Rewind

Rewind

I am lagging behind myself. The facts have been preserved on paper. Some have been sent through the internet with no final destination, no letter of introduction or warning label. I just hit "publish".

Takes balls to send dissected pieces of myself into everywhere the English language permeates.
I guess I grew a pair as an experiment to determine my power. Little did I realize how freeing
it would be to share with no one in particular. Actually, I am finding the act therapeutic.

Tired and angry at not being respected, my revenge comes in the form of a carbon footprint which will never disappear. My words are in the cloud. They are my proof of existence and are the metaphorical fodder of future archeologists.

Looking at the dates of my collective thoughts, I have been jockeying for the lead position on this
track for several years. Now is the moment to solidify the fractured writings into a cohesive
published work.  In order to accomplish my goal, the writer in me needs to collaborate with the internal author.  I am ready to begin.

Not wanting your opinion is not disrespecting you. I simply can't risk any deviation from the original words. Carefully phrased word combinations represent my truth. The written word is an existential component of my spoken vocabulary. There's no ghostwriter here. When I read aloud my writings,
any intended audience recognizes me. That's the point.

Do I reveal the collection chronologically? Do I sever and regroup the thoughts? There is such a strong pattern carried through the years. I rewind and fortify my intentions. What I have written, it seems, is an instructional manual to my remaining journey here. There are reminders that commitments are not to be taken lightly. The timeline is fluid and forgiving.

This page (post) was not planned. None of my writing is planned. The thoughts are not mine but rather gifted through me as tools or signposts for you.  You have free will.  Be open and kind. Question
everything. I'll be seeing you.

Change

Change

In my pre waking hours, I had an internal debate. Debates get my blood circulating and my senses heighten in the chance the winning team needs reinforcements. This morning's discussion is timely.
A simple topic - change.

Just to give my teams an advantage, I looked up the vast listing of synonyms. Each word shaved off a little edge, softened the keyword. In my authorly world, there is no accidental match of a noun to a verb. The exercise is precise and at times aggravatingly so.

The very generic word  "change",  allows for interpretation. I need to be cautious in its use for there is power behind it. And that power is overshadowing my journey.  One step, balance, second step, pause has become the rhythm of my life. Didn't use to be; I could run and never reach a goal. My life was all in good fun. Sprinting to nowhere, in particular, was enticing, life-affirming, frightening and
left me wanting for more.

Change - I don't feel used up, exactly, just cautious. No more bounding out of bed (metaphorically) and filling my moments with multi-tasking shit.

Change - I now shop in the universal metaphysical version of the hardware store. My archaic toolset
is useless. The skills, so carefully honed over sixty years are obsolete.

Change - Hours pass and I am not in control. There is a new cadence and it is strong. Passivity is necessary for focus.

Change - What defined me no longer serves me. Remnants leave cavernous spaces in my life's
hope chest. I do not need to restock. I am enough.

Change - Trust is necessary. Fear is dark and I am of the light. The universe does not exist in the subtlety of Payne's grey spectrum. Creation is only cast in a momentary shadow. My path is fully lit and even if I stumble, the sting of failure can not scar me. I am because I was destined to be.

Change - I am here at the perfect moment. There is little preparation ahead. The awareness of the soul
allows me to ascend and to be that which transitions the question of "who am I" to "I am".

Stagnation - Nope; just destiny.

Puzzle Master

Puzzle Master

Now that my heart has been opened to accepting messages, I am tasked to complete my life puzzle.
Challenge is that I am between lives. I barely have time to consider where I have been as a point of reference let alone deciphering what I am about at the moment.

Found out I had a Cherokee spirit guide in a past life. That alone was an astonishing revelation. Someday I hope to uncover the past life me who benefited by his guidance. Spirit guides are one of the most exciting discoveries of late.

I am in training along this metaphysical walk. The first hurdle is trust followed by the establishment
of routine. I have to give my 63-year-old self pep talks. Knowing what to do is the easy part,
practicing is well...quite the challenge.

