Following The Signs and Symbols

In response to Claudette’s Writing Challenge #5: Fortune

51. I live my life by following the signs and symbols that surround me. In other words, I live my life directed by my Intuition.

That was supposed to be #42 on my list, but I conveniently side-stepped it altogether, deciding instead to add a few negatives to my list for the sake of balance. Sort of a logical decision, don’t you think? Except when you immediately become aware that there was no element of logic in the decision making process. What motivated the change in subject matter was just plain old fear, discomfort in the comfort zone, dis-ease at writing down such a blatant and telling statement.

I’ve said it before, and to hundreds of people (I was a teacher), so why the fuss here and now? Because this is different and also entails honesty and commitment. I have no idea how anyone will react to that statement. Will I automatically be dismissed for saying it? I live in a world that prizes logic and logical thinking, yet here I am saying that I choose to see things differently and order my existence through that different perspective.

Logic doesn’t dismiss intuition, that would be illogical. However, much of the time, logic has a tendency to put quotation marks around that kind of thinking, sort of admiring it from a distance, but still retaining the prerogative of dismissal should it prove less than concrete. And it does prove that a great deal of the time. Intuition is based in a knowing that doesn’t always have supportive evidence for its conclusions or suggestions. It simply is.

Intuition is based on sensory input, sometimes feelings, and logic doesn’t put a great deal of trust in feelings. They are subjective, not objective and thus, not logical. Feelings are not facts, therefore lend little support to any argument. So, saying that I live by the dictates of my intuition means I, therefore my opinion, might and could easily be dismissed. That means I could possibly go unheard.

So why am I bringing all of this up? Because I realized that I had side-stepped #42. By doing that, I was being less than honest and cheating myself out of other possibilities. I prize my intuitive abilities, right along with my logic skills. It doesn’t make any difference if others recognize them or even acknowledge them. Yet, it does, because I know that others sometimes see and define intuitive knowing right up there with fortune-telling. That makes it suspect, somehow not quite on the up and up, maybe even a bit of a scam.

In The Gift of Fear, Gavin De Becker writes about one of the most primary needs for intuition in the human experience, that of self-protection against the threat of violence. He gives copious examples of how it works and why it is necessary for the individual to listen to that small inner voice that alerts one to danger. But that is only one need and use of intuition, albeit, an extremely important one.

In writing about how one must be alert to whatever opportunities might arise to propel one toward ones dream, I am speaking directly to another use of intuition. Listening to that still small voice can allow one to make choices and decisions based in the reality of ones own experiences and daily existence. No one can possibly know all of that except the individual. It is all stored inside of us, each and every moment.

That knowing of each moment results in those nudges we sense and feel about certain things and people. And although I am using that knowing to direct my personal choices, it is still one and the same as De Becker’s gift of fear. If intuition is a gift meant to enhance self-preservation, then doesn’t it stand to reason that we must use it to make the choices that will allow us the best life possible into whatever future we have? Oh, oh, we might be bumping up against that fortune-telling subject again.

This week, I have been bumping up against a decision, a choice about how I want to proceed into my future. My intuition has kicked into high gear, and although I would really like to dismiss it, I can’t. The logic side of my brain is yakking about how much more time and energy this choice would entail. Am I really prepared to do that and make that commitment? My intuitive knowing says there is always a risk in moving through a threshold experience. I won’t know the answers until I make the movement. And round and round they go until I am just plain confused and exhausted.

There is no denying that the synchronicity has been high level through all of this. Synchronicity is an aspect of intuition. It is the intuitive energy that points out all the connective links. And it is definitely pointing in a very specific direction. Dare I ignore that and possibly invite harm to my own person and progress? What did I just say about the gift of fear? But dis-ease and discomfort are not good reasons for doing anything, are they? Yet, they are the very reasons this blog is being written.

Am I a fortune-teller? No. I am simply an individual exploring the paths opening in front of me, and whatever possibilities they might unveil to me. The final choice, decision still lies in front of me. I’m still gathering information. Which means we are still on the drawing board. That in turn means I am back to my journal and some more noodling. Wish me luck, or at least clear sailing?

A Few Negatives in The 101

 

Number eight on my 101 list of things about me states that I am opinionated. So far, I have kept my list on the positive side of things, or at least attempted to do that. Today, I’m going to list a few things I dislike, or that I find wrong with my world.

42. I do not like or appreciate stereotypical generalities. I have a tendency to react to them when they are offered as some sort of proof or support for an argument, especially about individuals. Using someone’s age, gender, skin-color, or circumstances as proof of a negative judgment raises the hackles on the back of my neck. I usually will set out to prove just the opposite, if I can, and I often do. I really dislike it when it is used as a quasi-form of witticism. This is, for me, stupidity and ignorance, and there is nothing funny about it.

43. I really hate the fact that my circumstances do not allow me to have a vehicle of my own. My independence is threatened by that reality and it doesn’t sit well at any time.

