This Time of Year

More of the same.
Well wishers
and freaks of false hopes
in holiday garb.

The end of continuum
comes and interrupts
peaceful coexistence
in the natural world.

Beast is unburdened
Wishing for sameness -
sleep connects his purpose
and I am of another.

Wandering
in blind devotion to indefinable guides
of ancestral dead

Calendar ticking
in silent rhythm
pages turned and revelation
scatters and truth remains undiscovered.

Time does not reward
intent -
for humanity
is flawed and perfect
when viewed from a distance
where my soul survives.

Artistic Justice

     I'm easily amused. My mind is challenged when tasked to think outside of the box, but I color outside the lines all the time.

     I don't know what my dad saw in me, but I remember what he said: "I'd rather live with you because you can find your way out of a paper bag".  I am guessing that this tidbit came from a conversation we had about his eventual old age and whether he would choose to live with me over my brother. His response caught me off guard. We were not alike.  He was an extremely educated man. Far from the several degrees he garnered in his profession, his zest to learn was his purpose. Those, in the world today, who learned from him and shared insights with him, are extremely successful business people. 

     I was not the academic child.  My brother finished college with two degrees and I was never going to attain that laudable goal. Something in my gut said, "why bother".

This quiet rebellion began with after-school detention in kindergarten.  My teacher required me to color the square-just the square; no scribbling outside the lines. My first attempt was tossed in the trash can. Looking back, I can't believe that I was the only student in her class tasked with a "do-over", but my memory is painfully clear. Thankfully, Mom came to the rescue, arm in arm with the principal.  I was moved to another class. It was empowering to realize that I was important, that I had rights at the tender age of 5.

     She fostered my creative being.  Mom was an artist in her own right but never shared her talents publicly. In the 1950s, wives were wives and sometimes mothers and volunteers. We enjoyed quiet times of drawing and coloring and cutting construction paper.  We created entire circuses of Playdoh animals. Our gallery covered the walls of our kitchen, windowsills, tops of cabinets and changed with the seasons. I remember her carefully tucking the artwork into old dress boxes from Neustetters department store.

     Mom could sketch women's fashions. I know she had some formal training and one Christmas, I bought her a cabinet's fill of canvases, sketchbooks, paints, and brushes.  Sadly, she never used them and they were re-gifted to a girlfriend when I married.

My brother mailed me a box this past year and among the old photographs was a sketchbook from my grandmother.  Her landscapes are beautiful and chronicle her youth in the Wisconsin city of Green Bay.  The sketches of trees and river banks filled the pages.   I imagine the stillness beckoned her and she felt connected to her God there.  I did not know these qualities about her. I wish I had, my life could have been so much more enriched.  The few paintings I have finished are certainly a testament to these two women. Not so much the subject matter, but the fact that they are part of me and part of them.

     I still color outside the lines and view much of the world with skepticism. I rebel frequently and often find that I don't fit with the traditional point of view.  I am at an age where I am bold in my opinions and appearance.   The odd and unusual deserve more than a passing glance. Their purpose shouldn't be questioned, but rather appreciated. The giant anteater has a champion in me.

     I think of myself as a second- hand puzzle at the thrift store- waiting for a chance to go home. Although most likely there is a piece or two missing, my value is no less than an unopened one.

I have never been one to applaud the popular trends, change does not come easily to me. I feel unfinished.

     Perhaps this reincarnation is just now in its defining moments. Perhaps I am not my memories and my latent potential is finally within reach.  Perhaps all the crayons and neatly colored boxes are not the template of my life.

     What lies on the outside of the closed square is far more enticing to me.  Coloring over the line into the space of possibilities allows me freedom.  Freedom to be who I am.  I already knew this in kindergarten.  I believe it now.

Two Way Mirror

     Thoughts are scattered. I am unable to concentrate, on any topic, for longer than a breath mint.  Try as I do, there's no period, just commas and an occasional semicolon ( for that regurgitation of the previous thought).

     My soul is in chaos, turmoil, and consistent unrest and it's not self-inflicted. The more I question, justify and analyze, the greater my disquietness.  I have entered truth; the pathway is narrow and apparently one way- for the further I travel, my past fades like footprints along the shore.

     The biggest hurdle at present is wanting to go there. Wanting to stand in my truth conflicts with I like who I am, so far, so why change NOW?  Is time a really a consideration?  Perhaps, but time is a manmade diversion. It limits potential and rewards the immediate. What's all this rushing around?  Seems silly from the standpoint of evolution.  I don't think man/woman is the finite model.  I am beginning to believe that the body is the vessel and my take on it is definitely not biblical.

     My brain is my armor. It shields me against myself.  I wish I could drain the gray matter and begin again. How does one accomplish the reprogramming of oneself? Education, I am certain is the key. How am I going to determine the qualifications of the teacher?  Based on what criteria? I haven't hit the “ah-ha” moment yet. I am optimistic and driven; although I can't say what fuels the gears.

