Sweet Memories and Mysteries

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It’s not always a good idea to rummage around in the past, but if done in search of sweet memories to savor rather than to excavate old buried wounds, one might find a world of riches buried within.

One of my sweet memories of the past floated to the surface this morning as I savored the memory of my days as a devotee of Siddha Yoga, when I was constantly intrigued by the profound effect that the mysterious teachings of the guru had upon me and upon my life.  Sometimes, the lessons were immediate and obvious; sometimes they so subtle that I barely noticed until months or years later, when I finally got it.

On one of my visits to the ashram, a course was being offered on selfless service.  When I tried to enroll, I was told that the course was not open to people over the age of 50.  What?  Why not??  Was it too late for the over-50 crowd?  If we hadn’t learned whatever we needed to know by now, were we hopeless?  But as often happens in the world of a guru, there was no answer to the why.  I left in a quandary and spent the entire following year hoping that the answer would float to the surface and solve the puzzle.  It didn’t.

On my next visit to the ashram a year later, a fellow devotee unexpectedly answered the question that I hadn’t asked.  People over 50 are supposed to focus less on selfless service and more in contemplation of their death.  Huh.  Now there’s a juicy rich subject worthy of another year’s worth of puzzlement if ever there was one, right?

I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

Odd though it may sound, answering this question has become my lifelong quest, the guidepost that lights my path toward the accomplishment of my goals, vision, and purpose.  My focus is on the endgame—to heal what needs healing, correct the errors of the past, have my affairs in order, and do my utmost to earn my diploma and graduate into the next higher realm of learning.  It keeps me sane and on track; it diverts my attention away from behaving in ways that are not in my best interest, and supports me in embracing the behavior that is.

I really miss hanging out with Gurumayi, but the truth is that her work with me is finished.  She sent me home to the sanctuary of own my heart and turned me over to the care and keeping of my Higher Self, my Soul, to All That Is, where my education will continue, and answers to the mysteries of life will be revealed in their own time.  I am blessed to be in the very good company of professors who are kind and compassionate, who make learning a joy.  Now if I will only listen…

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).

Kaphooey Days

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There are just some days when nothing works right, when anything that can go kaphooey goes kaphooey, and Murphy’s law rules the day.  This would be one of them.  I turned down a nice offer for a little outing with a friend this morning because I wanted to write today’s blog.  Once finished, I decided that sending it might not be a very good idea.  Don’t ask.  Oh well.  Maybe a blog in reserve for another day.  Meanwhile, here I am, blog stuck again.

A Zoom meeting with a friend this morning helped take my mind off of the aborted blog situation, and sort through the myriad of heart stopping computer glitches that make me crazy, stuff that I can’t figure out myself, that I learn then quickly forget, like why posts won’t post, why files won’t open, where files go when they disappear from view.  Stuff that make me scream, “Why God?  Why”?  Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?

See what happens when I get blog stuck?  It isn’t always pretty.

Desperate times call for desperate measures so—struck dumb and speechless (for the moment, at least), I will resort to telling you about a sweet little book that a friend put in my hand yesterday.  It took about 20 minutes to read cover to cover, and I took delight in every single page of it.  The author touts it as being a book for anyone 8 to 80 and indeed he is right.  I wish that someone had read it to me when I was four, and every week until I was old enough to read for myself.

Charlie Mackesy’s display of creativity knocks me out on every level.  He dreamed it up, wrote it, illustrated it, and his handwriting fills the pages where Times Roman should be.  His super simple, yet profound message is cleverly delivered in a few simple words or less, and parrot just about everything that I ramble on about for paragraphs on end.  It’s the Reader’s Digest version of my entire lifetime, all wrapped up between the cover of a small book filled with pages written in his own hand.  Amazing.

If you want to skip reading my blog and go straight for the gold, just read the book.  The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse.  Turns out, it’s a best seller.  Who knew?

Lessons to live by in a nutshell.  Maybe there should have been a squirrel in there too, to keep the cake-eating mole company.

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).

The Pink Panther

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Whew. Thank goodness it was only a nightmare.  The last thing I remember before waking was “Oh my God! I hope this is only a dream!”

