I'm three days away from having $3 in my bank account. I suggested to God and anyone else who was listening that now would be a good time for a Miracle. As I look out on the glorious still sunny day, I get goose bumps. Why is it that a glorious day makes a Miracle seem not only possible but inevitable?
0 Comments
"I want to be swept off my feet - you know? I want my children to have magical powers I am prepared for amazing things to happen I can handle it!"
This is my brother... I call him The Saint.
Why? This pic was taken the day after I had laser surgery on my eyes - which he paid for - 10 days before I went on my pilgrimage in Japan - which he paid most of. But most importantly - it's because of him that I have risen above poverty consciousness and low self image. His love of me has forced me to love myself and I've only just come to terms with the reality that I will never be able to repay him... Within 50 paces of this... are these... and this... Years ago, when I hung art exhibitions, I learnt that if I didn't like a piece or body of work, it was usually because I didn't understand it yet and with the artists explanation or interpretation I could develop an appreciation.
Some art, however, speaks for itself... Hi Eleanor
I don't know if you'll remember me; you did a reading for me several years ago. I'm a friend of D's and have asked her for your contact details as I'm a bit stuck with my situation and would like a reading if you're still doing that. D has told me you might be in Japan, she wasn't sure if you would be back in NZ yet; she also sends her love and regards. Look forward to hearing back from you. M Hi M It's really good to hear from you but unfortunate about the reason!! You poor sausage. I am indeed in Japan and I've been stuck a couple of times here myself and it felt like I had a brick wall around my brain that I just couldn't think through. I haven't done readings for quite a while. I'm not sure why. I suspect it's because people would get information from me - that would help them through their latest challenge - but I always knew they were temporary fixes because they would often ring again, a few months later, with the same or similar challenge. After a while I started feeling like a bandaid company. I felt frustrated that I didn't have the skills or ability to help people in a more sustainable way. For two or three years, being a bandaid for people was a huge honour for me because I had no education or qualifications. Every day Iwould get such profound satisfaction from doing what I was doing but after such a long time, and after over 1,000 readings, I started getting that 'I just feel like I need (to give) something else' feeling. I haven't found that something-else yet and maybe that's why I'm in Japan? I still have an unqenchable yearning to help people. I was born with more compassion than I know what to do with and people still approach me everyday to get guidance of some sort but I can't just give them the 'fish' anymore. I need to be able to help them chose the right fishing line for their needs and help them recognise the fish they might like so they know where to fish for them, and what they look like. Then, being around to see the look on their face with the first catch, knowing that they will get slicker with practise, and more discerning at what they keep and what they throw back, would be payment enough. I want to apologise if this is not quite the answer you were looking for but I also want to thank you for giving me the chance to see myself think out loud about it. For some strange reason, this very topic has come up a few times in the last week, even though I haven't given a reading since the last one for D and her friend in Australia last year. All I can share with you at this stage is one of my (zillion) sayings... "Do what's right for you and you'll be doing what's right for everyone around you'. It's profound in ways you can only see in hindsight... Warmest regards, hugs and best wishes for your challenge M E My house may seem cluttered but I'm not a hoarder - most of the stuff I have is either functional or sentimental (or both). Over the break I have been going through said stuff and weeding it down even more. Suddenly I had a moment of panic where I remembered an exquisite eastern parasol that my mother had as a child and that I had been carrying around with me for years. Omigod! Where could it be? I searched every orifice, already knowing I wasn't going to find it and, sure enough, it was gone. I felt sick. I know virtually nothing about my grandmothers, who both died before I was born. My mother doesn't know very much about her mother either as she was born when her mother was 40 then got shipped to her sisters when her mother checked herself into a nursing home at age 49 with Parkinson's Disease. Two years later my grandmother had an operation on a kidney and woke with dementia, then eventually died at age 55. My fathers mother died on his 21st birthday when she went to open a farm gate and the tractor she had been driving ran her over. I have absolutely nothing from my fathers mother (except her first name) and from my mother's mother, only a necklace, an eastern style shirt and middle name. When my children were young, I decided our heritage had to start somewhere so I bought two chests and started putting things in them and over the years my mothers, mine and the children's (including their other families) treasures have become all mixed up.
