The Surprise Sucker Punch

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Do you ever review your day just before going to sleep?  I do—and last night I had to face the music and ask myself, “Egad—what in the world was that?”

Yesterday was one of those head-pounding, heart-pumping, vein-popping nightmarish kind of days that nearly sent me over the edge of sanity into the brutal realization that I ain’t perfect yet.  Dagnabit.  When am I going to learn?

Here I thought that I finally had it all together (well, maybe just some of it) only to be shocked into the awareness that just like anyone else, I am not immune from the blast of anger that lurks just beneath the surface of my usual calm manner that is ready to flare up unexpectedly to pounce and punch—and Heaven help the person who happens to be innocently standing in the way when it does!

Unlike the nightmares of The Pink Panther (2/26) and Trashy Dreams (4/22), this was a daytime nightmare from which I have not yet awakened nor barely recovered.  Lessons, lessons, everywhere lessons.

In addition to owning the title of Queen of the Trash Room, I also seem to have acquired the honor of being dubbed Queen of the Movers, or chief-in-charge of the many comings and goings of the condo building where I live.  This one tops the list of the Make-Me-Crazy jobs on my list of Crazy-Things-To-Do.

Yesterday’s move was the pinnacle of the move-from-hell experiences.   The guys on the truck broke every condo rule in the book, resulting in multiple complaints from irate residents who had every right to be angry about the inconvenience created by the truck blocking the entrance/exit to the garage. They refused to move.  Period.  They simply refused to move.   Needless to say, I lost it and things went downhill from there.

My normal behavior would have been to slip into facilitator/mediator role, but I was so blinded by my own anger that I got caught up in the melee, unable to find my way clear.  Fortunately, I soon realized that I was part of the problem rather than part of the solution, and I backed off and apologized for my untowardly behavior toward the movers, but not before I gave myself a good tongue lashing for my behavior.  I felt ashamed of myself and embarrassed by my loss of control.  That sucker-punch caught me by surprise and rather than responding with kindness, I reacted to this little head-on collision with anger instead.

It’s times like these that I need to remember that I’m not broken and I don’t need to be “fixed,” but sometimes when in the midst of such a daytime nightmare, it sounds easier said than done.  Happily for me, I have a strong faith and belief in the power of love over fear, and that I need only remember that love is the best soft-serve antidote to all things conflicting.

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As my head hit the pillow last night, I felt my body struggling to recover from the nasty blast of stress that occurred as a result of the day’s fray.  Heart and head both pounded from physical, mental, and emotional strain and kept me awake and asking myself how I had gone so far over the edge so quickly.  What was the trigger that set me off?  I don’t have the answer to that yet, but at least my head is a little clearer in the light of day.  What did I learn from this unfortunate encounter?

  • It’s easier to catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
  • Think before I speak.
  • I am not broken and I don’t need to be fixed.
  • Though I may lose it in the moment and never have an opportunity to heal a rift between myself and another, I can still practice the art of love, forgiveness, kindness, and compassion with both myself and those whom I may have harmed.
  • I can reaffirm my resolve to sit down each day with the friendly voices within myself for a refreshing dip in the fountain of awareness and enlightenment.
  • But here’s the kicker of what I really learned.  I learned how important it is to have a strong spiritual belief system.  I learned that yesterday, I had failed to have a little daily chat with my sane, loving unseen voices.  I saw how quickly a situation of minor proportions can quickly morph into a major incident such that those involved might be brought to use violence as a means as a so-called solution to the problem.  Or that a family disagreement can cause a major lifelong fracture that goes unhealed.
  • This incident also reminded me that any situation may be used by the powers that be to heal, bless, and heighten the awareness of those with eyes to see and the willingness to engage in the practice of doing whatever they need to do to add peace to their world and to the world in general.
  • Any experience—no matter how comfortable or uncomfortable, no matter how happy or unhappy—can be used as fodder for a blog.  So thanks for this experience of something to write about, my friends (I think!).

By the way—in case you may have forgotten, I’d just like to remind you (and myself) that we are absolutely perfect exactly the way we are.  Let’s face it—we’re all doing the best we can.  If we could do it any better, we would.  And one day when we’re ready, we will.  Meanwhile, I highly recommend that you simply sit back, relax and enjoy the journey.

