and recent reading of Michael Crichton's State of Fear has led to a place where I wonder if I may start trying to write some science articles...exposes...perhaps commenting on endangered species listing packages or environmental group letters on my own.
I do feel it is time to start writing again. I have been writing more poetry (I actually submitted one to an online magazine and was accepted--I must say though that I'm not really that impressed with their overall quality and I smell "vanity press:). I am so impressed with my friend A--she's writing a novel. She jsut decided to and is writing every night. I "wish" I could do that. Of course, that's silly to say...If I truly wished it, I'd do it. I have learned that I am fully in control of what I do and what my priorities are!
A lesson that I've learned in the last year: I truly do have the ability to choose my attitude. I can be depressed and worried, or I can be positive and happy (and thereby manifesting good things). The other day, I started worrying and getting sad again about the recent breakup of a friendship and I told myself, "you are not going to be stressed. Think of all the wonderful things that are going to happen in the next week." And I came up with a list of things--one of which was receiving at least $1000 in income--and I got to the post office and had over $900 in income. This has become normal in my life right now--I hold the ability to manifest positive change or negative energy and fears.
A couple recent poems (the second one being the better, the first more illustrative of my mood last weekend!):
Saturday Morning
He said I looked bored.
He joked, “Do you want me to wake the baby?”
I was on the couch, looking at a mesquite tree.
The tree is framed perfectly, billowing
and waving in the wind. Fine wispy, yellow-green leaves
against patches of pale blue. The flowers have all fallen
except for one, small and yellow. It looks lonely there at the top.
A few old seed pods here and there,
but this year’s crop
is not ripe.
“I’m fine here,” I said.
Having nothing to do,
nothing to say,
no where to be
is a luxury.
He said I looked bored.
He joked, “Do you want me to wake the baby?”
I was on the couch, looking at a mesquite tree.
The tree is framed perfectly, billowing
and waving in the wind. Fine wispy, yellow-green leaves
against patches of pale blue. The flowers have all fallen
except for one, small and yellow. It looks lonely there at the top.
A few old seed pods here and there,
but this year’s crop
is not ripe.
“I’m fine here,” I said.
Having nothing to do,
nothing to say,
no where to be
is a luxury.
The shape of grief
When I was a child, my mother wept quietly
behind the closed doors and yelled
through the open ones.
My father was quiet during both the yelling and weeping.
When I was older, she sometimes asked me to hold her tears.
I grew frustrated that they fell so easily through my fingers.
My father watched quietly as I searched for a bowl to contain them.
I finally found, hidden in a cupboard,
a hand-carved bowl.
I hated her for the weakness of tears,
for asking me to hold the shape of her grief.
I loved the quiet impassiveness of my father’s calm watching.
It was only later, I watched quietly, calm and impassive
as my father cried over her grave, that I remembered her words,
“Please, someone help me.”
I wondered if he wished he hadn’t carved the bowl?
I wondered if he wished he had been the one to hold her tears?
¶ 5:20 PM 0 comments When I was a child, my mother wept quietly
behind the closed doors and yelled
through the open ones.
My father was quiet during both the yelling and weeping.
When I was older, she sometimes asked me to hold her tears.
I grew frustrated that they fell so easily through my fingers.
My father watched quietly as I searched for a bowl to contain them.
I finally found, hidden in a cupboard,
a hand-carved bowl.
I hated her for the weakness of tears,
for asking me to hold the shape of her grief.
I loved the quiet impassiveness of my father’s calm watching.
It was only later, I watched quietly, calm and impassive
as my father cried over her grave, that I remembered her words,
“Please, someone help me.”
I wondered if he wished he hadn’t carved the bowl?
I wondered if he wished he had been the one to hold her tears?
Friday, July 07, 2006
Thoughts are energy. What you spend your energy on will manifest in some way.
So if I'm 'wasting' energy on things I don't want (ie focusing on fears), obsessing about unimportant things (minor friendships?), etc....I'm missing a wonderful oportunity to manifest good things in my life.
I'm feeling a bit stuck in my business right now. Things are going really well, I'm just getting a bit overwhelmed. I'm trying to learn a new internal dialogue--and doing well at it. Last week I just let myself get a bit to tired and overworked. This week I've taken time off and have given myself a mental break--I have to let myself unwind and find time to be creative.
I'm feeling so much better this afternoon! ¶ 2:56 PM 0 comments
So if I'm 'wasting' energy on things I don't want (ie focusing on fears), obsessing about unimportant things (minor friendships?), etc....I'm missing a wonderful oportunity to manifest good things in my life.
I'm feeling a bit stuck in my business right now. Things are going really well, I'm just getting a bit overwhelmed. I'm trying to learn a new internal dialogue--and doing well at it. Last week I just let myself get a bit to tired and overworked. This week I've taken time off and have given myself a mental break--I have to let myself unwind and find time to be creative.
