A Labor of Love

In a sudden fit of do-goodness, I once assigned myself the task of doing something for someone other than myself. It was part of my desire to launch myself further along on my spiritual journey, I suppose. 

So, I started this little business called Labor of Love. Perhaps it was a teach-what-I-need-to-learn sort of thing, because the idea was to help desperate and frustrated folks clear out the clutter in their homes. Hello, Self? Does that sound familiar? Clutter, it is said, is an outer reflection of the content of the mind—at least that’s true in my world. I shouldn’t speak for others. 

The job was an unrealistic, altruistic attempt to help folks carve out a clutter-free space their lives. My fee was their donation to a charity, for which they could claim a tax deduction. It was a win-win-win situation for all concerned; the recipient gained a decluttered space and a tax deduction, a charity received a donation, and I earned the feel-good experience of feeding my need to make myself useful by being of service to someone other than myself. I must have felt desperate to earn some stars in my crown.

It was a mix of heartwarming and exhausting work. It required the use of both physical energy and facilitative skill to help the seriously-cluttered divest themselves of their attachment to their stuff. It was the speedy route to burn out; I soon reached a point where the thought of having to face one more jungle of unbridled clutter made me want to run for my life. Perhaps I would have lasted longer had I been the recipient of the charitable donation.

So here’s the thing about teaching what I needed to learn. To a casual observer, I am the poster child for minimalism, organization, and orderliness. But oh, dear God, don’t open a closet because it will be crowded with decades of indecision; bureau drawers are brimming with doodads and trinkets tangled in a jumble, and a mix of tacky cheap jewelry is scattered in the with the good stuff.  Oh, and then there’s the question of my so-called filing system. Well, need I say more? 

Someday maybe I’ll get around to cleaning up my own act, maybe before I die and dump it in the laps of my survivors. Maybe. Maybe I need a kindhearted, altruistic, declutterer to come to my rescue. Why is the shoemaker’s kid always the last one to get the shoes?

At this point in my life, I’m not feeling overwhelmingly motivated to dive into the closets or the drawers. Except the file drawers. Where paper is concerned, one way or another, I’m going to face a conundrum. Why is it, for example, that I can have a piece of paper in my hand one minute, and in the next, it has mysteriously disappeared, like a sock in the dryer?

Then there is the mother of all messes—the dreaded computer files. How can one pencil-thin thirteen-inch laptop contain such an unholy conglomeration of disorganization? How did it get in such a state of hideous disarray? Ok, I am not going to lay the blame entirely on my own head here. At least part of the problem lies with the maddening updates foisted upon us by the computer geeks and their algorithms, who think that they need to fix something that isn’t broken. After one such “improvement,” any semblance of order became so severely scrambled that I have never recovered. I can only limp my way through my searches, hoping to remember the name of what I’m looking for, and praying for the best. Things that I’d like to save forever risk losing their lives in the jaws of my computer.

Can anyone tell me—is it possible to turn over a new leaf, start a new chapter with a clean slate, be reborn into organizational awareness, and help me find what I’m looking for? A new computer will not solve the problem because the old internal clutter will be dragged along and muck up a clean, new space.

Hmm. It dawns on me that I may be describing the human condition here. The clutter of our past is dragged around with us until we make a conscious decision to wipe our slate clean and change our ways. Oh my. Apparently I must have some decluttering to do beyond just closets and computers. 

Maybe in my next life my slate will be cleaner. Oh, but why wait? Why not get a jump start, cross procrastination off my list, and start now instead? I guess it’s an inside job; it’s all up to me. But here’s the good news: I am not alone! There is help if I am willing to reach out and ask. It comes in many forms—from friends, words from kind strangers, dreams, new ideas, new ways of thinking, new insights, or from the wise Voice within myself. And billboards. Don’t forget the billboards. We are never without help. Dream of a clean slate and expect miracles. Ramp up the willingness, and pull out the magic eraser.

I’m dreaming of clean slates and decluttered, organized computer files. Oh, and miracles. Does anyone happen to know a kindhearted Apple computer declutterer with an eye toward the next step up the evolutionary ladder? I donate hourly or by the job.

Or maybe I’ll just donate a Labor of Love to myself.

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

Who Do Voodoo?

If I were a believer in voodoo, I might be inclined to think that somebody is out to get me. Why would I think such a ridiculous thing, one might wonder? Why? Because in a brief moment of fitful thrashing around during an on-again-off-again sleepless night, I had the odd sensation that there was a sharp object of some sort being stuck in my back. Not like a knife, mind you—more like the steady jab of a sturdy hatpin. Hmm. It gave me pause to wonder.