44. Although I love to go fishing, I do not like the taste of fish. I do enjoy a good fish fry periodically, but fish is not a part of my regular diet. My father used to tell me, especially while we were cleaning perch after fishing all day, that eventually I would grow to enjoy and love this one of his favorites. Sorry Dad, it hasn’t happened yet.

45. I thoroughly enjoy finding the reasons for why things are the way they are. I have yet to find one good one for childhood sexual abuse. I hope I never do.

46. I hate the silence attached to certain subjects, such as that in #45. Yes, I understand the discomfort of knowing that reality, but the silence that often is attached to it is a punishment of the victim. A wounding burden that sometimes completely overshadows the particulars, and does so for years.

47. I really don’t much like the color pink. I think that is because, for me, it speaks of tenderness and vulnerability. That only means I am trying to confront it as I do the coloring I enjoy so much. It’s hard work.

48. I really dislike people who refuse to take responsibility for their own actions and choices, thus making their comfort and happiness the responsibility of others. I call them crazymakers.

49. Which means, in turn, that I have a problem with individuals who refuse to confront their own reality. I am speaking here of those who absolutely refuse to acknowledge the elephant taking up space in their living rooms.

50. I much prefer a positive attitude to a negative one. Which means I’ve had enough of this portion of my list for today.

I will continue my list, perhaps sprinkling in a negative here or there. It is proving to be an interesting exercise. Not sure anyone else is getting anything out of this, but I am certainly doing so.

At first I was intimidated by that number 101. In college, a 101 course is the very beginning level of a subject. One usually doesn’t get to the real meat of the topic until the 200 level, and above. By then, one is familiar with the jargon, all the basic concepts, and is able to hopefully converse in a knowledgeable manner on different levels concerning the subject matter. One should, by then, be able to question, as well as prove support for ones opinions about it.

I think it might be far more profitable to have a 101 course on self. I can see it now, an entire semester devoted to finding 101 things about ones own person that remain constant and true over time. OOOPPPPPPPPPs! I think we are back at the beginning again. That could very well be seen as keeping a journal.

About Opportunity and #41

In response to Claudette’s Weekly Writing Challenge #4: Opportunity.

Years ago, when I realized I actually had a dream (more a wish, or vague desire at the time), I read a very important piece of information. I don’t even know where I read it, but it obviously lodged somewhere deep in my psyche and took up permanent residence there. That piece of info was that when you are following your dream, heart’s desire, bliss, you must always remain alert to that reality and take advantage of whatever opportunities arise concerning that dream.

My dream was to write. Not necessarily in book form, although that would certainly be nice, but more so to find a place that allowed me to write whatever I wanted to write and to have the time available to do so. Whatever I was reading coalesced into the reality that most of us aren’t really prepared to see our dreams come to fulfillment. That alone, keeps them in the arena of wishful thinking and never allows them to become dreams that we are actively working toward. Which means that they don’t have a snowball’s chance in hot water of becoming reality.

Another important piece in all of that was that if you can see yourself doing it, it’s possible. My first attempts at creating an image of myself writing were completely surrounded in rose-colored clouds and beautifully blended, but misty colors. Very romantic, but hardly the stuff of ongoing daily existence. But, thank goodness, I did finally get to concrete imagery in which I was dressed in jeans and large sized t-shirt, sitting cross-legged in a comfortable chair with a pen and paper in hand. Eventually, I did graduate to the same clothing, but to me sitting at a computer, doing what I really love to do.

A large part of getting the image correct was hidden in that statement about taking advantage of whatever opportunities arose. As I did those very things, the image got corrected, in increments, so that it actually reflected my personal reality. There is nothing misty or blended about editing someone else’s manuscript. There isn’t any room in that reality for wishful or romantic thought processes. Editing is a logical process and follows a precise set of rules and behavior.

Although I didn’t ever learn to love, or even like the editing work, I did it because the opportunity arose and I was staying alert to my dream. Editing is a part of the writing process, so when someone asked me to do that, I did. I also realized that I would never be an excellent editor for a lot of reasons, and that was good information to have. The same thing held true for publishing. For a couple of years, I published a small writer’s zine, and although I really enjoyed doing that, it was a lot of work that didn’t allow me as much room, or time, to write as I wanted.

But again, I learned a great deal from that experience. I learned about layout and design, and spacing and word choice. I learned a great deal about how easy it is to be misinterpreted, or completely misunderstood. I learned about deadlines and keeping them as personal commitments. And I learned a lot more about editing and the reasons for all those rules.

Then I started teaching and found that I was good at it, truly enjoyed it, and would probably have continued if not for my physical disabilities. I worked as a free-lance writing instructor, which meant that I taught what I chose, in whatever manner I chose to do it. The curriculum was entirely up to me. That was a really big and important piece of my dream that I hadn’t been aware of. That ability to choose.

When one is attempting to publish a book, one must, after the writing or the written proposal, seek out a publisher who might be interested in putting the work into published form. Either that, or self-publish and that costs money, time, and added work which deflects a lot of the writing time available. I knew that because of my personal experiences with the opportunities I had been given. Opportunities I took because they were all directly related to my dream of writing, and because I needed money for food and to pay the rent.

