Used To Be Me

Sometimes trolling the internet gives me reason to rethink.  Such is the predicament today. Actually, it has been my predicament for about a week, given that I first spotted the headline "Earth's Rotation Cause Shift in Astrological Signs".  Further reading resulted in the understanding that the sun's position relative to the earth's axis ON THE DAY YOU WERE BORN, determines your astrological sign. End result:  my Capricorn has shifted forward to Sagittarius. Oh no!

I don't like change; especially the changes which endanger who I thought I was…I am.

My attributes and lesser qualities no longer apply. I know that my life has shifted towards new territories. I am  on a predestined path which conflicts with free will. My astrological profile is now completely convoluted and I have to open myself to new ways of explaining my behaviors.

But, I'm comfortable and very much convinced that my old sign was spot on.  Let's review: Practical and prudent, ambitious and disciplined, patient and careful, humorous and reserved. On the dark side…
pessimistic and fatalistic, miserly and drudging.

I've worked sixty years, carefully honing the above characteristics so as to fulfill my destiny and to
validate those (if any) quirks which might come across every now and again. Once you met me,
there would be no doubt as to my position in the tenth house of intelligence.

Now I have to reinvent mine and yours and his and hers and theirs.

Okay, let's be open to possibilities.  I'm not in charge apparently.  Should have done more research, but in the tumultuous trappings of high school, I was just glad to be identified with the nerds and for further validation…the band kid nurds.

To date, I am the goat-fish of the "what's your sign" generation.  I will die a goat fish in my heart of hearts.

Seems my life is all about compromise…you know, it's THIS way…on the OTHER HAND, maybe not.  I've never been so unfocused and driven at the same time.  Is it even possible to live this way;
running full steam ahead, over the cliff and hope that I'll make a bouncing recovery onto an parallel plane of existence?

Am I ready for this abrupt change in my autobiography? Are you willing to accept my new persona?
Accepting my latest credentials will change our relationship.  Be prepared that we might not be compatible anymore. After all you are not you. Your truth is waning.

How does one handle this slippery cup of noodles? I'm not the only one is this equation, it's a world wide phenomenon.

Ditch the label?  No! I won't. I will go kicking and screaming, with disco ball in tow to the next incarnate destination.

I suppose (being moderately curious as to the newest version of me), that the new adjectives may be a truer representation. Perhaps, just perhaps, I will be willing to try them on.  Am I above lying about my birthday if I find that disappointment prevails and that I absolutely can not be described as laid out in the ancient practice of astrology?  Nope…but lets let that be a last resort.

Okay. Time for a practice run.  " Sagittarius-Optimistic and freedom-loving, jovial and good-humored, honest and straightforward, intellectual and philosophical…If you catch me on a bad day, then I may be : blindly optimistic and careless, irresponsible and superficial, tactless and restless".

Perception is a double edged sword.  Those attributes that I share may not be received in like manner.  This is problematic for me regardless of which sign I favor.  What you see is what you get.
There's no deception, there's no pussy footing around.

The earth rotates on it's axis, the galaxies expand and contract. My life requires no explanation; after all my purpose and destiny are a continuum within a vast universe.  I am not limited to who I am now and
who I used to be.

Redefined

I have written that I am being repurposed, but this is different. This is my truth…my reason for the earthly presence my incarnate soul has been given.

Rediscovery can come from within as a result of counseling from without. Teachings not found in books and not originating from the human mind are tangible if you believe in intuition. The gut feeling, the visceral messages you must listen to come when the soul is being shaken to the core. Your attention is narrowed to only that which will allow your purpose through.

When the familiar you isn't a good fit anymore, you're ready.

I'm ready.

Allowing the universal messages to flow to my conscious mind, I am primed for learning. I am open to possibilities which take what I thought I knew to another dimension…literally.

The Shaman taught me, her teachings were recently validated by my intuitive. Warning: the following may challenge you if you are a heaven and hell kind of person...

Time in Stonehenge, Wales was brief, maybe two hours. The pinnacle of that window of opportunity was my interaction with the Shaman. My daughter and I walked the circle, photographed the stones, and not feeling drawn to the energies there, headed to the gift shop, concession area.  Found two seats at the perimeter counter and planned a leisurely snack before catching the return shuttle back to town.