I know virtually nothing about Voudon except that it is an Afro-Caribbean religion that originated in Haiti. Apparently, it has very little to do with zombies or the practice of voodoo on others, and that’s about the extent of my knowledge. I admit to utter ignorance regarding the history, truth, or use of voodoo dolls. Are they a myth? Are they real? Do people really use them to attack others?

Maybe one day I’ll sit down long enough to do some serious investigation into the subject, but not now. Today, I’d rather talk about what the thought of voodoo brought up for me in the midst of my thrash-around night. 

Maybe it was a poke in the ribs by my writer muse to provide me with a subject for a blog and urge me to get on with it. Or maybe somebody really does have it in for me and is sending hateful thoughts my way. Really? Who? Why? From how many lifetimes ago? What might I have done to bring on such behavior on the part of another person? The idea that someone would willfully set out to take revenge on another by way of a voodoo attack took me by surprise. I guess my head is still buried in the sand, maybe somewhere in Haiti.

Along with that came the realization that if one wants to attack another, voodoo dolls are not necessary. Attacks need only come from an intentional mind in order to be effective. We are perfectly capable of doing harm with our minds, without the need for hatpins.

This makes me wonder. What are the thoughts that I harbor in my mind about others? How nice am I to someone’s face, while thinking critical or judgmental thoughts? How aware am I of my thought process? How often do I project unkind thoughts about another into the ethers, even if unintentionally? How often might I have knowingly or unknowingly stabbed an unsuspecting victim in the heart with a poison hatpin? 

How many times have I stabbed myself in the back with unkind thoughts toward myself? Could it be that the jab I felt last night might have come from me? Am I my own attacker? How safe am I in my own mind? How safe are you in my mind? How safe am I in yours?

My brief sojourn into the unknown world of voodoo has fueled my desire to steer clear of attack regardless of source. It seems to me that if we reap what we sow, I’d better start sowing kind, loving, compassionate thoughts around the universe, because voodoo or no voodoo, our minds are mighty powerful. If what we think is what we get, we’d better get busy and start thinking about the things we’d rather manifest rather than the things that we’d rather not.

Nope. I’ll not start an investigation into voodoo today. What I will do, however, is increase the investigation into the workings of my own mind to suss out and replace with kindness any and all thoughts that have sharp points.  

The world would be a lot better off with more kindness in it, don’t you think?

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

A Little Bit of Willingness

It’s a lovely morning, and my Lazygirl and I are huddled together contemplating the start of a new day. I sit down to meditate and my mind marches me into the kitchen to see what there is to eat. I do that a lot lately. Pretty much since the start of the pandemic lockdown, I think.

Pre-pandemic, I had myself in proper working order; at least I thought I did. I’d conquered my unhealthy, fattening habits like, smoking, drinking too much wine, and overeating. If there is anyone out there who has ever hung out in an “anon” group, you’ll know what I’m talking about. One can abstain from smoking and drinking, but it’s mighty hard to abstain from food. 

Well, so anyway, I had it all together with my eating habits. Tiny breakfast, BIG lunch, often at a restaurant, a light graze at dinnertime, and I can still button my skinny jeans. Snatch the restaurant out from under me, add Covid, and well, it’s all over. Suddenly I can’t stay out of the kitchen and I’m wrestling with my corrective jeans. It’s humbling.

Given my extensive past experience in the “anon” world, I should be able to get over this, right? 

Oops—wait—I’m shoulding all over myself again. I should be able to get over that too, right? Cheech. It’s always something!

Anyway, I’ve tried my usual tactic of asking my Self for help, but for some reason, breakfast still seeps into my morning meditation, and the kitchen continues to beckon like a shiny gemstone in the sunshine. I have asked—why have I not received?

Slowly it begins to dawn on me that maybe I am low on willingness. Maybe I am too lazy to do what it takes to eat a healthier diet, or too unfocused, or too comfortable with my head in the fridge to be bothered with changing my ways. Or maybe I just really don’t want to make a commitment to change. 

By necessity, I’ve moved from restaurant fare to new recipes that I try on myself that are idiot proof and easy; recipes with pasta, recipes that provide easy leftovers for later. Later comes frequently these days—often in the middle of meditation, or while writing a blog. Food beckons, I forage, and eat to satisfy whatever seems to be missing, whether I’m hungry or not. Do I listen to my body? Nah.

Pre-pandemic, I did a lot of self-congratulations for having enough self-discipline to be trusted alone with a with a cheesecake. Then along came Covid and interrupted my routine. I fell off the wall, broke into bits and pieces, and now I have to put myself back together again. Pride goeth before a fall, it is said, and aren’t I just the perfect example of that? So much for the back pats. Again I say, it’s humbling.

One of the lessons that I have learned in my lofty experience of anons and such, is that the success or failure of any desired change begins with willingness. It is wholly dependent on the willingness to be totally and completely free of whatever obstacle stands in the way of happiness, whether it is a cigarette, a glass of wine, a hunk of chocolate cheesecake, or an unforgiven anger. Without willingness, I’m doomed.