     Can I be spontaneous and flexible or must I remain tethered to someone else's schedule?  Thinking that I have always been in control makes me distrust.  Knowing that I have always been in control makes me resist.  Learning has always been a two-sided affair. There is always an opposite point of view.  There's always a polar extreme and maybe this time I need to leave the comfort of linear thinking and consider the possibilities.

     As I try to process this awakening, my path beckons. Steady up the hill. I can't wait to see what's around the bend.

Turn of a Calendar Page

     New Year's resolutions, New Year's intentions, to-do list, bucket list- unadulterated insanity! I believe indulging in this ritual will cause completely unnecessary stress and wasted productivity.

Consider my post "Church of Attaboy".  I was a little more than put out with organized religion when I wrote it. The theme plays into a recent post by my good friend, Angela.  She proposes that we focus on kindness. I like it.

     My take on it maybe a little off-center and not exactly altruistic, but I further propose that the first person to receive kindness should be one's self.

     I am generally kind-try to help when I can.  I often suggest options for seemingly undoable tasks. Offering advice comes easily, but it's a double-edged sword.  I should be able to seek advice as easily. Right?  The scale is heavily unbalanced and I am trying to adjust.  So, I'm placing more on the self- side and kindness is the pile I am borrowing from.

     I am depleted. My energy fields need adjustment. The Reiki masters have confirmed the diagnosis.  I've had the symptoms for years, but didn't want another traditional psychoanalysis.  Psychobabble has its place and is a good fit for some.  I'm not "some". Matter of fact, I'm not anything that I believed in and "believed" is a relative term.

     Grateful that I am part of the solution and not the problem, I have renewed energies and unlimited opportunity to share a universal message.  However, I am not primed and must devote myself to developing my gift.  I won't be depleted very long.

     So back to the kindness thing. Just imagine what you could accomplish if your day began with just one goal. Find a reason for liking yourself.  Have a dose of ego with your coffee. Know that you will make a difference today. Take a chance on kindness. Let me know how it works out.

Threshold of Tradition

     I like the word "threshold".  It's the perfect visual introduction to this story.  Being a published poet, blogger, painter and pianist, I am always stepping through my comfort zone and trying something new. This time "the something" new is ages old.

     Beyond the five senses, there is a sixth-intuition.  The debate surrounding it is familiar to most and is a victim of religious interpretation. I have come to understand that the intuitive realm is the conduit to universal wisdom and I'm standing in the shadow of the door frame.

     Why I am here now is obvious.  I am in denial of "the me" I know and "the me" you suspect you know.

     Holiday traditions are waning only to remain in the conscious memory of who I was.  I am beginning to hate the contradictions between my inside self and outside self.  The pretense must give way to a life of purpose.

     For me, the holiday traditions were never a perfect fit.  I understood the fairy tale quality of them at a very young age.  Guessing that the ebb and flow of family gatherings relied heavily on the elders of my family, it was a natural progression right out of the obligatory celebrations when I was a single woman, void of responsibilities.

     Crossing my path, again when I married and raised my family, those traditions resurfaced. Another generation indoctrinated. But I didn't know then what I know now.

     That gut feeling is tied to survival. I am surviving in the communal sense of belonging and deciding whether I want to continue to belong to what is familiar.  I don't think so. My journey has been redefined. I have questions. What if the individual is just the messenger? What if pre-destiny interrupts one's purpose? What if that little voice is tied to the infinite universal voice? Do I listen?

Free will and the reincarnate soul. Trusting that the convergence of messages will direct me, I will continue to do and be who I thought I was to a lesser degree and meditate and network with those who are like minded.

     My future is not here- which is not surprising; my past wasn't here either.

The Night Before Christmas. Or is it?

     I can't imagine my life without me in it. After all the years of honing this identity to its unique and awe-inspiring form, I'm not me anymore.

     Oh sure, the outside me is still vaguely recognizable, seemingly well preserved by the elixirs of later middle age or early later age or definitely postmenopausal and not looking a day past sixty age. Admittedly not trying to hide the years of good living, I am replete. Or so I thought.

     I am harping on the philosophy of metaphysical existentialism.  Not knowing if such a description is truthful, it's as close to a definition as I can muster.  The "existential" relates to a principle my father related to me: the verifiable flesh and bones part...I think therefore I am. Metaphysics is a new science to me and is best described as the subconscious narrative that is always present.  That little voice in my head that argues with the "me" I know.  Funny how stifling an endless loop of antagonistic and provocative thoughts can interrupt the flow of things.

     I am and I am not responsible for this outcome.  Contrariness is my natural view of the world.  I can view the world from the front of a multi-paned window and delight in the varied perspectives.  All I have to do is adjust my posture or distance from the window and the other world is all of a sudden very enticing.  The problem becomes the reality of the situation- that I cannot remain at that exact distance or position as I continue to explore.