Because I was already forty when I realized I actually had a dream, my early retirement because of disabilities, seemed to bring all of that to an end, and very abruptly. It didn’t, but I had to spend some time sorting out my options and finding new avenues. I had to redefine me and perhaps even my dream. But, my dream refused to be redefined. It had become, through the process, as concrete as it could possibly be.

So today, I am blogging. Living inside of my dream on a daily basis. Writing what I choose, rereading and editing it, then hitting that publish button, and feeling far more content and satisfied than at any other time of my existence, because when I come here, I am also the teacher and am writing about all of the things I chose to teach. All the while knowing that I have actively participated in every step toward making this dream a reality.

And that is exactly what it is. My reality. My dream fulfilled because I grabbed at the opportunities as they presented themselves, always knowing what the ultimate goal should look like. I also realize that many others would turn their noses up at my modest and perhaps, inconsequential yearnings. So what? This isn’t their dream, its mine. They must dream their own dream, be constantly alert to whatever opportunities arise, and arise they will. Have the courage and honesty necessary to grasp those opportunities and learn whatever they need to learn on their way to see that their dream is fulfilled. They must actively participate with the process, or be forever lost in wishful thinking or depression because they made other choices.

Which brings me to number 41 on my list of 101 things about me. I am an opportunist.

The Second Twenty Percent

 

On my last blog, I started a list of 101 things about me. When I came here this morning I had lots of ideas, but nothing concrete. So, I will continue my list.

21. I am a very intense sort of person. When I am interested, you have my full undivided attention. That also means that when I’m ‘into’ something, I might not respond or even hear my name being called. My older sister once told me that she envies that quality about me. That I often bite off more than I can chew and when I find that it’s too much, I simply spit it out and go find something else to sink my teeth into.

22. I used to paint. We lived in an old five bedroom, two story farm house out in the county. I took over an upstairs bedroom and my husband built me an easel. I wasn’t very good at it because I had little training, but figured I would learn as I went along. And although I was focused for a time, I also had four children running loose and couldn’t keep track of them while doing the painting.

23. Which is one of the reasons I love the coloring I started doing some months ago. I get to enjoy all the fun of choosing the colors, watching the design come alive under my fingers, but none of the hassle and work of figuring it all out from scratch, especially placement.

24. Although I am a good listener, I am definitely a visual person. Instructions, without pictures, usually are wasted on me. I need to “see” what you mean before I fully comprehend.

25. Dogs and other animals love me and I, them. I have had incredible experiences with both domesticated and wild creatures. I speak to them and believe that, on occasion, they speak to me.

26. I make the best raspberry pie. Got the recipe from my grandmother, and like her had an entire raspberry patch in my yard. I loved to go out there early in the morning with my tri-colored collie and watch as he barked once and all the little black birds would rise up in a cloud of beating wings. He loved it too and was always pleased at the amount of power he wielded.

27. I am a fairly good, but lazy cook. Which means when I make homemade pasties, I buy the already made and rolled dough for the crust.

28. I love wooden boxes and decorative tins. I think that might have to do with my pack rat issues, or my need to keep things contained in some fashion. Not so much ordered, as given a place to belong.

29. Although I love jewelry, I seldom wear it. I do wear a small silver ring on the pinkie of my right hand. It is the face of an owl and my daughter gave it to me when she was about 13 or 14. She just turned 30. My nephew gave me a beautiful ring for Christmas a couple of years ago. It also is silver and has blue stones in it. Those are the only pieces of  jewelry I wear on a daily basis.

30. I really miss my fat lady clothes. I have never thought of myself as a clothes horse type person, and yet, now that I’ve lost so much weight, I am reluctant to go shopping for new ones.

31. Casual dresser, that’s me. I really like feeling comfortable. I have not worn a dress in over twenty years, even at my children’s weddings.

32. I learned how to ice skate because I could sing. We lived across the street from a city park that provided an ice rink every winter. I would go with my siblings, put on my skates, stand up and someone would grab my hand and ask me to sing one of the current popular songs, pulling me around the rink as I did so. Some of my older brother’s friends would give me a nickel if I sang certain songs. Ahhhh, if only they had had American Idol back then.

33. But then, I wouldn’t be a writer, a poet, and a blogger. There is always something to be said about timing.

34. I have a steel pin/plate in my head from a car accident when I was four years old. The scar on the left side of my head has shaped me in ways nothing else could have. It is u-shaped and shelters my ear and I now see it as a symbol, a gift from the Universe that set me apart for particular purposes and reasons.

35. I use a cane on those days when I feel a bit unsteady, but haven’t needed it much since the weight loss. It hangs on the door knob at the entrance of my apartment. I think some people think its no more than a weird aspect of my interior decorating skills, or lack there of.

36. College was one of the best experiences of my life. I started when I was 37 years old and it took me seven years to complete my four year degree. I was still raising children at the time, and also working.