Sometimes it isn’t easy to get to true willingness. There were many reasons why I wanted to quit smoking for example. It’s a disgusting habit. It’s unhealthy. It’s expensive. It burns holes in things. My clothes and hair smelled like an ashtray full of stale cigarette butts. It was becoming harder to smoke in public places. My smoker’s cough was frightening. It wasn’t good for my self-esteem

I really wanted to quit, and so I acquiesced and opted for willingness. But didn’t work. If I was willing, why wasn’t it working?

After another round of serious soul searching, I discovered the truth. The bottom line was that I was not truly, truly willing. Yes, I wanted to give up the filthy habit, but the fact was, the part of me that loved to smoke was reluctant. I was focused on what I perceived that I would be losing. I was not totally, completely, wholly, willing to quit smoking. I was my own obstacle. 

Then I received a idea from my trusty Voice. It said, “Add a willing.”

So I did. I was willing to be willing. Ah. That helped. Maybe it would be good to add another willing or two, just for good measure. So I became truly willing to be willing to be willing.

About two weeks later, I woke up one morning as a non-smoker. The habit simply let go of me of its own volition and, unlike many unsuccessful attempts in the past, the desire to have “just one” cigarette went up in a puff of smoke and vanished into the ethers, never to return.

A three-pack-a-day smoking habit simply dropped out of my life after thirty-five years. All it took was just a little bit of willingness. Or two.

So now I’ll have to get busy, put my money where my mouth is, and ask myself if I’m really, really willing to remove my head from the fridge. If not, why? What’s in it for me to continue a habit that makes me unhappy—and uncomfortable in my skinny jeans?

Hmm. Am I being ruled by my tastebuds? Am I looking for comfort somewhere outside of myself rather than finding it within? What might be keeping me tripping the light fantastic into the kitchen? I don’t know the answer to those questions right now, but I think it might behoove me to do a little digging to find out. Meanwhile, I’ll work on increasing my willingness.

Here’s a tiny hint about how willingness works—I’m beginning to realize that I don’t feel very swell after one of my unscheduled visits to the feeding trough. It’s a clue. Maybe soon I’ll wake up and realize that I’ll feel a whole lot better if I forego all of those unscheduled trips. Maybe one day soon, I’ll easily zip up my skinny jeans, and discover that I’ve returned to my pre-pandemic size and sanity. Who knows?  

Stay tuned. I’ll let you know how I do. Meanwhile, would you care to join me in a bit of willingness?

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

An Ode to Focus

I think I got it wrong. I think that I’ve been thinking that my problem is procrastination. It just dawned on me that that’s not it. Procrastination is a symptom, not a cause. The true culprit is lack of focus, coupled with lack of motivation. Wise words from the Queen of Distraction. Maybe someday I will learn that it might be a good idea to listen to myself. Sometimes myself isn’t quite as stupid as she likes to make herself out to be. Or maybe she has more brains than she gives herself credit for.

Oh, I start out well enough, with sweeping good intentions covering a wide swath of territory, like meditation, exercise, or decluttering, but for some reason, right in the middle of doing what I’m doing, I forget what I’m doing. I’m like a pack of wild mustangs running free in the wind without a predetermined destination in mind. Mind? What mind? Do I have a mind in here somewhere? 

This morning, for example, when I finally collared myself long enough to sit down to meditate, I was doing just fine until . . . oops I’d better make a note to call about my dental appointment before I forget to do it . . . wait . . . what was I just going to make a note about again? Oh well, forget it. I guess it couldn’t have been very important.

And I wonder why things don’t get done? 

It never seems to work out very well when I try to put a collar around my neck and rein myself in. Mustangs are like that, you know? Wild and free. But once in a while, a horse whisperer may appear out of nowhere and lasso one out of the pack, tame and train it, and turn it into a trusted companion. Maybe I am supposed to be my own horse whisperer in charge of capturing and taming my own wild streak. Maybe I am supposed to transform myself into my own trusty companion. 

Admittedly, my definition of wild and free may be a little shy of exciting to someone who is truly wild and free; for me, it is simply a matter of allowing myself to be who I am, do what I want to do when I want to do it, and make my own decisions about what’s best for me, all the while loving myself in spite of my rights and wrongs. Come to think of it, my wild and free might be considered incredibly boring to one who is caught up in the world of glitz, glamor, excitement, and the hot pursuit of fun. My definition of fun is inner peace and the quiet joy that comes from knowing that joy is a worthy goal.

So what brings me joy? More focus and motivation would be a good start. By listening to the wise whisperer within, I can learn to practice the focus that will move me one step closer to the joy that is the natural inheritance of every living creature on earth, whether wild and free, or surrendered to a cause greater than oneself.