Today I’ll thank the voices who are always there for me, I’ll remember that I’m not broken, that I don’t need to be fixed, that I can own and love my behavior and see it as a gift cleverly designed to move me along on my path to enlightenment like it or not (and sometimes I don’t, depending of the form the lesson).   I can see it as a growing experience rather than use it as a weapon against myself, and know that I am always loved and forgiven and I can always love and forgive myself and all others in my world.  And yes, even my enemies.  Well—not so easy sometimes, but I’m working on it!

I also learned that my blissful, joyful, state of euphoria can be quickly destroyed by unhealed anger.  So I’m making the choice for love and will keep my sights set on Nirvana.  It may take awhile, but I plan to stay on track till I make it!  Maybe I’ll see you there, huh?

Oh—as a final note (there always seems to be a final note, right?) I want to add that starting right now, today, this very minute, I have returned to “Thank You God” mode. All day every day, Thank You God Mode keeps me in a state of joyful bliss and out of trouble. Apparently I flunked Gratitude 101 yesterday.  I won’t make that mistake again today.  It’s too stressful!

Thank you,  thank you, thank you God for ALL blessings, both great and small.  And speaking of gratitude . . .

Oh–and here’s other final note.  (Do they never end?)  This blog was produced before I even had a chance to say thank you to all of you wonderful family, friends, and fellow bloggers for your lovely and positive comments about the last post, but hang tight.  I’ll get there soon!  Meanwhile, please know that I appreciate your kind thoughts!  🙂  To those who are following my blog, THANK YOU!

 

 

 

 

Where’s the Easy Button?

legs-window-car-dirt-road-51397.jpegWhen I was a kid my family used to accuse me of getting up earlier so that I could loaf longer. Back then I was insulted by their accusations, but now I see that they were dead right. If you want to get something done quickly and efficiently, ask a lazy person because they’ll always find a way to finish the job in a hurry so they can default back to lazy mode and loaf longer.

I was born the youngest in a family with three girls, one who claimed me as her very own personal adorable little baby doll. There was nothing that I was required to do for myself because she anticipated my every need and met each one before it appeared, haircuts included. I picked the perfect environment to nurture my lackawannado nature. My loving sister-mother exacerbated my slothful ways by playing right into my lazy little hands. Bless her heart.

I’m never overwhelmingly thrilled about staring at myself and my shortcomings eyeball to eyeball, but sometimes they just pop up out of nowhere and knock me off center by making me realize that I still have a lot of work to do on myself.   Rats. I want to get it over with fast so I can get out of here, whip through the pearly gates, find myself a comfy lazygirl where I can plop down, put the feet up, relax, push a few buttons, and have the world at my beck and call to fulfill my every need.

The lazy in me always wants it all to be easy.   I have probably been a queen in a past lifetime or two, living a peel-me-a-grape sort of existence, surrounded by servants and handmaidens scurrying around me like bees in a hive providing for my every need while I sat popping peeled grapes and bon bons into my greedy mouth.

Wouldn’t it be a fabulous life if we didn’t have to struggle? Wouldn’t it be great if we didn’t have to work ourselves stupid just to get by? Shouldn’t it all be easy? And fun? Now that would make life really worth living. But alas, such is not always the case.

Take blogging for example. Sometimes I sit down and just start writing and in the space of an hour or less a beginning, middle, and end have emerged onto paper and I can call myself finished. On other days it’s a real struggle with writing, rewriting, guessing, second-guessing, and—well you get the idea.

Yesterday was a slogging blogging sort of a day. No matter how many attempts I made to get it right, it always seemed to come out wrong.   I ended the day with yet another unfinished blog, frustrated and exhausted from the effort of trying to write through a weary mind and blurry eyes. I learned long ago that if I find obstacles hurled on my path every other step of the way that I’m going in the wrong direction. The harder I try to get where I want to go, the more mired in quicksand I become until finally I sink into an abyss of failure and quit fighting the good fight.  Going against gravity sends me reeling backwards every time. When will I learn to listen?