I was utterly captivated by an irresistible tiny pink kitten that curled and wound herself around my legs begging to be taken home.  Whoever heard of a pink cat—one that occasionally changed colors into blue or white?  Hmm. Chameleon cat. I should have known that something was a little off.  Beware the bizarre.  Weirdness notwithstanding, I took her home and named her Pinky.

Once home, I watched in horror as she quickly morphed into a vicious, terrifying predator with me in sight as her target. She lunged at me and tore the bow off my black strappy dress-up sandals while they were still on my feet. Then she sank her teeth into my derriere and refused to let go. Maybe she was jealous of my sexy sandals. Who knows? Why was I wearing dressy sexy shoes in my casual dream world, anyway, but hey—it’s only dream, right?

Worse than the teeth sunk into my flesh was the sudden realization that I had abandoned my dear sweet, gentle, loyal, loving, trustworthy, safe, obedient dog Charlie in favor of a pink panther terrorist that had pulled a nasty bait-and-switch con job on me.  What kind of awful person would ever do such a dreadful thing to a dearly beloved pet?  I was heartbroken and horrified. Try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to find a way to unlock the jaws of the panther or get Charlie back.

 

Somewhere between trying to clean up my nasty wound and regretting my actions about Charlie, I woke up to the realization that it was only a dream, thank goodness, and I breathed a great sigh of blessed relief to see Charlie lying peacefully next to me in the bed. It gives a whole new meaning to “Sorry, Charlie!”

I wonder what in the world ever brought such a nightmare upon me.  Did I need to have a mirror held up to my face to show me aspects of myself that I’d prefer not to see?  Is there a vicious ego named Pinky hiding out inside waiting for the first moment of weakness for an opportunity to attack?

Oh but wait—what about Charlie, the gentle, trustworthy loving companion, adorable in spite of his quirky little ways? Charlie, the abandoned? Charlie, the loyal friend of many years from whom I walked away, lured by the seduction of a temptress with a cunning plan to trick me into selling my soul to the devil

Well, watch out Pinky devil.  Here comes Charlie Angel to save me from your wily ways.  I know who you are. Your name is ego and your game is fear. You think you can con me into believing that you’re my best friend, but in reality, you are my worst enemy.  Oh, I might believe you for a minute or so, but eventually, I’ll wise up and figure you out.  You’re very good at your act, but I’m not buying it.  If it ever comes down to a battle for my soul, trust me, Charlie and I will win because we fight on the side of love, and because we know that fear is only something that we make up in the nightmare of our minds.  Love trumps fear and love always wins in the end.

Perhaps when I close my eyes for the final time, I will wake up, look back and realize that it was all only a dream. Or a nightmare, depending upon which side I have chosen to live.  Clearly, the choice between Pinky and Charlie, is a no brainer.

C’mon Charlie.  Let’s go out hand in paw and have ourselves a nice, peaceful little walk.  I won’t leave you again, I promise.  Ever.

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).

 

 

Voices of Wisdom Within

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This morning while I was lying awake, I heard a male voice softly call my name.

It got my attention and I answered.  Yes?

No answer.   I was disappointed.  I wanted more.  I wanted a replay of the full-blown conversation that occurred years ago as I drifted between wakefulness and sleep.

I was a captivated participant in a profound conversation that was going on in my head between myself and an unseen male voice.  He was a wise teacher; I was a naïve student asking kindergarten-level questions.  Even in my naivety, I knew that I was privy to something very unique and very special.

I awoke with a sense of awe, feeling unconditionally loved by an unseen being who knew my name and cared enough about me to pay a personal visit and take me under his wing to teach me for a while.  Though I vividly remembered the event, I had no recollection of the words exchanged.  What stood out above all else was that this unseen being was patient, kind, understanding, gentle, and loving.  He never responded to my simple, childlike questions in a way that made me feel small, insignificant, or stupid.  I was treated with great respect and dignity in spite of my naivety.

Both the voice that softly called my name today, and the one who was my teacher so many years ago were clearly audible.  The “reality” of those voices lends credibility to the words, and makes me yearn to hear them more often, more clearly.  Maybe someday.