     I believed in black holes before they were defined. I have known there are a finite number of atoms within the universe; that change is infinite and believed that the universe is undefinable. We will never be able to grasp the enormity of existence. So, what makes you think you can limit my potential?  You can't because we are similar and being similar there are obvious hurdles.  You'd better test your theories on yourself before you attempt using me as a template. I'm just saying.

     That long hallway to the bright light doesn't interest me anymore. I'm not going there. My journey is one of returning to what is within.  Now that I understand that and the pretenses are vanishing, my identity is becoming plural and integral within the universal voice.

     Obfuscation is the ill-mannered bed mate to free will. Commitment and fear play together on the seesaw; balance is never the goal. Clear choices, and with them the consequences of evolution, occupy my mind these days.

     Winter Solstice has come and gone. The world is in chaos and the well-intentioned are grasping for answers. Those who resonate with the highest frequencies in the fourth and fifth dimensions will help to enlighten the masses.

     In my lifetime, man will terraform Mars.  Promise and diligence will carry me to the Milky Way and eventually home.  Me, myself and I will cease to exist and you will wonder where we've gone.

I do not know the answer.

     Virginia still believes in Santa Claus. Anything is possible.

Star Power

     My recently published book, "You Know Me and You Don't-Poems from a Random Life", leave both the author and the reader with an open-ended question: what's next?

     I thought, "another book".  I hope the reader thought. Period. Poetry allows latitude.  In a free verse format, the stanzas and verses flow.  It's a perfect venue for my word work. I flow, I vacillate through the moments of my life; thankful for unlimited rebirthing of my soul.

     Validation, through the printed page is the catalyst which allows for the continuous outpouring as I journey on this plane. That is about to change.

     Knowing oneself takes a lifetime.  I believe intuitive knowledge is the sixth sense which balances purpose with existence.  The five senses can be relied on for pleasure and protection of the physical being. I want more.

     Religion is control. Spirituality is a quest. Secularism is the path I choose. The universe cannot be defined on my terms. It is not finite and my journey is transient. Thankfully, I am open-minded living among those who are not which challenges me-constantly.

     Shamans and lightkeepers are my source to Truth.  I am grateful to my intuitive voice and the messages of clarity. I am at the threshold of the new. The old no longer serves me.

     I begin again.

Full, Again

Time does not encourage us to loosen our dependency on grief. The grieving process is unique to each person. Some cling to loss as validation of having mattered.  Some discard it altogether, believing that everything is impermanent.

I fall somewhere in the middle and mourn until the spirit releases me. I get the sense that something gloriously transformative has happened.  I get messages that encourage me to fill the void.  I dream of my life incomplete. Not liking the emptiness to take residence, I begin again.

When faced with the choice of less OR more and eliminating the less IS more theory, I choose to reduce my options into mathematical perspective and usually find the perfect answer ie: equal to or greater than. Sometimes it's a matter of quality other times it's pure quantity.  The equation is flexible in interpretation. (My own version of quantitative theory).

This morning is day three of my life with two rescued dogs.  That makes 5, in my house, which is my favorite prime number.  It's an "odd" number, asymmetrical and reflective of my basic life's philosophy.  Everything and every one is unique.  Life is better when nothing matches. The journey is far more rewarding if the path is not level and the incline leaves you breathless. When you get to the edge of the cliff-take flight.

I love that I know this.

My two newest family companions are confused and grateful. So am I.  They are trusting that their lives will complement mine.  So do I.  They accept and do not judge their circumstance.
So must I.

I will reflect on this perfect moment when the stars beckon my reverent gaze. I know the messenger well, she left me a few weeks ago.  She entrusts these dogs to my heart. The pain is exquisite and the give and take will never end.  I will always welcome gifts bestowed by the universe.  It is far wiser
and a much better judge of character.

As for now, it's time for lunch and then maybe a walk or perhaps a couple. Everyone needs a little one on one.

I am full, again.

Gray Area

I am undone. I knew it was coming, it was planned and predestined. My spirit guides have had enough and they let me have it-twice.

First time visiting a spiritualist enclave felt like an odd reunion. People smiled at me, I smiled back. I felt like there were flashing L.E.D. lightbulbs attached somewhere about my body, because there was
electricity in the air. I was not a stranger and it was unsettling.

I had two readings over two days.  Maybe I broke the cardinal rule, but the messages coming
through the mediums would redirect and clarify my path.  I have work to do and TRUST that the work I do is the reason I am here.

Forty eight hours later, I am on information overload. I have notes and now the task ahead is to arrange the messages into a cohesive system of healthy arterial flow and remove the clot that
defines me.

Having worked so diligently toward living either black or white, I NOW must resolve to
live in the gray area.  I must allow the universal wisdom to infuse and balance me. I feel uneasy
in the wetness of this churning stream. There are no banks to climb or debris to slow the raging
waters.