37. I did two majors in college, one in History and the other in English. I also did a minor in Women’s Studies. It was the first time in my life that I was told I had a fine mind and had been whole-heartedly given permission to use it in whatever manner I chose.

38. One of my deepest desires is to go on learning until the moment of my death, and hopefully beyond it.

39. I have a very strong spiritual belief system, but am not religious.

40. I finished another tub of ice cream last night (not in one sitting), so am still looking for people with leftovers.

A Partial List

 

A couple of days ago, I was on someone else’s site and once again found a sidebar page that was titled Twenty Things About Me. I always read those because I find them interesting as well as informative. At one point, I found one that said, 101 Things About Me. Found that number somewhat intimidating, but also envied the individual the courage to do such a thing.

Decided I would do a 101 list in increments and today will be the first twenty. I have not prewritten any of this, haven’t even thought about it until this moment. So here goes:

1. I take my name very seriously. I do not like being called Liz under any circumstances. I chose to be Elizabeth as an adult, after being called Betty as a child. I did that for very good reasons that have to do with definitions. A  shortened version of my name narrows that definition, considerably.

2. I love words and writing. That should be obvious to anyone who comes here, but sometimes it is best to state the obvious.

3. I have made it one of my purposes to encourage others to write. I truly believe it is one of the healthiest and cheapest forms of therapy available. Besides, I really don’t want to be doing this alone. It’s a good idea to also state ones ulterior motives in order to lessen shock value later on.

4. I love Chocolate. Milk chocolate to be exact, and especially when it is crossed in any form with caramel, nuts (especially pecans), or coconut.

5. I was recently diagnosed with diabetes, which makes number 4 a true tragedy, but one that I have found is still workable in moderation.

6. I believe in the subconscious mind, as well as the collective unconscious. I have spent a great deal of my existence exploring both and find them paths to untold and incredibly rewarding adventures.

7. Because of number 6, I believe in the deep value of symbolism, mythology, dream work, story (written or spoken), connective links between all things, and several other areas that don’t necessarily have a mainstream value with the majority of people. I also believe in the necessity of building bridges.

8. I am opinionated, but also a good listener. I have been known to change my mind and am willing to admit when I’ve gotten it all wrong.

9. I think that laughter is the best healing medicine the human race owns. Used regularly, it ranks right up there with apples, but is also readily available and still free out of season.

10. One of the things I look for in others is the ability to laugh at self. That is far more telling than all the knowledge of a lifetime. That, for me, is true wisdom.

11. I have seven grandchildren, 3 grandsons, and 4 granddaughters. One I have never met, and another who is a stepchild from a former relationship. I love them all and miss them. They are each incredible individuals with tremendous potential.

12. I love going for long drives to nowhere, committing gluttony of the eye, and fishing. Not in that particular order, and they are even better when they are engaged in spontaneously.

13. I am of Native American descent on my Mother’s side and truly recognize the kinship we humans share with all living things. I also have totem animals and even believe they speak to me when I listen.

14. Music is, and always has been, an integral part of my existence. I am drawn by song lyrics that speak to me of my own experience, and my tastes are somewhat eclectic, ranging from country to funky instrumentals.

15. Writing poetry is a natural part of breathing.

16. I am fairly new to blogging and it is still a strange new world I am exploring and loving. I hope that continues.

17. I have an incredible number of friends, both online and in real time. They encourage and support me, and I reciprocate in kind. I have a tendency to view these relationships as a secret hidden treasure that I horde, defend, and protect jealously.

18. Although I am open to new things, I have to consider my physical capabilities which have decreased with the passing of the years. That only means I am willing to make adjustments and do, quite often.

19. I dread the idea of ever being confined to a wheelchair because it will inevitably narrow my choices considerably. On the other hand, one of the funniest experiences I have had was when a friend was propelling me through the doors of an elevator, in a wheelchair, and managed to get me in the chair, stuck in the closing doors. Another friend simply walked away refusing to admit any connection with either of us as we laughed uproariously and made a public spectacle to boot.

20. I love ice cream, especially the varieties that have a ribbon of fudge or caramel running through them. Because of that particular passion, I have an inordinate number of clean plastic tubs, with covers, in my kitchen cupboards. Do you have leftovers? I have a container for you, do you want to be my friend?

About Heart Day

 

It’s Valentine’s Day, today. As if anyone needs to be reminded. One can’t step inside a store without being hit with the colors pink, red, and white. I think there are two things I appreciate about Valentine’s Day. Those would be that it’s only one day, 24 hours, and then all that chocolate goes on sale. Chocolate remains chocolate no matter the color it is wrapped inside of.

You may have already guessed it. I’m not a fan. I try very hard to not even think about the day itself. So why am I writing about it? Maybe because I’ve kept silent all of these years and have realized that avoidance only means that I get hit twice as hard every year when I can’t sidestep the inevitable.