Seated next to us were a pair of women engaged in some ritual using a goat head staff.  One woman was apparently in receipt of messages, the other, in a rather theatrical costume gave instruction and validation. I wanted to know more, so I abandoned my juice and my daughter and interrupted them by asking "who are you and why are you dressed this way"? The reply was a simple four-word sentence "I am the Shaman".

I was invited to join them after permission was granted by the other woman. The next 46 minutes
can not be retold for the teachings formed the most intimate conversation I have ever had. I will
share that my journey was unexpected and not earthbound.  I will tell you that my purpose that day was
predestined and that no other person could have completed the task for I had been summoned to help.
I had to travel four thousand miles. The Shaman had waited for me.  How long?  She did not disclose.

That experience has brought me out of my comfort zone and not gently. This present self is housed in a physical body whose limitations are waning. So as my bones weaken and muscles atrophy, there is a seeming urgency for repair and maintenance. My reason for being here has just been revealed and it's
so surreal that my explanation may not suffice.

Being afflicted with a straight forward demeanor, I'll just say that I am gifted to guide souls from the dark into the light.

I thought that I was to heal by the laying on of hands. Yes, that is still an option. I have free will.
That seems more of a career than a purpose. Both will require travel, although spiritual guidance is not limited.

How to proceed? Where do I go?  With whom will I provide guidance? How frequently? How many souls await?  Again, it is predestined.

I must quiet my mind. I must remain open. Priorities are no longer measures of my worth. There is work to be done. Soul reawakened. Life's purpose redefined.

Living Fiction

Wizard of Oz or Alice Through the Looking Glass? These great works of literature are seemingly
parallel to my life at present; if not in totality at least in part.

In snippets, really, because I don't possess total recall of all the delightful and complex characters involved in the telling of those two tales.  I'm just sitting here deep in thought as to why I don't recognize my role in my own life.  Am I not justified in thinking that the consequences to all MY choices are the result of MY actions? Is MY truth not mine?

There are two possibilities, given the title to this story.  Either I have fallen down the rabbit hole or I grabbed my picnic basket and little dog and headed down the yellow brick road. My reality needs a reality check. Loss of control is a terrible burden to one who believed herself incapable of mental incontinence.

I am unprepared, ill-equipped and scared to death of this present situation. There is no reasonable explanation for this abrupt divergence from my strategically planned life. I've paid my dues and slid into old age according to the directions. The warranties on my parts are expiring and I'm a victim to the current health care options.  Life just gets less exciting, more predictable and then you die.  No reason to be thrust into another existential dimension, NOT NOW!

And yet, here I am-in flux. Damn.

Denial won't solve the puzzle. There's energy, constant swirling energy approaching the horizon and I will be swept up into it.  This I know.  It has been foretold. In my soul portraits, the focal point remains but the evolution through the series, defines my energy being guided by entities of passionate love and protection. My last portrait was commissioned 4 years ago.  The color pallet softened and the canvas appears to have tiny twinkling lights (my guides).

Don't get excited, I am not a predictor of any apocalypse. I don't believe in the end of the physical world, I don't believe in final judgment and I don't need my soul saved (it's not mine to begin with).

I'm a metaphysical being in transition. I have layers and layers upon layers of purpose.  We all do. We all have multiple personality disorder; it's just that some of us would rather not expose ourselves.  We fear ridicule and failure.  Neither will cause an end to our truth.

Unlike the masterpieces of fiction I have referenced, my journey does not invite companions.  There is no cast of characters; no personification of relations. I have my own White Rabbit keeping me in the moment.

The yellow brick road leads to Chrystal City. The Wizard is not whom we first believed.  Perhaps my journey is a reflection in the looking glass rather than through the other side.

Dorothy and Alice awakened to find nothing had changed.  As for me, I'd rather keep dreaming.

Collections

I have more than one. My parents, grandmother, brother, children and neighbors have at least a singular assemblage of mementos.  Why?

The church has them along the wall of the sanctuary. My son's property manager has one which is taking over her desk. What is the attachment, the affinity for, the need to grow a collection?  Animals don't do it but people do.

Our lives defined by collections. What do they reveal? Well, mine would scream personality disorder to anyone entering my private spaces. The display of neatly positioned figurines, mostly dusted, are years in the making; from childhood and from my mother's childhood.

The objects are displayed with great care and effort in the placement of each. They remain grouped together, they have themes. If you observe them closely enough, they give clues to who I was and who I am today.