Temporary and impermanent visitor to the physical world, my journey is one of discovery.
I will carry the human imprint back to the cosmos. While I am here, I am teacher and peacekeeper. If I cross your path, I will be glad of it. There is much to tell you.

proportion

I am sharing my favorite recliner.  The decision was not mine. As if by an unknown divination,
my Dachshund altered my side of the chair to accommodate his length and breadth. Guess who
is happily squeezed into the narrower space?  This arrangement is sometimes punctuated with an additional Dachshund or cat.

My comfort is not a consideration. Neither is adjusting the reading lamp or lap quilt any indication
that I have ownership of this over sized, over stuffed really comfortable chair. As I survey the remaining furnishings in this space, I am hit with a cold hard fact.  My life is complete because
of them.  And the old one, not mentioned yet, sprawls on the carpet where she will gain
steady footing and balance before she traverses the linoleum or slate floors.

I perceive animal companions as complementary benefits of living selflessly in a world challenged by
the desire to stand out rather than to stand within. I am doing my part to understand my purpose as an integral piece of the living puzzle.

My memory perhaps exceeds my current life form and I know that companion animals have always
been with me.  Their experiences enhance mine.  Their knowledge complements mine and their love
is without end and is transparent and tangible.  I shudder to think of my journey without them. Thankfully, I have always been surrounded and sought out other like minded people.  I respect those of differing opinions, but I don't necessarily LIKE them.

Today, I received a message that my bff's dog, "W" is in the clear after emergency surgery last week.
Love by proxy is what I am feeling and I am grateful for his recovery and the opportunity to visit with him in a few days. When I am in his house, which he shares with his dog and people, their furniture is proportionately arranged to benefit all species.  No matter how often you plump the cushions, tell tale divots remain - signifying the people only spaces.  It's a home overflowing with love.  As is mine.

My legacy, which is already infused in the hearts of my children, will be to sew kindness into the fabric of their lives; to live disproportionately and unselfishly.  I can't think of a better example than sharing their homes with an animal...or two.

Intangible

I watched the smallest of my remaining three root through the fibers of a freshly vacuumed rug.
She was intense and hopeful. There are no visible remains on the one week anniversary of
her passing.

My fault and I feel it painfully and deeply in spaces without definition.  I am emptier.
Wearing the immense sadness like a familiar robe is little comfort; The imagined garment hangs
unwashed in the closet-waiting; I will wear it again and again.

I told the vet that I should invent an air freshener and call it "old dog".  I don't want a "new puppy"
aroma therapy. I want to inhale her-just as she was in my arms that final morning.

A companion animal's passing is prefaced by night terrors.  Those exhausting non sleep moments
that tune you into the possibility of silence and when peace does not come, the tears do. And the guilt.

When nothing replaces something, grief visits upon the heart and sometimes it stays.
The layers of sadness permeate the waking hours and lay me down in restless, weary darkness. I am comfortable here where the familiar agony keeps me company. I remember each one. It's like some
malignant reward for having loved them.

Cumulative damage will eventually weaken my intentions and I will die alone; and in that final moment-a memory for those I leave behind.

Unveiling

Fog, mist and haze obscure the starkness of life.  They color the foreground we must navigate when on the uncertain path and I am grateful.

The tenderness of a gentle approach appeals to me.  I don't like neon anything; I much prefer an unveiling; sometimes the allure of several layers gives me time to consider my approach. The artist in me, the painter and poet- in me - the do over in me is strong. Sometimes so overpowering, it is if
I am being redirected.

When time was a critical component in my daily life, the quickness of changing proverbial hats was
a survival tactic.  Role playing and fitting in was habit-a sacred ritual; all for the resolution of
not being alone. Looking back over the last 60 years, I find I was in denial, for a solitary existence
would have empowered me.  I am now empowered and I am not alone, I choose the path of resistance because I am no longer afraid-afraid of being different.  I am not who you think I am. I am not who I think I am. It has been my truth from the beginning of my evolution.

Here I am, the latest version of myself.  The journey is never ending  The hamster wheel is on automatic. The energy which sustains me does not falter.  I am ready.

Choices are paramount only when considering my physical demise.  My journey has been determined. My mind is de cluttered, as much as is voluntarily possible. Universal voices are echoing around and through me. I just need to pause and listen.

As the path is a continuum, any hesitancy is wasted effort. Low visibility is balanced by perseverance. Perseverance is tethered to trust. Trust is its own reward.

Insight and intuition are useful tools when the horizon is vague. Enlightenment will come.
I've made it this far.

Blocked

THE connection I have been waiting upon has not occurred.  I don't know where the short is, but I suspect it is on my end.  I have never been proficient with which end the energy source originates.  I just don't care how things work.

Months of anticipation and travel arrangements, confirmations and emails resulted in NOTHING.
Weather settled over the desert and the astronomer canceled. "Unusual clouds and moderate winds
crept into my scheduled visit.  BLOCKED!