Meanwhile, I must rely on the unspoken words that come to me by way of impression rather than expression.  Clearly, I am still a student, still in a classroom where I must acquire the  ability to discern the differences between the many voices of the personality and the Truth within myself.  It is a trial and error process.  Sometimes I get it right.  Sometimes I don’t.  But always, I get to repeat the class until I ace the course.

This morning’s voice was a welcome reminder that we are blessed to have wise teachers as guides, Elder Brothers who have graduated before us and moved on to higher realms.  Perhaps it is such a one who called my name, ready to hand me another assignment.

Today I realize that today’s assignment is that I must remain calm and stay strong in the eye of storm and reach out and grab ahold of a hand that will help me stand steady amidst the turmoil.  As I reach out for help, I must also reach out to another, the one behind who struggles to keep up.

Who is this that calls me by name?  Perhaps it is the voice of God, or the Soul, or Spirit, or Jesus, or the Higher Self.  Whatever the name, when it calls, will I answer?  Will you?

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).

Woo Woo Camp Saves the Day

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It’s another race around the clock.  This weekend I am in a livestream woo woo workshop for the spiritually minded.  A friend calls it woo woo camp.  Like yesterday and the day before, I have three hours before it starts, and if I don’t push the publish button before it begins, I’m sunk.  Oh, the pressure!

As I sit here in my Lazygirl waiting for inspiration to strike, I wonder if today is going to be another struggle.  Then it dawns on me that struggle is a outcome of a dysfunctional belief system.  If I sit around wondering whether it’s going to be a struggle, it will be.  Struggle becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy by virtue of my faulty beliefs.

My blog-writing game plan is to push publish before 10 am daily, but I missed my deadline for the first time yesterday when I doubted my ability to do so before an early meeting.  I thought I couldn’t do it.  And I didn’t.   I flunked button-push.  Self-fulfilling prophecy.

Self-doubt strikes again.  Blast!

See?  Now that’s a perfect example of a faulty belief that hijacked my game plan and knocked me off track.  Bummer.  So off I go, back to the drawing board to reassess what went wrong.

Woo woo it may be, but this workshop reminds me about where I have gone awry and what in-flight corrections may be in order.  It has jogged my memory and given me some grist for the upgrade mill.  I ain’t done yet.  Drat.

So far, I have been reminded about the power of thought and the importance of paying attention to what is going on in my head, lest I manifest something in my world that I would rather not.  My belief in struggle, for example.

This brings up another question.  Am I placing my faith in my head, or in my heart?  Is it in the ego part of myself that thinks I am so smart that I can do it on my own?  Or is it in the hands of a higher authority that has my best interests at heart and stands ready to provide all that I need to grow, thrive, and be happy?

I am a self-acknowledged slow learner and it may take me a while to figure things out, but I get there eventually.  One thing I know for sure—when I think I am so smart that I can do stuff on my own, I invite myself to fall flat on my face.  But when I remember to turn the hard stuff over to my Higher Self, or Soul, or God, or whatever one might want to call it, struggle vanishes and the road rises up to meet me.

Today I chose to put my faith in my heart instead of my head.  The result?  I still have an hour and a half until woo woo camp begins.  Woo hoo!  Yay God!

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 Lifetime?

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It’s 7:35 a.m. and I’d like to push the publish button by 9:00 a.m. so I can start the day by attacking the stack of papers that grow in the night and taunt me in the morning.  Is anyone else experiencing a bout of laziness and/or procrastination during these days as shut-in’s, or is it just me?

If you’ve been following along for the past several days, you may have noticed a thread of self-doubt running through the pages.  Me too, and do you know what?  I’m sick of it.  Enough already.  It’s old news, it’s boring, and it’s time to move on to lighter and brighter things.

Okay, I’m struggling here.  Why isn’t this easy?  What am I doing wrong?  If this is an assignment and I’m willing to do it, why is it so hard?  You know me—I always want everything to be easy.  Easy suits my lazy nature.

The clock is ticking and I’m nowhere near completion.  Whoa.  Now there’s a profound statement if ever I heard one!  Will life run out before I’m finished?  It’s enough to poke me in the derriere with a hat pin and get me moving post haste.

Dear one, no one said that it would be easy.  Anything worth doing, being, or having is earned by virtue of the willingness to apply oneself to the task at hand.  For some that is easier than others, based upon the soul qualities that one chooses to work on at any given time.