My friends refuse to believe me when they hear me call myself lazy. They point out my organizational skills and neat freak ways and tell me that there is no way that I am lazy. Well—maybe they are right. On the other hand, their perspective is vastly different from mine. They see only the outside, while I am on the inside looking out.

Perhaps after a lifetime of procrastination and claiming that I do my best work under pressure, I’ve come to my senses and realize that it’s easier to do it now rather than later, and that if I continue to stumble over obstacles strewn across the path to my end game,, something is amiss. If I don’t slide gracefully into my destination I am on the wrong path.

What is classroom earth but an opportunity to give us free will to decide what we want, set out upon a journey toward our dreams, choose our path, watch our step, and make in-flight corrections when necessary?

Yep. I want it to be easy. If it isn’t, something is amiss. It behooves me to figure out what that is and fix it while I still have the chance. I’m on a mission to earn my right to that comfy lazygirl in the sky.  Oh but wait—I’ll probably be so busy doing whatever it is that folks do in up there that I won’t have time to sit down and enjoy it. Well, perhaps the joy is in the doing.  Or the journey.  Or maybe both.  If the bottom line of doing is joy, then I’ll take whatever I can get!

Hallelujah!  This blog showed up with a beginning and an end with a middle somewhere in between.  And it all happened before my second cup of coffee. I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead.  At least for today.

May all of your doings be filled with joy this day.

 

 

The Pink Panther

Whew. Thank goodness it was only a dream, but unlike others that fade off into the far distant recesses of the mind never to be heard from again, this one is indelibly etched in my head. The last thing I remember before waking was having the thought, “Oh my God! I hope this is only a dream!”

The details are fuzzy except for the intense feeling of being utterly captivated by the presence of an adorable, lovable, tiny little pink cat that showed its affection by way of a fuzzy pink body weaving and curling itself around my leg. Whoever heard of a pink cat—one that did the occasional morph into blue or white? Hmm. Chameleon cat. I should have known then and there that something was a little off. Beware of the bizarre.

Like a kid with her nose plastered against the glass of a pet store window, I simply had to take that precious, cuddly, creature home with me. With its delicate petite little body, I concluded that she must be a girl. No matter. I’ll just assume that she’s a she, and that her name is Pinky.

Once home, I watched in horror as Pinky quickly morphed from her sweet little critter into a vicious, terrifying predator with me in sight as her target. The first hint of trouble was when she lunged at me and tore the bow off my black strappy dress-up sandals while they were still on my feet. The next was when 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 a only dream, right?

Worse than the teeth sunk into my flesh was the underlying awareness that I had abandoned my dear sweet, gentle, loyal, loving, trustworthy, safe, obedient dog Charlie in favor of the sneaky, vicious, con-artist 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 the blood from 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 his bed. It gives a whole new meaning to “Sorry, Charlie!”

Well okay then. That was yesterday and today is today and since then I’ve been wondering what in the world ever brought such a nightmare upon me. Was this a concoction courtesy of the great cosmic clown to provide me with writing material chock full of grist for the mill? Did the clown hold a mirror up to my face to show me aspects of myself that I’d prefer to keep hidden away? If so, good grief, I certainly got a face full of NOthat can’t be me! Is there a vicious ego named Pinky lurking somewhere in the deepest recesses of my being awaiting the first moment of weakness as an opportunity to lunge forth and 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 con me into selling my soul to the devil?

Oh but wait another minute—where there’s a Pinky there is also a Charlie. Pinky the devil, Charlie the angel, both coexisting within the deep recesses of my soul. I get to choose. I can be a Pinky, or I can be a Charlie. Or I can bounce back and forth from one to the other like a ping pong ball moving at warp speed. I get to decide which one I wish to live with, which one I will take home and make my own. Sometimes I am a slow learner, but this one was pretty easy to figure out. The answer is obvious.

So here’s the thing, Pinky. I’ve got your number. 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. You should be on the stage—the first stage out of town. If it ever comes down to a battle for my soul, a battle between love and fear, 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.

One other thing occurred to me as I pondered my way through the day. Perhaps at the moment when I take my final breath and close my eyes for the last time, I will wake up on the other side, look back and realize that it was all only a dream. Or a nightmare, depending upon which side I have chosen to live. My days may be numbered, but the good news is—I can still make what’s left of them count on the side of good.

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