So I decided to leave the area in favor of higher altitudes; drove two hours back over switchbacks and 2,000 feet elevation. Booked a bed and breakfast and crossed my fingers.  I kept the curtains open and gazed every fifteen minutes until half-past hoot owl and NOTHING.

I am resolved to continue connecting with the stars.  In my mind, the journey will begin with a little education.  Astronomy piques my attention.  No dissection or botanical/ animal collection necessary.
A telescope would be helpful.  An astronomer would be more helpful.

In the meantime...

Cosmos fill my unlearned mind.  Planets, moons, and stars; it's not the universe of my childhood.
Discoveries can hardly be cataloged due to the sheer quantity, the learning is at warp speed and the smartest man in the world just died.  I know this and I don't understand physics.

I am reading, at a leisurely pace, articles that address the possibility of extra terrestrial life. My interest is specific to star seeds, Indigos, Nordics and the multiverse which yields them.  It's a truth-a comfortable fit and the proverbial final piece of the puzzle. Digesting this truth creates conflict. Conflict fuels loyalty and I am walking the fine line. How does destiny confirm existence?

Maybe the blockage is simply a screen that requires repositioning.  Maybe it's a veil and I will peek though it and gaze at the reason I am here.

I simply have to open myself to possibilities and cross my fingers that clear skies will prevail.

Tipping the Scales

I'm hedging a bet that my life experience will culminate in a revelation.  The diversity of my choices,
and circumstances might have led me in a number of different directions, but here I am.

I am prepared for nothing and I am excited.  This is a vastly challenging existence- this unpreparedness. It is trusting the unknown and undefinable. It is trusting beyond the horizon and it's
moments away.  I feel it.

Next month, I will view the near universe through a telescope. The cosmos will come into focus.  I will come into focus and the connection will be life-changing.  I feel it.

Too many years, I have lived disconnected from my life, although I didn't know it until recently.  Now that my understanding of purpose has been fine-tuned, I wonder why the great reveal has been delayed. I wonder what has been missing.

The human condition is dependent, but is it a co-dependency? This is an open-ended question given the continuing discoveries and connectivity to all things past and future.  We may never solve
the reason for our existence, but I know we will resolve to explore all possibilities.  The intelligence
of the universe is patiently waiting and monitoring.

Time is a factor. Destiny is a factor. The two are converging and I can not continue on the familiar path. Shadows have obscured who I was.  The people who forged my childhood are dead and I have discarded the sweet memories as they no longer serve me. I am not tied to who I used to be. Validation for the purpose of a headstone is a wasted effort.  In the grand plan, there is nothing that distinguishes an individual from the masses.  We are still evolving.

I am the intersection on my own life's map. Which direction I will navigate is not up to me. But
I'm betting that the pivotal moment of my future is weighted heavily on my eagerness to connect
to possibilities beyond my understanding.  I believe that the totality of moments that define
my soul, on this remarkable journey is about to experience inconceivable joy.  I just feel it.

Touch

Her touch was upon me again, from beyond the grave.  My grandmother's touch, gently caressing the top of my hand as if her intention was to preserve that moment in time between us.

The memory came upon me, today, as a whispered guide to that same hand upon my old dog.  Vision is mostly lost upon her fifteen years. She navigates by shadows and sound. My touch is her connection to the past and it calms her unsteady footsteps.

Some people are made for radio.  Not Grandma.  Her hands wove the spoken fabric. I can see her
actively talking.  I can see her in quiet contemplation; hands folded on the apron which she wore to protect the dress underneath. Grandma's best stories were the ones when she embraced me. I could feel the words as she spoke. Her belly would swell just before the funny part; her shoulders would raise in anticipation of a mystery and her hands accentuated every sentence.  Palms would upturn if there were secrets, fingers would clasp when all was well and the story had a happy ending. I learned my story telling from her.

It was challenging for her to multi task. Driving was always fraught with a potential fender bender because her hands kept talking.  Baking was constantly interrupted as she stopped to re read the hand written recipes and then exclaim "oh, goodness" with hands raised when she realized a mistake in the measurements.

Today, she speaks to me. Her words upon the breeze and I am once again in her embrace. The old
dog -calm in my lap and dreaming of stories of her own.

Second Chances

My tempo is in conflict with the rest of my life. Here I am, at present, going about my days
unencumbered by past life obligations, no schedule, and infrequent short term goals to monitor
my existence.

Is this floating between purpose and reality where I need to be? Is there justification for seemingly
wasted opportunities?

I can only observe from one side.  The flip side is hidden. It seems unfair that I am cut loose from all that is familiar and just left dangling.

But, dangling I am. Last time I gazed beneath me, there was an untamed river, chiseling its path toward the sea.  Now there is too much calm, no turbulence and I am afraid the water will become stagnant and with no purpose-evaporate. I do not want to evaporate. Although eventually, I will be absorbed into the cosmos.  The particles of stardust will reunite and my soul will travel through wormholes toward oblivion.  Or, maybe not.