There is beauty there; on the shelves and table tops.  There is grace and artistry, whimsy and joy.
There are memories attached to some which make them irreplaceable in my heart.  I anguish over cracks and dents.  New damage causes me sadness in the knowledge that they can not be replaced.
I tried to replace one; searching the internet for a duplicate.  Found one, bought it and substituted it
in the original grouping.  It doesn't belong somehow. You wouldn't notice it, but I know better.

I remember where and when most of the figurines came to stay with me. Some were gifts, others part of an inheritance. More recent acquisitions were the fruit of trips to flea markets, garage sales, antique malls and just once, a junk pile I passed.  That special addition caused me to go around the block again and stop, turning on the hazard lights while I stood there intent on closely inspecting the latest treasure.

I have slowed down in my efforts to sustain and grow the collections of decorative objects. The excitement of discovery has left my conscious and subconscious; maybe I am just focused elsewhere.

Trying to reignite my enthusiasm to begin again, I concentrate on the task of acquisition and with good intentions and a full tank of gas, I head out.  More times than not, I come home empty handed; disillusioned and upset that I wasted time. But was it truly wasted time?  Maybe not.

Surrounding myself with history or (my version of history) unchains my soul from day to day mundane
living. The adventure of searching behind and under something; opening a drawer or door to discover what lay hidden, is stimulating.  An adult version of hide and go seek where hiding my eyes and counting to ten are no longer part of the game. I suppose I could yell "ollie, ollie in come free" at the cashier counter!

My white duck collection began with an expensive single duckling belonging to Mom.  I inherited 700 plus elephants as well, but let go of all but a handful when my husband and I realized that there was no hope of traveling with that responsibility during his years of active duty service.  The ones which keep me company now are distinct and so my Mom.

I have two moose, which will suffice.  The figurines of dainty, bisque and porcelain women are
dissimilar but as a group define my affection for years gone by; a gentile world. The paintings are mostly original works of art and there the similarity ends.

 Not all of my collections are of multiples.  I have a collection of one; it is of a carved stone anteater. The grouping may not increase given the unlikelihood of ever finding another.

There are stories behind each cherished piece. I may retell them some day and then I may keep secrets and allow the next collector to remember me in the details of my collections.

Living With Kong

"Stop humpfing at me…it's disrespectful that you do not use more than one word to reply, it's like you're not listening to me...that's one of the reasons sending me back to the psychiatrist" I said. He didn't reply, just walked out of the house on his way to the movies.

I can't believe the retrogression manifesting itself in my spouse of 28 years.

It's impertinent, discourteous and rude to reply to EVERYTHING I say in the monosyllabic retort.  It's been this way for a couple of years now.  The only break I get is when we are in public or in unfamiliar surroundings; then he manages a clever and well thought reply.  If I said, "my mole has sloughed off",  he would compose an entire paragraph to describe his interest, surprise, consolation, whatever.

This repugnant development in his personality is a tell as to his eventual return to the primate survival kit.  He's beginning to resemble the troupe and I am hopeful that I can supplement my retirement by renting him out to those who study the species.  He would be a great addition to any primate study.  Research could reach full circle; not with the conclusion that humans evolved from but also regress to the original biped.

I can join Dr. Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey and their contemporaries ( as an honorary member, of course)
with my contribution to the continued studies of living with apes (great apes, lesser apes, chimpanzees, etc.)

I don't understand why the medical community hasn't stopped to consider that the chronic degeneration of the body, as it ages, is simply evolution in reverse.  The diagnosis' which consume and support the pharmacological sectors could be redefined, although acceptance of this inevitability may lead to new networking within the medical and architectural leaders.New think tanks, new industries, a boon to our economy…all related to the eventuality of ditching current trends to support our aging populations.

New design concepts would have to be created in order for us to live as we once did. Jungle gyms come to mind and lots of sand boxes with rocks which could be sharpened into tools for every day use.

The Naked and Afraid reality show could be the latest trend in mini documentaries to validate that the primordial can not be genetically altered.  It can not be bred out of the human. In our desperate
attempt to prolong life and dishonor the natural world, we ignore purpose, we ignore the circle of life which is inherent in the diversity of species which survive.

All this outpouring of possibilities comes from my observations  in my husband's  simple choice of vocabulary. At this point, I hope it is a choice, but it could be destiny.

I'm excited to see how close to the original neanderthal my husband resembles in the coming decade.  His vocabulary is already primed...