Yes, well willingness is one thing.  Application is another.  In my case, I’m loaded with willingness, but I have the attention span of a gnat.

We beg to differ.  You may think that your attention is limited, but We would like you to review what you have accomplished during the course of your lifetime.  By keeping your eye upon the donut, as you like to say, you have marched steadily toward the achievement of your goals and desires, even though at times you may think otherwise.  Your evolutionary journey toward enlightenment is furthered by your willingness to accept this assignment.  We know that it is not easy, and it is not comfortable.  We have asked and you have answered, and for that We are grateful.  From your limited perspective it would appear that progress has been slow to the point of being imperceptible, but viewed from a distance We see you standing strong amidst the growing cadre of global lightworkers.  Hold the torch high to help light the path for others who struggle to find their way out of the dark.  This, indeed, is your assignment, and We thank you for your acceptance of it.

No, thank You, and you are welcome.  And thank You that it’s 8:42 and I think that I’m finished.  Well, at least for today.  A lifetime is another story.

 

My TV Myself

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Nestled comfortably in my cozy Lazygirl I stare at a blank TV screen, blacker than the highway to hell.  That’s an assumption, of course, since to the best of my knowledge, I have never actually traveled down the road to hell, though sometimes I wonder if I might not be headed in that direction.  Come to think of it, maybe I’m a current resident there now, but too dense to see it.  Hmmm . . .

In the midst of my reverie it dawns on me that quite possibly, I might just be sitting here staring at a picture of the workings of my mind.  Uh oh.  Blank.

With the touch of a button I have the power to bring it alive.  It is a world unto itself, rife with stories, news, fantasy, sports, profundity, stupidity, truth and fiction.  It is a magnificent bearer of both beauty and horror, and of love and hatred.

Within and behind that blank screen lies an entire world that is not real.  It entertains me and offers escape, distraction, and welcome relief from the gnawing fear of what is to become of us and of the world that we once knew and loved, a world that seems to deteriorate in bits and pieces day by day.  It magnifies that fear by spewing ugliness into our world with news and fake news or whatever else there is to tempt us into believing that our world has gone round the bend into raging, complete and utter, full-blown insanity.  Nuttydom, I call it.

Here is my mind mirrored back to me in sound bytes.  Here is my mind giving me the rich opportunity to decide what to watch – or not – the perfect mirror of the meanderings of my mind.

I stare for awhile at that blank screen in my head and realize that it’s up to me to decide.  I decide what I do with my mind.  I decide which channel I tune into, and I have the power to change what I wish to see in my mind’s eye at any given moment.  I can tune into what brings me a greater sense of peace and calm, and joy and happiness, or I can choose anxiety, anger, frustration, or powerlessness in the face of a world governed by leaders who put their personal interests ahead of those they supposedly serve.

But beware!  A choice for love isn’t easy.  It requires diligence, vigilance, determination, intention, and perseverance–just a few minor little attitude adjustments.  Without those, a love-chooser easily becomes prey to the tricky uncanny antics of an ego intent upon surviving it own annihilation in the face of love.  Wth any luck, perhaps the planet and its inhabitants will survive annihilation as well.

Maybe one day I’ll write about those crafty little ego antics, but for today, I’m going say goodbye to the blank screen and hello to the light.  Today, I focus on choosing love.

 

 

Potties, Plaques, and Plagiarism

 This morning the universe very kindly presented me with inspiration courtesy of plagiarism and bathroom wisdom. It makes me wonder what, if anything, these two subjects might have in common but who knows—there may be a lesson lurking in here somewhere and with any luck I’ll find it.   A day without a lesson is a day without sustenance. Food. Coffee. Sunshine. That sort of thing. Wine. But those days are over. Who knows—maybe it’s about the seat that’s up. All I know is that I didn’t do it.

The first bit of inspiration came from a blogger who wrote about her concern over the plagiarizing of blogs.   I’m too new at this point to even think of worrying or caring about that yet, so I won’t.

The second was an email from my friend Ginny Daly who sent me a copy of a lovely meditation by Richard Rohr.