I am a spiritual being having a human experience. This knowledge has arrived late in the game.
Had I known my truth as a younger being, I would have made different choices and the rhythm
of my life could have been- no should have been- much less predictable.

Yet, here I am; predictably mimicking generations before.  I have become who THEY needed me to be but I have a second chance and I am going to take it.  Knowledge is power, unremarkable as that may seem, but it is also dangerous when balanced against a waning internal clock. It becomes
a risk.

Justification may be defined in terms of a life invested in well...living. The ballast is one's foundation
is necessary for a steady ascension. One must have experience in order to weigh options. Otherwise,
 life becomes meaningless.

Being in favor of mapping my remaining experiences longitudinally on the map rather than horizontally is my new goal. Up is the new me. Willingness and fortitude, patience and unquestioning devotion to universal wisdom will break the rigidness.  I will fall softly on new
ground.

In the meantime, dangling gives me hope.

Knowing Where to Begin

"Not all who wander are lost".   Hmmm.  That fits. Those words pop up along walkways and church signs and on cardboard placards the homeless wave at the cars rushing by.

I am not one who falls in one category or another.  I am an amalgam; a puzzle which until just now,

had no solution.

All my life, I have pushed the boundaries....believing that there was always a Paul Harvey option: "The rest of the story".  I have been a disgruntled being.; searching for the polarity of existence.

I am awakening on my life's parallel plane where I have been comatose.  It's an interesting

process to be sure. I have existed on this plane at this predestined venture and now my purpose

is transformational and expansive. I am no longer in denial.

This acknowledgment or validation has come to me through indirect messages.  My
journey through transformational ascension will take a concerted effort and a cleansing purge
of my soul.  But where to begin?

Trust- that's my biggest challenge.  Trust of self; confidence of that intuition which has guided me safely to this point. This time, however, there's a rip in the safety net.  That being the familiarity
of who I was.

I like conclusions. They're final-once the research has ended it's either yes or no, go or stay. Beginning again is always an option and perfect for one who can't seem to hold interest very long.
Being optimistic, I prefer short term goals.  The outlay of energy is greater and designed as a catalyst
for a quick resolution.  I know "quick" is a relative term.  I haven't been comfortable with open-ended
scenarios.  My pattern has been: problem plus plan equals solution.

My problem is: "x" equals plan.

And here we are back to the trust issue. I do not have faith.  I have Truth. They're not mutually
compatible. I do not have trust. I have intuition and I don't have any point of reference as to whether
or not the imbalance will defeat or incite my participation.

How do I justify the gentle bombardment of new people suddenly in my life's path? Where is the tether which keeps tugging at me and keeping my head above water?

Where does a sudden desire to abandon my life come from?  Perhaps it comes in a dream or a whisper; perhaps in a split-second glimpse of the stars above.   The reality is that it sits in my gut-waiting.
I wake up with it and take it with me as I wander; trying to maintain control.

Making uninformed decisions leaves me scattered; remnants of me clutter my brain.  Getting clear, defogging my vision is my intended starting point.

Today, I placed a telephone call to a Buddhist monk.  I am hopeful his meditation practices will relieve me of my muddle headedness.  Maybe with practice, that feeling in my gut will relocate to
my heart and I will become open to possibilities.

Trusting that he will return my call,  I can begin to relax a little. Trusting that I will know what to do with the information is an entirely different matter, but I must begin somewhere.

The Ancient Within

Born an old soul?  I am beginning to see the wisdom of this cliche'.  I am beginning to believe that I was never an innocent child. Hindsight, being all I have, memories of growing up are sparse and the circle of friends just as sparse.  I didn't fit in then, I don't fit in now.

 I am coming to terms with the unpopular mindset of my peers.  At our age, we long for youth; search for it and if it comes in a jar with a money-back guarantee, well gotta have it.

If I started this journey with knowledge far beyond my earthly years, I wonder when I will
use it.  I just started a quest to know more about the year 2020.  Two years' future could be my undoing or unraveling or discovery of the why of me.

Dad called my perspective "common sense", Mom didn't comment, but my grandmother could
speak with me on an adult level from very early on.

Today is much the same.  The not belonging is rather powerful.  The sense that I am alone among
the masses is not scary.  Solitude dwells in chaos and sometimes thrives there.

Understanding that I must elevate to a higher universal vibration, I wait.  I wait and I live out
the days based on this life experience.  I do what I have always done until...and I will know
because the agony in my gut will leave.  The world will not define me and I will exist beyond
boundaries.  Boundaries of prejudice, and physical form.

Already enlightened, tomorrow is full of possibilities.

Awakening the Muse

My fate is sealed. It could be worse.  Free will could delay the inevitable and there I'd be
enjoying my retirement on the reel end of a fishing pole.