My Life Coach laid it all out for me: Awaken - focus on something I love. Meditate. Write.
As a published poet/author, step three is where I get to exhale. I'm stuck looking up at the high bar.
With pole in hand, I back up and inhale. But before I step out. I stop.

I need a space with tools. Talking myself into this routine interrupting practice is being met
with much resistance - mostly from the negative energy I reside in. Learning how to protect myself
is beginning to evolve. Learning how to live aside chaos rather than immerse myself in the vortex
takes so much concentration, I am afraid I will have nothing left for sustenance.

What to do?

Step one - set physical boundaries. Establish a "me space" - a safety zone.
Step two - light a candle,  chant, protect, listen to guided meditations
Step three - trust
Step four - focus
Step five - tune in and allow.

Wish me luck.

Endings

My world is encased in opposites.  I came to this realization, not of my own accord, in the office of a psychiatrist maybe twenty-five years ago.

Moodiness and inexplicable extreme behavior quickly led to the diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. That diagnosis led to the quick fix drugs of the day.

Not too many months into drug therapy, I quit taking the prescriptions.  Right then and there, I knew that loss of control, to any degree, was not going to happen to me! There would be no termination (ending, if you prefer), in order to begin a more socially acceptable version of myself.

Years of boxing with myself in the ring of reality, I began to accept that I was different. I knew instinctively, that taking off the mask would jeopardize relationships. Being raised by ultra-conservative parents, my immediate task was to lie and I became pretty good at it.

I was a closet Bipolar.  Knowing that my husband's career depended, in part, on the perceived stability of our marriage, I kept to the straight and expected narrow path of a military spouse.

Private moments, when he was on remote duty, were liberating.  I could be who I was, both of me. The year he was living on Guam, I celebrated daily with two toddlers in tow.

Family visits were always hellish, especially because I had the role of social chairwoman.  Always playing nicely with the relatives... ending my reality and beginning theirs.  You may not understand the tremendous effort involved here. It was and continues to be a pseudo-suicide.

The quick love affair I had with my first published book, "Bipolarity", is now the visible bridge between my worlds. It is an offering of my gratitude to universal wisdom. I am inherently conscious of all my thoughts and their role in my interplay on this momentary journey in time.

Endings are not possible now, interruptions- maybe. Life, for me, is a continuum.  I am part of the mass, just cosmic dust in between travels-the never-ending gift of living between extremes.

A Personal Archeology

     A Personal Archeology

The thought of my remains (if I choose to leave them) being a repository of other life forms is intriguing. To be interred and archived, to be rediscovered and analyzed is seemingly appropriate.
Curiosity does not define a species but rather the evolutionary process of said species. Right?
     So here lays my body in tandem with the other me's. I have become nutrient-rich soil and the new me is wriggling up into the light. That's one hell of a wake-up call.
But it's possible.
     It's preferential treatment of one so in tune with nature. When the human life form ceases functionality why not encourage a new beginning? The art of storytelling could be oh, so much more
enriched. The blending together of reality and fantasy. Of course not knowing what exactly my relations will wiggle themselves into as they greet the light makes the whole spectrum kind of magical.
     To want to experience that which is unfamiliar is the polar opposite of playing it safe.  Who wants to transition into what didn't work the first time? If the lesson was a failure, why would the universe
guide the soul to repeat the process?  Surely, the lesson wasn't that important in the first place. I'm in favor of finite attempts at anything. Perfection is unattainable. Why not try something new?
     Really, the evolutionary process is always forward-moving. Yes, I laugh at the comic strip of Darwin's Theory in reverse; ape into man into ape again. We, as a society, have limited hope for the inevitable.
     We think that age and wisdom stalls only to revert into child-like mentality.  I don't believe it's that simple. What if the aging process is a preparatory step which will eventually bridge the gap to who we really are?
     I think about these open-ended questions all the time. It is the latent scientist in me. Having ascended into the fourth dimension of late, I am grasping to stay there. My purpose is to enlighten. I can do that once the chaos of living in three dimensions dissipates. I can do that once I let loose that which no longer serves me. I can do that knowing that everything in this universe is fluid and I am carried in the gentle current of time, which is eternal.