Is it possible to be wild and free and focused all at once? I’m not certain, but I’m certainly willing to jump on the horse, grab the reins, and ride like the wind in the direction of an answer. All I have to do is hang on tight and be motivated enough to stay in the saddle. So—want to come hitch your star to my wagon?

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

A Labor of Love

In a sudden fit of do-goodness, I once assigned myself the task of doing something for someone other than myself. It was part of my desire to launch myself further along on my spiritual journey, I suppose.

So, I started this little business called Labor of Love. Perhaps it was a teach-what-I-need-to-learn sort of thing, because the idea was to help desperate and frustrated folks clear out the clutter in their homes. Hello, Self? Does that sound familiar? Clutter, it is said, is an outer reflection of the content of the mind—at least that’s true in my world. I shouldn’t speak for others. 

The job was an unrealistic, altruistic attempt to help folks carve out a clutter-free space their lives. My fee was their donation to a charity, for which they could claim a tax deduction. It was a win-win-win situation for all concerned. The win for the recipient was a decluttered space and a tax deduction; a charity received a donation; and I earned the feel-good experience of feeding my need to make myself useful by being of service to someone other than myself. I must have been trying to earn some stars in my crown.

It was a mix of heartwarming and exhausting work; it required the use of both physical energy and facilitative skill to help the seriously-cluttered divest themselves of their attachment to their stuff. It was the speedy route to burn out; I soon reached a point where the thought of having to face one more jungle of unbridled clutter made me want to run for my life. Perhaps I would have lasted longer had I been the recipient of the charitable donation.

So here’s the thing about teaching what I needed to learn. To a casual observer, I am the poster child for minimalism, organization, and orderliness. But oh, dear God, don’t open a closet because it will be crowded with decades of indecision; bureau drawers are brimming with doodads and trinkets tangled in a jumble, and a mix of tacky cheap jewelry is scattered in the with the good stuff.  Oh, and then there’s the question of my so-called filing system. Well, need I say more? 

Someday maybe I’ll get around to cleaning up my own act, maybe before I die and dump it in the laps of my survivors. Maybe. Maybe I need a kindhearted, altruistic declutterer to come to my rescue. Why is the shoemaker’s kid always the last one to get the shoes?

At this point in my life, I’m not feeling overwhelmingly motivated to dive into the closets or the drawers. Except the file drawers. Where paper is concerned, one way or another, I’m going to face an annoyance. Why is it, for example, that I can have a piece of paper in my hand one minute, and in the next, it has mysteriously disappeared, like the sock in the dryer?

Then there is the mother of all messes—the dreaded computer files. How can one pencil-thin thirteen-inch laptop contain such an unholy conglomeration of disorganization? How did it get in such a state of hideous disarray?

Ok, I am not going to lay the blame entirely on my own head here. At least part of the problem lies with the maddening updates foisted upon us by the computer geeks with their fancy algorithms. Why do they think that they need to fix something that isn’t broken? One upgrade scrambled my files so badly that i lost all hope of recovery. I can only limp my way through my searches, hoping to remember the name of what I’m looking for, and praying for the best. Things that I’d like to save forever risk losing their lives in the jaws of my computer.

Can anyone tell me—is it possible to turn over a new leaf, start a new chapter with a clean slate, be reborn into organizational awareness, and help me find what I’m looking for? A new computer will not solve the problem because the old internal clutter will be dragged along and muck up a clean, new space.

Hmm. It dawns on me that I may be describing the human condition here. The clutter of our past is dragged around with us until we make a conscious decision to wipe our slate clean and change our ways. Oh my. Apparently I must have some decluttering to do beyond just closets and computers. 

Maybe in my next life my slate will be cleaner. Oh, but why wait? Why not get a jump start, cross procrastination off my list, and start now instead? It’s an inside job. Drat. It’s all up to me. But here’s the good news: I am not alone! There is help if I am willing to reach out and ask. It comes in many forms—from friends, dreams, new ideas, new ways of thinking, new insights, words from kind strangers or from the wise Voice within myself. And billboards. Don’t forget the billboards. We are never without help. Dream of a clean slate and expect miracles. Ramp up the willingness, and pull out the magic eraser to disappear the clutter of the past.

I’m dreaming of clean slates and decluttered, organized computer files. Oh, and miracles. Does anyone happen to know a kindhearted Apple computer guru with an eye toward the next step up the evolutionary ladder? I donate hourly or by the job.

Or maybe I’ll just donate a Labor of Love to myself.

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

What’s in a Blog?

In yesterday’s blog, I said that sometimes I feel like an idiot when someone asks me what Voices is about. Defining it is a frustrating challenge, like trying to nail Jell-O to a wall. Wouldn’t you think that someone who writes a blog would be able to say what it’s about? It’s a conundrum—a real head-scratcher, brain-searcher sort of question. And in case you might be wondering about the state of my mental health, no—I’m not an idiot. Sometimes I just like to pretend that I am for dramatic effect.