I spend countless sleep deprived days waiting for inspiration.  I had it once, published two books in a year.  Now the gray matter is putty.

Where does one go to spark the mental kindling wood? A change of scenery-something beyond the rearrangement of my living room furniture-is what I want. To be physically immersed in the unfamiliar might be my short term goal. A new vocabulary to describe the new environment would
benefit both myself and my readers.

I am not studious by nature or choice, I dabble and try on.  There is no desire to become proficient; there is a drive-indefinable that keeps me questing.  How remarkable to be so old and not know
what or who I want to be when I grow up.  Latent desires are sparked by boredom. I guess
that would not be a surprising revelation by any one who is more comfortable with solitude.

There are unlimited moments of inspiration in both my waking and sleeping selves. We all have
unspoken glimpses of the universe.  Some of us pay attention.  I need to pay better attention.

My desires float on a single word sometimes. Other times, creativity reveals itself through an unexpected shared moment in nature.  Something catches my attention and I have to rely on my memory to reproduce the encounter.  It's remarkable that given the immense clutter in my gray matter, I am able to recall the insignificant interruption.  But, I do eventually.

The muse is stirring and restless.  Her path travels through the recesses of my darkness
and peaks of my luminosity.  My being transforms through her.  You will discover my truth
if you listen.

I want to leave nothing behind but words on a page.  Considering that to be a fairly green
carbon footprint, my legacy will keep me company through my existential journey.  The words
which I borrow and repurpose, as my own, are gifted to the future. Take great care of them
for I was worthy.

Pause

Well, the universe is at me again.  At least I hope so, the alternative would be early dementia which is also a possibility, but I'm optimistic.

My lifestyle has slowed and the minutes can now be extended into moments; sometimes

unexpected, other times anticipated or planned.  These tiny immeasurable units of time define

me and validate the journey.  Knowing that I have traveled with purpose, I welcome the moments

which remind me of who I am.

The pause today, came without fanfare on the warm afternoon breeze.  Windows were open and the fresh air was a welcome respite from the recent deluge of heavy rain.  I smelled hopefulness.

Several months had slipped away and I missed the piano.  I missed the part of myself that used

to play every day.  I wondered what had taken me away from joy.

But joy is subjective and I'm to blame for its banishment. I allowed the complexities of day to day living to interfere and I'm tired.  I welcome interruption of self; I believe in a life fragmented. Living

in pieces, chunks and snippets is freeing.  I'm not advocating for remnants, shreds or merely the lingering remains of a purpose driven life, I'm grateful for the opportunities which come by way of a full stop, deep breathing and choosing to continue on or selecting another path.

Given that mankind follows a patterned existence and is guided by an internal clock tempered

by instinct, perpetuity is optional.  If we choose to limit our routines based on these factors,

we soon run out of that which distinguishes us from the lesser apes. Accepting the belief that

the universe is indefinable and our place in it is transient, makes the opportunity to be awe inspired

so precious and life affirming.

When was the last time you paused in your rush to get to the next whatever?  Do you now regret

that those missed seconds resulted in your not changing? Second guessing yourself and living

with remorse, for not being in the moment, is the fodder for many a great poem.  The what if's

have a tendency to weigh us down.

Challenges can be simply overwhelming. Living and experiencing life are not synonymous.

Perhaps it takes the cumulative missed moments in our lives to make us appreciate the unexpected

interruptions.  Perhaps it takes the unexpected interruptions to make us grateful that there are

more than twenty four hours in our day.

Release

On my mind today is the consistently aggravating choice of free will.  Mankind chooses his burdens. Burdens can bloom; they can overwhelm and become the masks we wear.  How is it that truth is so easily disguised?

I strive to live a life which questions everything. I take nothing for granted and have not struggled much.  I am wandering and not lost.

For some, scapegoats are an integral release of conscience. These are learned coping mechanisms.
We all learn to blame others from very early on.  I think it may be time to rethink this strategy.
Why can't reality exist separately rather than co-exist with illusion?

Heavily indoctrinated in the theory of evolution and it's evolving thesis', I want for nothing more than
today.  But there is conflict within me. Who I am is unfinished.  What I am is a simple bridge to what is to be.  I know this and nothing else can weigh as heavily as this burden.

Intuition guides my dreams. My waking hours are filled with apprehension. Being present in the moment is not easy. I marvel at those people who can quiet themselves to all that surrounds and infuses the soul. I'm not wired that way. I have a short attention span and get lost in the details of my life. Perfection is unattainable and I should stop trying and just let it be.  I won't be remembered for the incompleteness of my journey.  Who would hold it against me?  No one is equal to the path I am on.  It is mine through all time.

The what if's which comprise my life's story are autobiographical. To some extent, I am being allowed to choose; to opt-in or opt-out.  Free will is the migraine clouding my destiny. It is an uncomfortable companion with whom I must travel.  It is the self shadow; always between me
and authenticity.