Over the holiday period I had a brainwave to separate out each of our memories into our individual cases or chests. I realised that I couldn't assume to know which pieces of our family memorabilia would be meaningful to which child. Also - with our stuff in separate cases, whoever looks through them will get a clearer picture and context of that individuals life. Lastly, I came to understand the chests as being metaphors for respecting each of our individuality without being encroached on by anyone elses 'stuff'. When I realised I had lost my mothers precious parasol, suddenly I was hit with the reality of being the safe-keeper of some of my family's special things. I have, not a moment to soon, had my take-it-for-granted blase attitude reamed out and refilled with humility and sense of the honour of this responsibility. Thrust on the heels of that realisation, I got a thrill of excitement when I understood it was time for me to create my own chest (all of my stuff had been put in either my mothers suitcase or one or other of the children's chests) making this the first time I have acknowledged that I have my own precious history that's happened of its own accord by virtue of time, that is just as worthy of preserving... Some people stand out.
Jeff is someone who stands out where ever he goes. He’s open and affectionate in a touchyfeely kinda way and loves to carry around and share his matchbox truck. He usually has a minder with him so when I saw him having fun with the guy next to him on the bus, I thought the guy must be his new minder (I hadn’t seen Jeff for a few months). Jeff was holding his hand and they were playing with his truck. It was endearing to see they really enjoyed being with each other. I was then surprised to see Jeff get off the bus by himself. The guy wasn’t his minder at all but another passenger who generously accepted and genuinely enjoyed Jeff’s ‘way’. I watched out the window to see Jeff meet with his minder (the one I have seen him with numerous times before) and the minder was clearly not happy with him. He scolded him in the middle of the street and stormed away. Jeff stood like a cowered puppy, looking up at him, nodding seriously then when he stormed away, Jeff ran/skipped after him. I couldn’t help but feel upset by what I had seen. Happy carefree Jeff with the stranger then humble cowered Jeff with his minder. I was teary and disconcerted for the rest of the morning. Only a few days later, I was standing at another bus stop and Jeff came along with his truck. He bee lined for me. He held my hand, felt the muscles in my arm and showed me his truck. A miraculous thing happened then – I was able to talk to him, participate with him, and return his affection easily. Why should that be a miracle? Because my natural tendency is to recoil from overt attention, especially affectionate attention from a stranger. I was only able to respond so graciously because I had been shown how to by the beautiful generous passenger days earlier… Since getting my new laptop, I have been able to catch up on 15 years worth of missed movies and programmes. (I don’t ‘do’ TV).
In the past, the mentors to move me to new places have been lyrics of songs. I am now getting moved with pictures. Magnolia: Relating to Donny Smith, the mixed up grown up quiz kid, when he says “I’ve got so much love – I just don’t know where to put it” Six Feet Under: David and Keith are out shopping and some rednecks call them faggots. Keith strides up to their car window and challenges them – David tries to placate him, saying it doesn’t matter. Keith turns around to him and says “Do you hate yourself that much?” (that you would accept that behaviour), forcing me to ask the same of myself when I accept intolerable behaviour in the name of avoiding conflict. The Green Mile: Being moved by the big guy selflessly ‘sucking up’ others pain and poison to heal them, ingesting it into his own body with no regard to his own suffering and being able to use that gift to smite evil but without vengeance or malice. Whale Rider: After the derision and rejection of his Grandaughter, the Grandfather acknowledging her wisdom and strength and deeming her as their next leader. Another poignant example of Servant Leadership in action. I’m starting to get a feel for my genre-of-choice…Human Spirit Just when I think I'm being as honest as my conscience and heart will let me, I read Dooce.
Little Leta is so gorgeous my heart almost went into seizures just scrolling over the pictures because she's almost the age my daughter was when I left my family. I had near fatal suicidal depression and hardly remember anything of my daughters early years. Lights on, no-one home. I functioned as the person everyone called me but my brain/emotions were doing time in solitary confinement. On The Night, I had the pills and glass of water beside the bed. My husband had left for night shift, the children were asleep. I had learnt a lot from the last time and had it all planned...take the pills and go to sleep. He would arrive home in the morning just as the children were waking and...whatever. Earlier a friend came around and hard worded me "So? What are you going to do about it?". (IT being depression) then left in disgust when I shrugged "idunno". Luckily I have a spiritual army on the 'other side' looking after me and after she left there was a tangible parting of the cotton wool feeling clouds that was my brain and a voice said "Your children need you!" I can still hear that voice to this day. I went to bed, had an unpilled nights sleep and the next morning told my husband I needed to leave, for everyones sake. He wrote in a card "I would rather have an alive best friend than a dead wife" and let me go gracefully. When they say It must have been really hard leaving your children, my answer has always been It wasn't hard at all - If it had been hard, I know I would have been doing the wrong thing. Thanks Heather B. It took me a long time to realise that I took drugs and drank alcohol to bring on being emotionally moved by somethinganything - to experience passion. And in a 3 minute read of this blog, I was moved in the way only being-under-the-influence could move me in the past. It's now 11 years since I 'left the family' and being confronted with images of children, and what I chose to forfeit, still takes my breath and chokes my heart but I have no regrets. Leaving was the most courageous and right thing I have ever done and gave me the saying that I live by 'When you do what's right for you, you're doing what's right for everyone around you'. My children have watched me grow up and maybe that's why, even though they're teenagers now, we're all still so in love with each other... Violet said... Sheesh, that must've been hard. It's just not a socially acceptable thing for a mother to do is it? You were very brave. Meliors said... Oh baby you move me to tears with your raw honest courage. I'm so glad, so very glad you made the choice to live. And keep making the choice to live with increasing integrity. Anonymous said... Courageous and somewhere beyond...a strength of character to express with such openess and intensity...from all those you have touched, a precious thanks for being you...RTN I've been listening to Michael Jackson a lot lately. I wanted to hear what he had to say in his songs. Maybe get an insight into his modus.