A question of purpose, on the other hand, conjures up multiple answers. I write for myself as an expression of creativity because it helps me to get to know myself in a way that would not be possible otherwise. If I were an artist, painting would serve the same purpose, but alas I have not progressed past stick-figure art. Maybe next lifetime.

It is said that the best writers are those who write about what they know best. Having lived and studied myself for an entire lifetime, what I know best is myself. I know all about my thoughts, feelings, and emotions, the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. I have spent a lifetime in the perpetual classroom called Earth 101. Sometimes I flunk, and occasionally I pass with flying colors. It has been a long, slow process, but my determination to ace the course and move ever upward has fueled my dedication to turn failures into the reward of knowing that my best is my best, and that with good intention, my best gets better with each passing day.

Do I pick on myself? Yes. Am I hard on myself? Sure. Do I have self-doubt? You bet. I come equipped with a complete set of ego tricks ever at the ready to disarm my hifalutin good intentions. But I am also heavily armed with a few tricks of my own, designed to outsmart the ego. My ammunition comes from a lifetime of self-study.

In the classroom of my life on earth, I have had the honor and privilege of getting to know my fellow traveling students almost as well as I know myself. The beauty of this knowing brings the awareness that we all tangle with the same emotions and feelings, the good, the bad, and everything in between. Sometimes we sleep through our classes; sometimes we wake up long enough to see that we are not finished yet, and there is still work to do. Sometimes a glimpse of the truth can be scary and foster a desire to fall back into the safety and comfort of sleep. Maybe that’s why I love naps so much.

What I have learned is that although my fellow life travelers and I wear different skins, inside we share the same hope of overcoming the suffering that stands in the way of experiencing our joy. For me, the overcoming lies in my willingness to stay awake and look closely within to determine who I am and what I believe about myself. I do it out loud for the world to see. I do it in the hope that others may benefit by my experience, and that my journey may help to ease the way for others along the way. I tell the truth about myself, at least as I understand it so far. 

So here I am, marching to my own drummer, doing what I do, open to criticism and judgment from others, and that’s okay, provided I don’t do it to myself. Well, sometimes I do but I’m working on that. It’s all just a process, a part of a personal journey to help me navigate safely through the dangerous obstacle course constructed by an ego intent upon keeping itself alive and me asleep. 

Isn’t life just one more question after another? Isn’t it all just a never-ending saga? Isn’t the process all a part of the journey? As I said in yesterday’s blog, “Does it never end, all this digging? Apparently not.” 

Perhaps if we dig deep enough, we will see ourselves reflected in one another, or maybe you will see some of yourself in me—or some of me in you. We’re all in here together. Perhaps we can make life a little easier for one another by our willingness to do a little bit of digging. Perhaps you may benefit by my attempt to dig my way to China and back. I hope so.

The universe has recently gifted us with a powerful infusion of light so that we might find our way out of the dark. What if we all decide to wake up, find a bit of humor in it all, and enjoy the ride to nirvana. Or should that be Nirvana? Isn’t it wonderful to not need to have the answer to everything, and not worry too much about looking like an idiot? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to not be perfect and love ourselves anyway, just as we are, flaws and all? 

Could it be that this blog is about withdrawing our consciousness from the dense world of the ego and shifting into the light of the soul? Maybe so. Stay tuned.

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

Digging Deeper

Once in a while I feel as if I am a stranger unto myself. Yesterday was one of those days, the result of some probing questions put forth by a friend who challenged me to dig deeper. Really? Do I have to? Again? Does it never end, all this digging? Apparently not.

I truly don’t mind the digging. It’s just that sometimes I don’t understand what I’m digging for. Maybe I need to refine the art of learning to ask the right questions. I’ve always figured that if I can nail down the exact, specific question, then poof—like magic, the answer appears. Getting the question right is always the hardest part.

So what’s the question?

Well, now there’s the question! My friend suggests that my blogs are a record of how I’ve been summing up who I am, what I came here to do, and what keeps getting in my way. She asks if I’ve arrived someplace, if I have stayed in place, and if opening my mouth to speak has made a difference in my life. 

I suppose that I’ve been asking myself these and similar, vague questions for my entire life, and most particularly since I’ve become a blogger. Blogging has become a mirror shoved in my face asking me to decide whether or not I like what I see. Maybe I need to change my hairdo. Or my thinking.

Have I arrived someplace? Has opening my mouth to speak made a difference in my life? Perhaps “someplace” is an as-yet undetermined destination awaiting discovery. Perhaps blogging is just one brief stop along the way. Perhaps I’d better lease an earth mover.