The surrender is inevitable and beautiful in all its mystery. I'm just not willing-yet.  Being
fluid and eternal, my soul will wait upon destiny which is greater than the burden which I perceive
is mine.

Relatively Speaking

My genealogy dangles like the proverbial carrot before the horse or the horse before the cart because if I find the people responsible, I'll have the burden to inform who comes after. Woe is me.  Why can't I be more like my dogs?

He, she, she and she are oblivious to lineage. Its' not important and that's a lesson I must learn.  "Who I am is not defined by the circumstances of my birth", she said in a text.  The "she" being my friend, Siobhan Peal - the Shaman of Stonehenge. I have been in dialogue with her twice, seeking advice.  I thought knowing the biological facts of my parents and their extended relatives would bring a new perspective and put to bed the notion that genetics are responsible for well-all my unraveling plans.

Surely, I must be related to other people who just can't finish what they start. Procrastination must be an inherent trait.

According to Ms. Peal, "No".

Well, she should know.

I started, again, on the who am I quest and enrolled in a college course given by a member of the Church of the Latter-Day Saints. They have the corner on genealogical record keeping.  They're serious!  The files are kept in a vault within a granite mountain in Salt Lake City. The online program and the web of research will help anyone arrive at their definitive roots.  Some roots are shallow, however, and mine is of that variety.  I was able to trace fourth great grandparents on my father's side and not quite so far on the maternal line.  The information was all very organized and it was more a process of elimination once I recalled the vagueness of names I remembered in conversations with Mom and Dad.

The opportunity to further research remains for those more dedicated than me.  I'm done.

Next step? Maybe DNA.  That would give me a geography lesson.  One can never have too few of those.  Borders change, people migrate and inbreed.  Record keeping might lapse from written to oral and back again, but the story could be highly entertaining.  Would the new information enlighten or entertain me?

That last question is the thought behind the delay in this probe. How seriously do I need to know?
Do I want to know? Am I prepared for the consequences of knowing?

Um...

Back to my dogs; their lives are not complex. Routine eliminates worrying about options.
As long as they are living with me, their needs will be met promptly. Happy dogs equal happy
me.  I believe that they want for nothing. We are symbiotic and they are insightful, intelligent
and compassionate beings.  Their breeding is for another's benefit. Their lineage makes YOU feel superior.  They don't give a crap about it.

I abhor the word "pedigree". It's among a long list of limiting, self-disparaging adjectives. To describe any being in the terms of being "less than" because of an ancestral genetic mutation...

I don't understand the rules which define you and me and them as inferior from ourselves and each other.  I appreciate the theory of natural selection and survival of the fittest.  I get that. Was there a king and queen of the apes in that original troupe somewhere in our evolution?  Was the crown then past up through the roughly thought out timeline of say fifteen million years ago to present day? Apparently so, and the resulting monarchies are a testament to the inbreeding and migration patterns resulting in the several kingdoms still intact today.

As for me, I'm without my breeding certificate.  I was adopted. I may never know.  The state of Washington doesn't acknowledge pre-adoption birth records.  I've tried.

To balance the scales, I know that my soul traveled 444.2 light-years to get here. That's a long time to consider who my relations are.  The earth is hardly my place of origin.  Science is on my side. The Earth is 4.54 plus or minus 0.05 billion years old.

I am who I am-relatively speaking.

The Turn of a Calendar Page

New Year's resolutions, New Year's intentions, to do list, bucket list- unadulterated insanity! I believe indulging in this ritual will cause completely unnecessary stress and a wasted productivity.

Consider my post "Church of Attaboy".  I was a little more than put out with organized religion when I wrote it. The theme plays into a recent post by my good friend,  Angela.  She proposes that we focus on kindness. I like it.

My take on it maybe a little off center and not exactly altruistic, but I further propose that the first person to receive kindness should be one's self.

I am generally kind-try to help when I can.  I often suggest options for seemingly undoable tasks. Offering advice comes easily; but it's a double edged sword.  I should be able to seek advice as easily. Right?  The scale is heavily unbalanced and I am trying to adjust.  So, I'm placing more on the self side and kindness is the pile I am borrowing from.

I am depleted. My energy fields need adjustment. The Reiki masters have confirmed the diagnosis.  I've had the symptoms for years, but didn't want another traditional psycho analysis.  Psycho babble
has its place and is a good fit for some.  I'm not "some". Matter of fact, I'm not anything that I believed in and "believed"is a relative term.

Grateful that I am part of the solution and not the problem, I have renewed energies and unlimited
opportunity to share a universal message.  However, I am not primed and must devote myself to developing my gift.  I won't be depleted very long.

So back to the kindness thing. Just imagine what you could accomplish if your day began with
just one goal. Find a reason for liking yourself.  Have a dose of ego with your coffee. Know that you will make a difference today. Take a chance on kindness. Let me know how it works out.