And before anyone says it, this is not sour grapes from a little old lady who finds herself alone. I am quite content with my lot because I myself have chosen it. That is not to say I don’t enjoy some companionship, I do. But, I have to admit, that with each year that goes by, the standards go up, not down. I have a great deal to offer and expect reciprocal dividends. That could be defined as choosy, and I would have to agree. Why waste my time and effort on being bored or worse?

So, if its not sour grapes, what is it about this day that rankles? The first thing that comes to mind is that anyone who needs a specific day to remember the one, or ones, that they love, might be better off seeking out a different definition for that word. One that includes the ideas of constancy, continuity, and enduring over time. One that also includes the idea that the love alone is the only gift that really counts or has any meaning. And although the candy, flowers, and jewelry are nice, if one needs them to know that one is loved, one is in deep do-do.

Another reason for my out of season bah-humbug attitude is the expectations such a day creates, and often deflates, leaving in their stead self-doubts and tons of depression and insecurity. I would wager to guess that more individuals are made inescapably aware of their loneliness by this day, than its opposite promises, even though we all understand that this is commercialism at its extreme.

Last week, I went shopping with my sister. Of course, we had to walk through the aisles, strategically placed I might add, filled to overflowing with red cellophane, heart shaped boxes, and pink teddy bears. I found myself telling my sister that the really and truly best shopping day of the year is the one after Valentine’s Day when all that chocolate goes down to half price or less. That got me a side glance that spoke volumes.

I’m pretty sure her thoughts were along the lines of the sour grapes I mentioned above. What she doesn’t know perhaps, is that although I was married for twenty years, I seldom received gifts or cards on that one day a year when I should have rightfully expected to. What’s more, the occasional ones I did receive were obviously hasty last minute grabs that had nothing to do with the person I was and am. The cards were always oversized and included awful syrupy poetry that had nothing to do with the real life we were living and never included even one apology for the physical and emotional abuse that became a routine experience within that life.

What’s more, if I did receive a box of chocolates, they weren’t the kind I really prefer and usually came with a direct quote, “If you can possibly keep it down to one a day, you shouldn’t gain too much more weight.” Ah, love. And he actually thought that was what he was displaying. He is extremely fortunate that I was more concerned with being gracious back then, than in letting him wear his ‘love’ for all the world to see. That certainly wouldn’t occur now.

I guess what I am trying to say is that if love is not given on a regular basis, why make it a one day affair? Doesn’t that make love nothing more than an obligation, or worse, a joke? I would have much preferred an eagerness to sit down and quietly converse, actually speaking of the things and feelings that were important to both, or either of us. I would have much preferred a helping hand in the kitchen or with the kids rather than the judgments of how poorly I was doing as a wife, mother, and human being.

And yes, I know that all these things have been said before. Probably by far more women then men. Yet, every year, I find that I must face this 24 hours and am tired of being silent about it. What it does to people who yearn for even one person to remember them on this day, and we all yearn for that. Wouldn’t it be nice if instead of dithering about which one of the teddy bears is the ‘right’ one, several people purchased five of them and then sent them randomly to unknown names found in the phone book?

That kind of gift, without rhyme or reason, could go a long way toward making a better world. A happier, and perhaps more loving one. As it is, tomorrow will be the biggest sale of the year on chocolate. That’s something to look forward to. What’s more, I’ll know exactly who purchased it, for what reason, and why she gave it to me.

Letting It All Go

 

Have you ever noticed how easy it is to let go of some things? Yet, almost impossible to let go of others? Take personal disciplines, for example. If you’ve been doing it for years and the discipline has become second nature to engage in, one can feel lost and completely out of sorts when that discipline is skipped even one time and for completely valid reasons. On the other hand, a newly chosen discipline, even when it is working excellently and gaining whatever goal it was intended to facilitate, can slip through our fingers faster than a greased substance of any kind.

A diet and weight loss is one such discipline. There is an incredible amount of energy used to sustain such a discipline because it must be done each day without let up. It is an ongoing thing and one that begs to be let go of on almost every day, sometimes every moment of every day. It is just plain hard work. Even when it has been wildly successful.

Thirty years ago, I went on a food plan and joined a weight loss program. No one was more startled or amazed than myself when I actually hit my goal weight. It took over a year, and each day was a battle against old habits and temptations that occurred at least three times a day. I managed to maintain the loss for almost three years, give or take a few pounds here and there. But then something happened. My dog died.

I know that sounds like a flimsy excuse at best, but I came apart in pieces. The dog was my emotional support and he was suddenly gone. I cried, of course, but then found that I couldn’t stop crying. And eventually I reverted back to my primary coping mechanism which was eating. Carbohydrates are heavy, heavy enough to hold down and suppress ones emotions. I stopped crying eventually, but the food program had gone out the window along with the scale and all the other paraphernalia, mainly the mind set and willingness necessary to continue.

Now, it’s thirty some years later and I have lived long enough to see just the opposite occur. I have made a lot of changes in my life and attitudes, and my daily living experiences over the past two years. I have put on several new disciplines which I partake in on a daily basis. And whallah, as I have found emotional satisfaction, spiritual and mental growth, the weight has simply melted away without any particular effort on my part.