“ I noticed today’s meditation has a similar version of my “like likes like.” And to think here I thought I’d made that up years ago as it applies to an advertising concept I was teaching at the time.  How silly of me!”                                                            

It reminded me of a similar experience of my own.

I thought I made up a couple of things too, like “rom com” and “mani pedi”. Okay, I admit that mani pedi might have been around before I thought of it, but who knows? But rom com? When I first spoke those words to a very hip and knowing friend, her response was, “What’s a rom com?” Romantic comedy, silly. What else? Whether or not I actually made those abbreviations up in my head, or whether I plucked them right out of the universal pool of clever tidbits to be snatched is a question that will never be answered.

When I worked in a law firm with five floors each with a restroom, and each restroom with four stalls, I’d often find myself in desperate need of a bathroom while on the fly. I’d make a frantic dash into the nearest one of twenty stalls in such a hurry that sometimes I didn’t take the time to check out the condition of the seat.

I quickly learned that there are two sorts of women in the world—the sitters and the squatters. I’m a sitter. It’s those squatters that get me every time because their total lack of bathroom decorum manifests in a soaking wet seat as a gift for the next poor sucker with a frantic need for blessed relief. No wonder the squatters squat. They don’t want to become the victim of the last squatter’s gift. Heaven forbid.

Please don’t get me wrong, squatters. I’m sure that that there are the sweeties among you who clean up after yourselves in consideration of the person who follows you

But for those who don’t, I have a few words for you. Be considerate. Clean up after yourself. If not, be prepared to be faced with the possibility of some sort of nasty karma that may rise up and bite you in the butt.

By the way—apologies to those among you who are old-school ladies who think that butt is a dirty word—or at least an unladylike one. But it’s only an informal abbreviation of a legitimate word, right? Forrest Gump said it after all—except when he said it, it came out butt-tocks. Rom com. Mani pedi. Butt—not a big whoop, right?

Well so anyway, why don’t I wipe the seat, you may wonder? Duh. I don’t have time. I’m too busy trying not to wet my own self! When I have time, of course I check. When not, oh well . . .

In a fit of fury after one such encounter with a soggy seat, I stormed back to my office and flying fingers typed the words that fell out of my head.

If you sprinkle when you tinkle,

Please be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.

Okay, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I I made that one up. I taped a copy to the inside of the door in every restroom—all twenty stalls.

Twenty years later, I sat myself down on a seatie in someone’s home and—voila—I found myself staring eyeball to wall at one of those wood-carved plaques—you know—the kind you would find in a road-side souvenir shop that advertises the name of the town on everything that isn’t nailed down? There it was. A jagged-edged dark brown wooden plaque hanging on the wall in right front of me with the exact words I had written so long ago. Probably plucked right off of a shelf in some gift shop in God Only Knows What Town, USA.

Imagine my surprise ten years later when I wandered into the restroom of an elegant consignment shop and discovered a variation of the original hanging in all its glory before my very eyes. Yep—there it again—framed, hand-lettered, décor matched, and misquoted. It makes me wonder how many other versions and variations there may be somewhere out there in the world hanging around making money without meCome on! I mean, if you must plagiarize the plagiarizer, the least you can do is get it right, right? On the other hand, perhaps it was an intentional act on the part of the perpetrator designed to appear as if it might be an original thought. Hmmm . . .

Well now, as you might imagine, the discovery of these unexpected sightings conjured up some interesting and somewhat disturbing mind meanderings. Darn! Someone stole my stuff and claimed it as her own (it has to be a her, right?) Darn! Someone is cashing in on my creativity. Darn! Why didn’t I think of that? Darn! How dare she? Darn! I’d like to have a word with the sneaky little shedevil—if only I knew who she was. Darn! I wonder how much money she made that I didn’t?

Let that be a lesson to me.

Wait. What’s the lesson?

I don’t know, but I’m sure that there must be one in there somewhere. There always is. Maybe it has to do with not getting too attached to what I think is mine. Letting go. Finding humor. Forgiveness—not just for the perpetrator, but for myself for whatever I think I did or didn’t do that I should or shouldn’t have. I think I’ll just think about for a while and maybe I’ll get it figured out before I croak. On the other hand, maybe by then, it won’t even matter.

Hmm. That last thought makes me wonder. What does really matter?

Stay tuned.