I was surprised to hear him tell us that he is only human, that he has problems (and is quite open about them) and he has been asking our forgiveness for at least 20 years (probably more). His language is mostly in the name of healing the world. I get meaning and healing from words and five of his songs have affected me more than the bible ever did. This got me to thinking... How many people would miss the profound effect his songs could have on them because of judgement. How many turn from his freakness, his effeminate manor, his preference for the company of children, his distorted colour, his genius? And how could I not forgive him for whatever he's asking it for? I was really surprised to get a genuinely happy, interested compassionate bus driver the other day.
I sat down, having been given a THERE IS HOPE moment, and drifted into the Halfway-Here-Lahlah-World all busfolk enjoy in common. Suddenly we all woke, sensing something happening. An older well dressed gentleman who looked like someones favourite Grandad, got on the bus. He was highly aggitated and said in his English voice "I'm sorry, I don't have any cash in my wallet but can I get out at the Railway Station and run back to you with it?" The compassionate busdriver said cheerfully "Get on, don't worry about it, I'll cover it myself". The Gentleman sat down behind the driver and although grateful, squirmed and kept wanting to make sure the driver knew he would pay him back. He asked how much it was. The busdriver said 80 cents. At the same time that I reached for my wallet, I could hear change being rustled all the way up the bus. The woman in front of me leaned over another passenger to pass the Gentleman the money. As she was doing that, another passenger getting off put some money in the drivers change bowl. Neither parties saw each other but the rest of the bus did. The driver was ohwowing and delighted with the passengers discrete donation. He gleefully showed the Gentleman who became quite confused and distraught and tried to hand the other ladies money back to her. At first she just waved him away but he kept persisting. She got annoyed with him in the end and said "Look-there's no point! It's only 80c!". I quietly slipped my dollar back in my wallet and was relieved to get off at the next stop. I managed to donate my dollar to someone else needing it during the day - I needed to - I somehow felt unsatisfied... The exchange made me realise how grateful I am of those in need - the pleasure that comes from spontaneously giving to someone in need is hard to express. Even if they find it difficult to accept sometimes. I remember when I was the one in need and being surprised and moved by peoples generosity yet somehow knowing that it was a pleasure for them also. Thank God for those in need - I don't know if I could function if I was stopped from giving... Here are some things I had to learn (sometimes the hard way) about giving and receiving...
And never mention the gift again My current assignment is learning to be emotionally honest.
As with any assignment it requires research, elimination, testing of theories and objective experimentation. It seems my assignments always end up being about overcoming addiction. I'm addicted to so many of my ideas about myself (that are created by how I think others see me) that I find it physically painful to challenge them. Michael J has helped me with his advice in The Man in The Mirror. And Six Feet Under showed me how to accept that conflict is an everyday natural occurrence that I don’t need to fear and remove myself from. Our current obsession is with conflict – the wars, politics, greed, the lack of support for suffering. But these things have been going on for so long that, like antibiotics, people are becoming immune. They have built up a dangerously high tolerance to them. Who, in our world today, is showing us how to deal with conflict in a healthy enriching way? All we see are the old ways that don’t work anymore. One of my colleagues is an inspiration to me. He deals with conflict head on. Without anger or an agenda, he is literally saying, “Alrighty, lets put all the cards on the table and see if we can make a good hand.” I see him objectively sorting chaff from hay. It’s never about him – it’s about the conflict. And to him, every conflict is manageable - it is merely another box to tick off for the day... Oh for such objectivity... The following are the opening lyrics from a beautiful gentle soulful song called 'Mother' by a Hamilton band called Black Jack, off their album Deal.