The Altered State of Me

My BFF replied, "Tomorrow is another day".  That was her way of acknowledging the chaotic day I had had and that when I awakened, it would have ceased. Time to begin again.

Begin again? But wait, I failed at yesterday. Nothing was accomplished. Or was it? My response (which was delayed until that new day's dawning) was "So glad today is not a continuation of yesterday".

Since when have my days become compartmentalized? Since when?

My to-do list has taken on a life of its own.  The burden of being me is overwhelming. This new self-definition has crappy timing.

Now that I have opened myself to a metaphysical way of thinking, the universe has taken control.
It just came in and stayed; filling all the voids I used to enjoy.  The voids of doing nothing.
The choice of doing nothing; nothing beneficial, nothing creative, nothing productive, meditative, healthful, ego filling nothing.

I am consumed with my soul's housekeeping. No more secrets, my insides have been hung out to dry in front of the world.  My cleaned, folded and put away emotional laundry is filling the clotheslines to capacity.

Why now?

The reincarnate process has begun and I'm still not finished with the present version.  Nothing has prepared me for this. Didn't anticipate THIS!  Thought that it (reincarnation) was not a task meant for human endeavors.  Well, it's not the first time I have bumbled. But it is the first time I have come face to face with me and all I used to be.

Messages have been received and I am processing them.  I am analyzing them.  I am trying to incorporate them within my list of things to do.  You have one. Everyone has one.  Caution: the list of things to do and "bucket list' are not the same.  They are parallel tasks; not always on the same plane of life.

Dreams are messages.  Dreams have interpretations. Interpretations are varied and seem to fit whatever mood I am in.  Still, they come, vivid and unrelenting.  I must chronicle them, I must study them in order to separate the urgent from the I'll get to it later categories.

Recently, speeding cars wherein I am always the passenger has been the theme. Going forward towards crashing, in reverse towards oblivion.  They keep me prisoner in that deepest state of sleep.
I can not immediately awaken,..trance-like…slow to dismiss them; sometimes details remain until the first light. Duty and destiny are converging, becoming interlocked and inseparable. I can hardly pause to catch my breath. The straight and narrow path has hurdles. Who knew?

Messages come through my intuitive counselors.  I have several…hoping to discredit one, hedging my bets for I am capricious and can not always discern truth.   Doesn't matter, all the messages are the same, the source is constant although I have not inquired as to "who"? Consistent and relentless they come in fractured unison.

My turn to choose.  Do I take that leap from safe and predictable to kismet?  All I can do today is wonder.  All I can do today is to prepare…think I'll sleep on it and let you know in the morning; after all tomorrow is another day.

The Church of "Attaboy".

The Church of Attaboy doesn't exist.  That's a truth which is universal, worldly and more precisely evident in every house of worship; regardless of theological differences.

I want to start one.

I want a place (a physical dwelling) or recognizable static location where I can join others for zealous
validation of a job well done.  It's a simple request.

My husband has just modified his news app on his phone to the BBC.  He is tired of the negative press. He's sick of the politicking.  Really…who are you kidding?  Neither party nominee is qualified for the oval office.  Crook (with money and connections) vs. megalomaniacal racist (with money and connections).  There's not an honest candidate.  I'm not voting.

Sorry for the rant…it's been waiting to come out for a long time…

Negative, horrific news bombards the inquiring mind. Even those of us who are not constantly tuned in
are aware. That's in THIS country. We are being watched and redefined.  It's not the impression
I want to give.

Where to go to escape, recharge and not give up? It's not to worship as far as I know and that's what needs changing.

We all need recognition and appreciation for being us.  Those of us who follow the golden rule needs
support and accolades. What happened to kindness? What happened to respect?

In the church of attaboy, we would celebrate the everyday joys.  We would count and applaud the number of times we smiled at someone. We would  "happy dance" for each unselfish kindness toward another. We would sing silly songs of childhood because it is joyous.
'
No need to meditate or atone, no required confessions. There would be no absolutions or hail Mary's.
No commandments, no doctrine, no worship.

Celebration, continuous happiness, contagious joy without constraint; without reminders that
what we do is not enough.  Truth be told, it's more than enough.

Can you implement this simple ideal?  Of course!  Start with your heart with mind to follow.
Be unafraid to initiate random acts of kindness because it's the right and honorable thing to do.

Be gentle and gentile. Be a force for peace. Come for validation and veneration.  I hope to see you there.