My friend also brought to mind another question that I have frequently asked myself. What is this blog about? Nothing. Everything. Does it really have to be about something? I’m never quite sure how to define it, which presents an interesting and frustrating challenge when someone asks. In fact, it makes me feel rather like an idiot. “What? You don’t know what you’re writing about?” Yep. That about sums it up.

My friend and I agree that I use humor to make fun of myself, to serve as an example that in the midst of the serious business of life, the ability to laugh at oneself helps smooth the sharp edges of self-perceived personality glitches like criticism, judgment, self-doubt, and low self-esteem. The ability to recognize and accept one’s own shortcomings, and laugh in spite of it all is a healing gift. So yes, I make fun of myself. I don’t mind looking foolish or employing a bit of self-degradation if it is for a good cause; I can think no better cause than to help ease the way for others on their life’s journey.

Every now and then, friends who know and love me get in touch to express concern over the state of my mental health. I am quick to offer the assurance that I am fine; I am a writer; I sometimes exaggerate a bit for effect.  Really? Am I telling myself the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth here? Or am I just hiding behind a curtain of smoke and mirrors? Do I really know myself? Do any of us?

Maybe that’s what we’re all here to find out. Maybe that’s what this blog is about. Maybe it’s just about me getting to know and love myself more than I already do, and to figure out ways that I can advance on the ladder of evolution. And maybe take someone’s hand to walk with me on the journey. Maybe yours. Maybe I’m just looking for traveling companions. 

But there is more to it than that. The “more” is still under construction. I’ll let you know when the earth mover has done its job and I get it all figured out. It can get a little dark down here buried beneath all this dirt, but with determination and a little help from the earth mover, I’ll reemerge into the light. Meanwhile, I wonder if the portrayal of myself in real life matches what I say about myself in a blog? Is my blog an accurate portrait of who I really am? Is there a purpose for all of this?

When I dig deep enough, I discover that hidden amidst the thousands of puzzle pieces that I identify as “me,” there exists one bit that stands out among all others. It’s the piece that knows beyond a shadow of a doubt who I am. It’s the soul, the ever present piece that dwells quietly behind the smoky fog of the ego, patiently awaiting my discovery and acceptance of it. When the cloud of my little ego self is cleared away, all of the pieces fall neatly into place, and I can see the beautiful self that I truly am, hidden within a body that wants to think that’s it’s all there is.

So here’s the answer to what this blog is about. It’s about digging deep within to find my True Self, my Soul. And sharing my journey in the hope that it might be helpful to others who are walking the same path.

With every blog I write, I discover another piece of myself.  Sometimes the process is a little scary. Sometimes it’s absolutely exhilarating. Whatever it is, the end result is always worth it. In the midst of it all, it is always good to remember that we are never alone in our journey. Never.

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

Who is Me?

This might be one of those “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned” kind of blogs; it has been 27 days since my last blog. Eeks. Where have I been? I’ve slipped from being a one-a-day blogger into a slug. It’s not that I don’t get ideas, mind you. Its that I don’t follow up. Sometimes I start a blog and don’t finish. There are a fair number of those squirrelled away in my painfully disorganized computer files.

Today I was fishing through my unfinished blog file and came upon one that paints an accurate portrait of an ego in all its full-blown glory. As I read through it, I asked myself, “Is this really me?” Yes. No. Well, maybe. Sometimes. Well, if it isn’t me, then who is it? Who is me? Am I an ego? Am I a soul? Am I a check-all-of-the-above? Welcome to a picture of me in pre-pandemic mode trying to wrestle myself out of my lazy zone into action. Ready—set—go!

I seem to be missing a plan today.  If I were to break rank with myself and get my fanny up out of the Lazygirl, what would I do?  Hmm. 

Maybe I’d take a shower, get dressed, go out and buy a birthday card for my brother-in-law.  Maybe I’d go for a walk in the mall, though I could really walk outside today since the rain has finally stopped. Or maybe I’d get into the kitchen and zoodle the zucchini and store it till I’m ready to cook it. Or maybe I’d change the sheets.  

I’ve been cloistered too long. Sitting too long. Doing nothing for too long. It’s time to get up and make myself useful in some way or other. But how? Stuck. Can’t seem to get out of my own way. Maybe I just need a change of scenery, which could account for the draw to the mall. Maybe I’d make myself happy and buy a new case for my iPhone. Maybe that’s all I need for an uplift. Or meditation. Whatever. 

Really? Are you kidding me? What is the matter with me? I sit here all comfy cozy in wah-wah mode with everything that I could ever need or want while a ginormous portion of the population suffers from the trauma and drama of world events. How dare I? Sometimes I can’t believe myself. Unbelievable. It’s embarrassing.

And then, blessedly, I begin to return to my senses. 