Ah, but I am back at that place where the temptation is strong to let go of all of it. To let it slip on occasion, here and there, and I do know the danger and recognize all of the symptoms. Strangely enough, it isn’t any easier being happy, then it was being thin. Actually, it’s even harder at the moment, because I am both happy and almost thin to boot. Talk about a sudden greased slide appearing at ones feet without any fore warning or indications of its presence.

There are a few things that are helping me sustain both the contentment and the weight loss. One of them is the very real mental image of where I was to begin with. It isn’t hard to remember that not all that long ago, I was a couch potato, sitting in the living room, watching American Idol, reading non-stop, sometimes during the commercials, lol. That’s not a place I want to go back to, ever.

Yes, I got something very important from that reality. It got me up and out of the chair, and eventually even out of the books I was constantly reading. It propelled me into this place in which I now exist and don’t want to lose. But there are other things that also help me to stay in this place. My own strong desire to continue my own journey, if for no other reason than to see where it will all take me. I’m not done yet, and it would be such a shame to leave this new path and all of its promise, for what? An easy chair?

There are all of the new friends I have made. If I let go of this place, I would have to let go of them as well. And they have so much to teach me, and I have so much to give in return. It wouldn’t just hurt me, but others, and that is something I try to avoid at all cost.

But the most important thing that keeps me from letting go and sliding down that greased chute is my journal. It keeps me aware and alert. Let’s me know what I am really thinking and feeling. Allows me to actually see the danger I am in. And that danger is very real. My physical health depends on my maintaining the weight loss through control of my diet. My spiritual and emotional health and well being depends on my continued efforts to maintain these new disciplines I have put into place. And by the way, I didn’t actually know or define them as such when I put them in place.

My journal however, carried that message and made sure I finally comprehended it. And its blank pages keep asking a very simple but complex question. Why would I choose to give this all up? To once again become a couch potato? Because its so much easier to be a couch potato. A couch potato who wouldn’t be aware of that greased chute until she hit the bottom with a horrendous thud and probably a completely broken existence. Ah, now there’s a very real mental image.

Reality is, I would have to give up my very best friend in order to really let go of any or all of this new life I have created. That would be me, me and the journal that keeps me aware and alert with a desire to continue.

A Bit About Coyotes

The Taking by Dean Koontz

 

I am a veracious reader, until recently, and Dean Koontz is way up there at the top of my favorites list. I have a collection of his books and when I am out and about, if I see one on the shelf, I usually buy it, even if I have previously read it but don’t own a copy. And yes, I even read them more than once. I found the one above while shopping last week. I examined it in the store and realized that I had not ever read it, even though it was published in 2004.

Recently however, I am not doing my usual high level of word consumption. I’ve been preoccupied with that other activity that I spoke of in my last blog. So, Mr. Koontz sat on the dining room table for several days before I even picked him up to begin. That alone is rather surprising.

I love this man’s way of laying down words. Yes, he writes within the Horror genre, but he also has a delicious sense of humor and insights into human reality that draw me in and I have a tendency to read his stories far more slowly than others because I simply savor what the man does. And the little notebook I keep with quotes in it, is pretty much half filled with pickings from that particular shelf in my library.

He didn’t disappoint this time either. Between pages 15 and 17, I found myself underlining three quotes that had particular meaning to me. I need to back up a bit here. Although I have never met the author, I do feel that he and I ride a very similar path of some sort. I find that somewhere in his books, I will come upon some statement about the place I am in, in the present moment. On the sidebar of this blog, there is an essay about just that, titled Another Example of Synchronicity. It was written at this same time of year, and in the same year that this present book was published. See what I mean?

However, I was immediately confronted with a problem when I started reading this current book. It set off quiet alarm bells in my psyche. I only read the brief first chapter and set it aside to go back to that other activity I am so intrigued by these days. Didn’t realize the reason, until it happened again the very next night. I wasn’t trading one activity for another, I was really bothered by what I was reading and choosing to avoid further contact. I really wasn’t liking the feelings that were arising inside of me as I tried to get into the story.

And that bothered me, no end. Even though I really liked the quotes I had found, I was seriously contemplating putting the book on that shelf in the library and not finishing it. Was that even possible? This is a Dean Koontz book, for heaven’s sake. I eat these things up like other’s consume chocolate. Damn it, what’s wrong with this picture?

So, yesterday I wrote about all of this in my journal. It was more than a bit troubling. I started by typing out the quotes and figuring out why I liked them so much, but was still willing to forego any further reading. As I continued to write, several things occurred to me. Things I should have seen, but didn’t. Things I was aware of but was also ignoring. Things like the very title of the book.

The Taking. From the very first page of this read, it is apparent that what is being taken is life itself. Not just life as we know it, but all life. In one of the first scenes within the read, the main character is confronted with a pack of coyotes that has taken shelter on her front porch. The scene is completely surreal, as she moves among them and, she and they act totally and completely out of character. All the normal rules of human and wild animal behavior have been suspended.