I'm feeling so much better this afternoon! ¶ 2:56 PM 0 comments
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Reality seems to have slipped this morning. I've been feeling the veil of time slip occasionally and this morning I saw it slip.
Talking walking driving--it keeps happening--moments where I am here, but not here--where I feel myself slide backward into another moment, a previous reality a future reality. Sometimes from this lifetime--memories of things from the past I thought I'd forgotten. Sometimes it almost feels like another person's life--or another lifetime of my own. Knowledge comes to me. Not in words, but in knowing. I've done this all my life--school--its why it was so easy. I download information from the instructor. I tap into the "void", thread the veil. I know the feeling--I did it briefly when I used to write more. Its a pecular side-step of the mind and the knowledge is just there.
Our normal perception isn't a true reality. Lately, I have seen glimpses of the other world--is this the "real world"?
a silk scarf
billowing
wafting soul energy
folding pressure of time
riding between
slip-stream
soul between
a dance in electric emotion
the veil
your heart calls to mine,
but there is no distance
between us.
separation,
an illusion
we are the same
one
I feel you there as we were before
I feel you in my soul.
is this another life or illusion in this one?
Our conversation takes place under my skin
a power dance
across lines of flowing white
tendrils
catch me
a silky web comforting
seduction
before the feast.
I ask you if you feel it too
and you say you have no idea what I'm talking about.
Why, if this is my imagination does it feel more real than your words?
Why do some people call us more than others?
Why, when I see you is there a conversation under the skin, I may smile, I may talk, but I have no memory of what I said except in abstract memory. What I know and experience is another conversation entirely, soul to soul. an energy exchange. We meet on another plane and dance in the play of electric motion.
marriage, relationships friendships the meeting of two souls briefly
we are torn into pieces we humans
we feel the pieces of our soul join briefly and smile
what is this ego?
I watched a snake the other day at the desert museum. Knelt down and pressed my face to the glass. Rattlesnake skin, carefully keeled scales, a fold right in the middle of creamy caramel color arrowhead filled with venom and slick muscles in waving constant motion edges of scales catching on gravel
alcohol shuts down the chakras.
Is is so terrible to feel but not feel the veil?
I think that is what happens--you see glimpses of the veil and it is so frustrating to see but not see. To briefly feel the connection and then be dead again. Why so much easier to shut down instead of grow the ability to feel?
I've grown so used to the idea of touch. Of being able to confirm "reality" through talk, questions, concrete is hard when you tap it. Windows are liquid but feel hard. ¶ 7:44 AM 0 comments
Talking walking driving--it keeps happening--moments where I am here, but not here--where I feel myself slide backward into another moment, a previous reality a future reality. Sometimes from this lifetime--memories of things from the past I thought I'd forgotten. Sometimes it almost feels like another person's life--or another lifetime of my own. Knowledge comes to me. Not in words, but in knowing. I've done this all my life--school--its why it was so easy. I download information from the instructor. I tap into the "void", thread the veil. I know the feeling--I did it briefly when I used to write more. Its a pecular side-step of the mind and the knowledge is just there.
Our normal perception isn't a true reality. Lately, I have seen glimpses of the other world--is this the "real world"?
a silk scarf
billowing
wafting soul energy
folding pressure of time
riding between
slip-stream
soul between
a dance in electric emotion
the veil
your heart calls to mine,
but there is no distance
between us.
separation,
an illusion
we are the same
one
I feel you there as we were before
I feel you in my soul.
is this another life or illusion in this one?
Our conversation takes place under my skin
a power dance
across lines of flowing white
tendrils
catch me
a silky web comforting
seduction
before the feast.
I ask you if you feel it too
and you say you have no idea what I'm talking about.
Why, if this is my imagination does it feel more real than your words?
Why do some people call us more than others?
Why, when I see you is there a conversation under the skin, I may smile, I may talk, but I have no memory of what I said except in abstract memory. What I know and experience is another conversation entirely, soul to soul. an energy exchange. We meet on another plane and dance in the play of electric motion.
marriage, relationships friendships the meeting of two souls briefly
we are torn into pieces we humans
we feel the pieces of our soul join briefly and smile
what is this ego?
I watched a snake the other day at the desert museum. Knelt down and pressed my face to the glass. Rattlesnake skin, carefully keeled scales, a fold right in the middle of creamy caramel color arrowhead filled with venom and slick muscles in waving constant motion edges of scales catching on gravel
alcohol shuts down the chakras.
Is is so terrible to feel but not feel the veil?
I think that is what happens--you see glimpses of the veil and it is so frustrating to see but not see. To briefly feel the connection and then be dead again. Why so much easier to shut down instead of grow the ability to feel?
I've grown so used to the idea of touch. Of being able to confirm "reality" through talk, questions, concrete is hard when you tap it. Windows are liquid but feel hard. ¶ 7:44 AM 0 comments