Oh but wait. I’ve moved into self-judgment mode again. Sure, I may not be at the top of my game right at the moment, but I don’t need to beat myself up for it, do I? Maybe a little compassion would help to turn the tide of negative opinion that I seem to be heaping upon myself. After all, I’m not perfect, right? If I were, I’d probably not be here anymore, right? I mean, if I can’t muster up a little compassion for myself, how can I offer it to others?

Welcome to a portrait of the persona. Have a browse through a photo album of one tangled in self-judgment phase. The reading of a few previous blogs will reveal other not-so charming pictures of one caught in the ego antics of insecurity, fear, low self-worth—or, on the other end of the scale, delusions of grandeur. Tricky thing, the ego. Today the problem is lazy. Tomorrow it could be inadequacy. The possibilities are endless.

On the flip side of the coin there is a portrait of the soul. Those who identify with the presence of the soul within need no explanation, for they understand the truth of their own being. Sometimes, when I am in my right mind, I am one of them. Sometimes I forget who I truly am, and mistakenly identify with the ego side of the coin that represents fear. When I am able to snap back into sanity, the identification with love becomes natural.

So, who am I really? I am whoever I want to be. I prefer to identify with the part of myself that lives in the light of the soul rather than with the self-judgmental critic within, the one who has to wrestle herself out of the Lazygirl and fight her way through the darkness back into the light. When I paint a portrait of myself as an ego, I am showing a false picture of myself, for that is not who I truly am. The truth of me—of every one of us—lies within the soul. 

Today I am back home where I belong, safe and secure in the comforting Divine Light of the Soul. Today, I moved an unfinished blog into the finished pile, and that makes me very happy. It’s always a great joy to move from the darkness to the light, from the ego to the soul, from fear to love.

I’ll see you in the light, my friends.

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us

Look to the Light

Sometimes I feel a little tortured like Van Gogh, except I still have both of my ears.  I don’t really know how he felt, or what possessed him to whack off an ear, but perhaps we share some of the same existential questions, like who am I, what am I doing, why am I doing it, and why am I here?  

This morning I parked myself in my Lazygirl and promptly wasted an hour and a half fiddling around with useless trivia on my iPad.  Did I meditate?  No.  Did I journal or write a long-overdue blog?  No.  Did I do anything that was worthwhile with my time?  No.  I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.  Wasting time.

Oh but wait!  Who said it was a waste of time?  Who made that decision, based on what?  And who determines what is a worthwhile use of time and what isn’t?  Or anything else, for that matter. Who decides?

Finally, when I came to my senses and settled down to meditate, I was immediately beset with remorse over my lack of self-discipline.  As the cloud cover of guilt started rolling in to derail my good intentions, a blessed wind of relief came along from behind and blew it off into the ethers.  

Yes, okay, so you think that you wasted time.  But that doesn’t mean that you have to stay stuck in a state of despair over your dalliance.  You can just acknowledge that you might have preferred to have taken another path and move on.  

Well that sounds like a really good plan, right?

It makes me wonder—how much precious time have I wasted guilting myself over thinking that I have wasted time? How many hours throughout my lifetime have I spent berating myself for things that I did that I shouldn’t have, or things that I should have done that I didn’t?  Or for Heaven-only-knows how many other ‘sins’ I committed?

It occurs to me that we make life up as we go, day by day, minute by minute.  We decide what to think, how to feel, and whether time is wasted or well spent.  I’ve used up more than my fair share of time wallowing around in my wrongdoings rather than congratulating myself for the things I’ve done well.  Why is that?  Why does it seem so hard to turn the light to the right?  

I’m blaming it all on the ego.  I wonder how much of the world population suffers from the same tyranny of the ego’s antics that I sometimes do, the bullying that would have me believe that I am a guilty sinner—oh for shame, for shame?  I would guess that the number would be astronomical.  

I can hang out in my Lazygirl and idle my time away staring at a TV screen, or conjure up a myriad of other imaginative ways to whittle away the hours.  But the question becomes: what am I going to do about it?  Will I decide to change the channel and watch another version of my belief system?

So I ask myself—which is the worst ‘sin’?  Is it time wasted frittering away hours indulging in useless trivia?  Or is it time wasted berating oneself for wasting time with useless trivia?  Now that would be the true definition of wasting time.

So who I am is me.  And why I’m here is to learn whatever it is that I need to know in order to exit this lifetime with both ears still attached to the sides of my head.  Nobody ever said it would be easy, right?  Experience has taught me that life is easier when lived in the light than in the dark.  

Yesterday two friends mentioned that they haven’t seen any blogs recently.  They would be right.  I haven’t written any.  Why?  Have I been wasting time?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe I’ve just been spending precious time storing up energy and gathering my wits for whatever is coming next.  Sometimes there is a need to step back and regroup.  