Coyotes are a symbol of the trickster energy. Often used in legend and storytelling to remind us that much of life is not understood and it is best not to take oneself too seriously in the business of living it each day. It is far better, and easier, to laugh at ones own antics and then get back up and get on with it. Yet, in the rush of the scene itself, I forgot that little, but very important,  piece of knowledge. Koontz was giving me a clue and I missed it completely. And several more, if I’m to be honest.

Yesterday, as I wrote in my journal, I was seriously attempting to understand my very edgy feelings in a place where I normally find entertainment and even enlightenment. I did find some understanding but I forgot about Koontz’s sense of humor. Thus I forgot to laugh at my own antics. Laughter swiftly dispels both tension and fear and anxiety. I actually didn’t think about the meaning of the coyotes until I was here and already writing about all of this.

One of those quotes is extremely important to me. This is it:

Yet, when writing a novel, she often shunned prudence, trusting her instinct and her heart more than she did intellect. Without risk, she could get nothing on the page worth reading.

Obviously the main character is a writer, just as I am, and just as Mr. Koontz, beyond any shadow of a doubt, most certainly is. A writer trades on metaphor and symbolism. As I typed out the quote, I finally realized that it isn’t just the writer who must risk something to get a good story on the page. The reader must also take a risk in reading it. Each time I come to this blog, I take that risk. But each time I write, I ask you the reader, to take a risk in time and energy invested. Which means that I am constantly seeking to give some value in return for that risk and am disappointed when I fail to do so.

That in turn, doesn’t always allow me to find humor in what I am doing. I can tangle myself up in a lot of anxiety over all of this. And have actually done just that on more than one occasion. Today I am smiling. Once again, I have come here not knowing what I was going to write about. And once again, I have found something interesting to focus in on. And once again, I must thank Mr. Koontz for providing that material. He is a coyote of excellent proportion.

There is so much more I could write about this book, and perhaps I will at some future date. My edginess and foreboding have been dispelled by my own laughter at not seeing what was right in front of me, tangling myself up in needless knots, and letting all of that spoil one of my secret pleasures. Although the risk I took by writing about all of this was well worth the effort to my own person, I do apologize if it hasn’t been worthy of the risk you took in reading it.

When was the last time you suspended all the rules and became a coyote? It’s easy. All it takes is a bit of a risk.

My Fight With Red

In response to Claudette’s Challenge #2 The Art of Humility

Flamingo Dance

 

I have been coloring Mandalas and have mentioned that here and elsewhere. Although I love doing so, I also like a challenge. I wanted to do something more intricate then the simple designs I was finding on the Internet. Last week, I found a Dover book of Kaleidoscopic Designs by Lester Kubistal. It was just what I had been seeking.

My daughter came over yesterday and suddenly became aware of the many images I have been playing with. She really liked what she was seeing and started asking me if I’d do one for her with reds in it. I hemmed and hawed around and finally confessed that I have a great deal of trouble with the reds when coloring.

Red is the color of passion, but also of rage and anger. It is also the color of fire, warmth, and thus, creative energy. These are all things I know about and have written about and discussed for years. Yet, when it came to putting that color on paper it always seemed to fight me and the other colors. I had tried it many times and it just wasn’t working with or for me.

So, I had been sort of ignoring it. Using other friendlier colors. Ones that would lay down and do what I expected and definitely play nice with all the other hues I was toying with. In the back of my mind, I knew I would eventually have to confront this peculiar dilemma, but for the moment I really just wanted to enjoy what I was doing in peace. So I have been substituting the rust tones for the reds, making up excuses why they just work better with the blues and greens.

However, my daughter’s enthusiasm and eagerness brought the pending confrontation to the fore immediately. So I admitted to her that I just didn’t fully comprehend the function of red, in the scheme of things. It wouldn’t cooperate with me, so I wasn’t using it. I think that’s called spite and avoidance.

After she and her friends left, I got out one of my new designs and decided to take the plunge. I put two different shades of red at the very center of the design because that would mean that it would need to be repeated if  the design was going to work at all. Kaleidoscopes work on color and mirror images of those colors.

I have learned a great deal by engaging in this activity that is seen as child’s play. Although I took four years of Art in high school, and was even the teacher’s assistant in my senior year, I had never really learned about colors and how they interact on and affect one another. That may seem a bit incomprehensible, but I had a good beginner’s eye for color and that sufficed for most of my art activities. Until a few months ago when I began doing this thing with the entire spectrum of possibilities.

This has been a learn as you go process for me. But one of the most important lessons I have learned is that mistakes are not necessarily mistakes. They can be new paths opening up right in front of me. New ways of seeing things, and new movements to be tried. And yesterday, after admitting my ignorance, I did all of those things.