Life.  It’s all about how you look at it.  Or see it.  Or decide how you feel about it.  We have the freedom of choice, and none of it is right, or wrong.  It just is what it is.  What matters is how we feel about it and what we do or don’t do about it.  We are blessed with free will to do as we wish, and isn’t that wonderous thing?

When I leave the planet, I plan on taking all of my bodily parts and pieces along with me by reason of sanity. All I need to do to get there from here is to change the channel and look to the light.

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)

Lost and Found

Today I awakened to discover that she’s back.  Who?  You know.  Her.  Who??  Ms. Cranky Pants, with her negative attitude, that’s who.  The one who rains all over my parade.  The peace thief.  The interrupter of my little joy ride in the land of La La.  She’s sneaky, that one.  She shows up when least expected just the instant when I let my guard down, just when I think that I’ve finally got it all together once and for all.  She’ll show me, right? 

I frittered away a couple of hours on a bunch of meaningless trivia before I snapped to attention and realized that I’ve lost it again.  One day I’m on top of the world, divinely connected to my fabulous inner Self, and the next, I’ve forgotten who I am, what I’m doing, and why I’m here.  If I dare leave the door open a tiny crack, Ms. Pantsy sneaks in while I’m not looking.   Once her foot is in the door, it’s hard to evict her.  

I silently curse myself for my lack of vigilance.  Again.  When will I learn?  What has become of my self-discipline, diligence, dedication, commitment to stamp out ego?

Eventually, it dawns on me that the her that I think is me isn’t.  That her lives in the part of the collective subconscious that thinks it’s separate from others.  That her fails to see that although we walk around separated by physical bodies, beneath the skin we are all the same Self.  Our thoughts intermingle like the ingredients of a recipe that we bake into our consciousness and spoon-feed to ourselves.  Instant reality.  A minute on the lips, forever on the hips.  

As I sit in my lazygirl trying to figure out where I went wrong, it occurs to me that I have simply plucked the wrong ingredients out of the air.  I have picked up on the negative energy that is so pervasive on the planet these days and baked it into my own consciousness.   Oh my. 

In a workshop years ago, I was asked to imagine a time when I experienced fear.  Earlier in the day, my seriously unhinged boss had hurled her vicious, unbridled anger at me for no good reason.  While still in the midst of reliving that dreadful moment, the workshop leader suddenly shifted gears and  asked us to bring to mind a memory of love.  In that instant, I was so knee deep in my experience of fear that I was completely unable to let it go and bring to mind an experience of love.  It was impossible.

That was the profound moment in my life when I truly understood the meaning of the expression, love is letting go of fear.  It is impossible for the mind to focus on two states of mind at the same time.  It is either one or the other.  In that moment, a choice of love was out of the question because I was totally blocked by fear.  

How can my fabulous divinely-connected self experience love when Ms. Cranky Pants is in control and stands blocking the doorway to inner peace?  Just because I know that she’s there doesn’t make it any easier to dislodge her.  

Before I signed on for another lifetime gig (if you believe in that sort of thing) I raised my hand when they requested volunteers as lightworkers.  I am supposed to be focusing on light not dark, on love not fear.  Finding love amidst the fear is no easy feat when Cranky Pants stands in the way.  Finally, after days of futzing around with this go-nowhere blog, it dawned on me.  The problem is quite simply that I identified as Ms. Cranky Pants instead of remembering that she is not me.  I forgot who I am.  Why do I keep doing that?

Sometimes it takes a while for me to figure these things out.  Maybe that’s why this go-nowhere blog has gone nowhere for about—oh, maybe a week or so now.  There’s nothing quite like being stuck on stall to dampen one’s enthusiasm.  Apparently, I’ve been wasting precious time allowing myself to wallow around in a mindset of futility (translation: fear) instead of in an enlightened state of joy (translation: love).  Can’t be in both places at once, right?  My choice, right?  

At this point, the only thing that I know for sure is that I’m the one who has to change my mind.  I’m the one who is really bored with this go-nowhere blog, and proclaim to myself that it is time to get on with it.  Get a grip.  Finish it.  Move on. 

Okay fine.  I’m in.  Today I’m ready to find my way back to my divinely connected fabulous Self.  I miss me when I’m I’m gone, and I’ve been gone too long.   Bye bye Ms. Cranky Pants.  Today I’m pushing the publish button on you and saying goodbye for now.  Goodbye forever would be better, but I only have now, and now is the only time there is.  Phew.  Finally!  Buh-bye Pantsy. 

The world needs all of the light and love that it can get.  Please make a choice for good will and bake a little light into the collective consciousness to help tip the balance from fear to love, from dark to light.  Your beautiful energy will speed our journey to a world that will soon become our reality.  To that I say, Amen.

Note:  The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us)