About half way through, incredibly pleased with what was coming alive beneath my fingers, I made a choice that could have been disastrous to the design and this new wrestling with the color red. One of the problems with laying down red is that its so difficult to cover up. It has a tendency to bleed into anything one might use to mend the image and quickly becomes a muddy mess. But there I was, half way through this wonderful little jewel of an image and there was red, sticking her tongue out at me and giving me a really loud raspberry to boot.

I refused to quit and throw out all of that work. I do know one thing, black will cover anything and still remain black. So I raspberried right back at red and she was so shocked she actually cooperated with my ongoing efforts. She became, if one might say it, compliable with my efforts. I really like the outcome and learned another valuable lesson.

It’s perfectly okay to admit out loud that you’ve made a mistake. The only thing that stands in the way of that is pride. Pride is the direct opposite of humility and humility steps up to bat when pride is lowered or even given the out signal. I can be grateful to my daughter for bringing my dilemma to the forefront. I can be grateful that I finally admitted that I was having problems and also avoiding them, and in doing so, exiling myself from the full spectrum of my own experience.

Perhaps that means that humility is really the color black. Able to absorb all other colors, yet toss them back again for better choices. Able to cover the worst mistakes and open up new doors of possibility. I like that and really love what I do, when it finally all fits together and makes something beautiful that didn’t exist before. Red and I may never become bosom buddies, but we at least now, have the beginnings for a multitude of new adventures and future engagements.

Stone and Water and the Red-Cross Driver

 

I’ve been sitting here, in front of this blank page, for over half an hour. So many thoughts about what I could write have floated in and out of my head, that if strung together, and actually written down, would probably fill a book. Not that the book would make any sense, unless it was a volume of random short essays about diverse topics that might, or might not, connect one with another. I seem to be sitting still in the midst of a flow that just keeps moving around me, like a boulder in a riverbed.

Although that boulder seems unchanging, it isn’t. Stone gets worn away by the friction of constantly flowing water. Which only reminds me of the lyrics of a song: Solid stone is just sand and water, baby, sand and water and a million years gone by (Beth Nielsen Chapman). I don’t have a million years. I have today, this moment, and maybe the next. No more. Don’t want to waste it.

I didn’t come here and write yesterday. Had appointments in the outside world. Things to do, people to be with. That might be why I can’t seem to pick a place and just get started today. Have somehow turned into stone overnight. That was a really short million years.

Think I am still sorting out all that happened yesterday. The people I talked with, some strangers, others family and friends. The things I saw and touched, each left an impression like water flowing around a stone. Each taking a moment of my time, some more moments than others. I wrote about a lot of that in my journal this morning. But, apparently I’m not finished yet. Maybe because the water doesn’t stop flowing, it just keeps moving. And because it does, both the water and the stone are changed.

I wonder, did my presence in all of those moments yesterday, change or alter anything or anyone? The Red-Cross driver, a volunteer who picked me up to deliver me to my appointment. We spoke about his coming drive to Florida where he and his wife have rented a Condo for the coming month. My brother and his wife have done the same for many years, so the driver and I had a point of contact.

My counselor, whom I haven’t seen since before Christmas. The intensity of our discussion which ranged from Creativity, to Meditation, Dissociative Trance States, and mending the holes in my soul, and relationships. That altered me, made me think in new ways, and I know she will do the same.

My sister and Mother and all the staff and customers at the Goodwill store where we went shopping. The practical things I bought, and the one exquisite gift I chose to give myself, all for under twenty dollars. Those will change the way I deal with future moments. And I will alter them by that use.

The calm quiet exchanges between myself and my Mother and sister. The trading of opinions, giving of directions, and the slow smiles of shared feelings and thoughts. Changes from the hectic exchanges during the holidays, and a bit of mending in what could have been strained moments, will definitely alter all of us, perhaps minutely, but those alterations were felt and accepted with ease and gladness.

Yes, the stone has moved and been moved. Is still settling back into place. Has more experiences scheduled for today and tomorrow and the next. And in all those moments there were, and will be, changes and exchanges. Minute bits of stone becoming sand once again, altering its purpose and function, and its environment. Being equally altered in the process.

Were any of those exchanges more important than the others? Depends on where I am looking at them from. In this moment, the exchanges with family members hold more weight, but who is to say that the Red-Cross driver won’t meet my brother in Florida and find they enjoy playing golf together and eventually thank me for whatever occurs while they do so? And will I even remember that initial exchange months from now?

When I arrived back home, there was a package leaning against my door. A small book of coloring designs for me to dive into. Something I ordered on a whim last week. And spent most of the evening pouring through and working with last night. A new avenue to explore and enjoy. Some of the best exchanges are those I have with myself. Someone else might define it as just more sand, lost in the flow of time and water, but I would certainly beg to differ.

Each day that passes is filled with moments. Moments that mean exchanges with everything and everyone I brush up against. They alter me, as I alter them. I am not a stone, not a boulder in the middle of life’s stream, even though I may feel that way on any given day. I am flesh and blood, living and breathing through each of those moments. I am both water and stone, time and sand, and so much more, all at the same time. Which of these are you in the present moment?