It was written by the lead singer, Gavin Dempsey, for his Mother... M's for the Memories in a life full of love Over and over she's there T is for her Tears, and there were many H is for the Home we all shared E is for Every time she catched me from falling and R is for the Reasons when I asked her why Mother knows me Mother showed me Mmmm - Mother of mine When I left my children and they got a wonderful, kind new Mother, I had to work out where I fit in. The last line of the last verse says "Lost and lonely, she takes my hand..." It was me who was lost and lonely and taking either of my children's hands kept me going until I was able to work it out... "Tell me the weight of a snowflake," a coal-mouse asked a wild dove.
"Nothing more than nothing," was the answer. "In that case, I must tell you a marvelous story," the coal-mouse said... "I sat on the branch of a fir, close to its trunk, when began to snow – not heavily, not in a raging blizzard – no, just like in a dream, without a wound, and without any violence. Since I did not have anything better to do, I counted the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles on my branch. Their number was exactly 3,741,952. When the 3,741,953rd dropped on to the branch, nothing more than nothing, as you say, the branch broke off." Having said that, the coal-mouse flew away. The dove, an authority on the matter since Noah's time, thought about the story for a while and finally said to herself, "Perhaps there is only one person’s voice lacking for peace to come to the world." Clair Nuers video about Auschwitz as relayed in the book Syncronicity – The Inner Path of Leadership by Joe Jaworski Page 197 Subject: Trade Me Auction: 32420204 JANOME COMBI DX Overlocker
Date: Sat, 6 Aug 2005 19:03:03 +1200 Hi there I'm so glad to have won this sewing machine. My Mother taught my brother and I to sew on a Singer Treadle when I was 7and I've been sewing ever since. I've had a Janome Combi for 15 years and loved every minute of it. Actually I sold my favourite saddle to buy my first one (my exhusband didn't like horses). Once I had started making all of my childrens clothes, I thought I needed a whizzy overlocker and new machine. I traded in my Combi and hated the two new machines in the first two stitches. I wanted to trade them both back in on my Combi but it had already been sold. Luckily we rang the main branch in Wellington and they found out there was only one left in the country - and we drove to Wellington to get it. That's the one I still have today. Over the years, my mother has learnt to love it too. When she left her second husband and came to live with me, she did a lot of sewing and seemed so much happier. She got into another relationship, then I moved away so she doesn't have access to it anymore - or me. My mother has been losing interest in life lately and I know that her own Combi would spark something in her. Of course I can't help but fantasise that I could take Mum on a surprise adventure to pick it up. Her favourite sister, who she hasn't been able to visit for many years (and who isn't too well) is also in Hamilton and the surprise to both of them would be moving. But I walk and bus everywhere, and live in Wellington so could you please tell me how much it will cost to get it sent to my Mum's in New Plymouth - a surprise on the doorstep will be just as meaningful to her. I look forward to hearing from you. Warmest regards and thanks again E "As long as you derive inner help from anything, you should keep it. If you were to give it up in a mood of self-sacrifice, or out of a stern sense of duty, you would continue to want it back and that unsatisfied want would make trouble for you. Only give up a thing when you want some other condition so much that the thing no longer has any attraction for you, or when it seems to interfere with that which is more greatly desired."
Mahatma Gandhi Vishva (Vishna?)-Bahrati Quarterly. New Series 2. Part 2. ________________________________________________ I had been learning the talk, then talking it, then, as I was transitioning into my next phase, I realised that I was now going to be required to walk it. What I felt sure about was that the next level of people I was moving toward would be much more astute and able to see the gaping holes in my energy field that were my addictions that were continuously needing to be filled. I knew it was time to let those holes close over. My integrity meant so much to me that I found it easy to let go of the remaining addictions in order to have the thing I wanted the most. The respect of the people that I longed to be. I found something I wanted more and knowing that the withdrawals I was feeling were in fact the holes closing, made it so much easier. It took my body around six months to realise the drugs weren't there to provide meaning, the depression wasn't around for internalised passion and the alcohol wasn't available to give me courage any more. It took a while but my body realised it was back to being the provider of these things again. And I believe in it. Fuelled by the addictions, my realisations and breakthroughs felt beige the next day and I would scoff at the ludicrousness of them. The meaning, passion and courage my body now provides me with know no limits but I have had to get accustomed to muting them - they make people uncomfortable. But I feel sure one day soon that a few of those who are also ready to elope with their meaning, passion and courage will burst through my door, insisting I join them... E A little boy was walking through a field one day. He saw the sun reflect off something that was white, lying in the tall grass. Pushing the grass aside, he discovered it was an egg. Since it was larger than the chicken eggs back in the barn, he assumed it must have come from a very large chicken. He took it back to the chicken coop, lifted the largest mother hen, and carefully placed the egg next to the others on which she was sitting.
After some time had passed, all the eggs began to crack open. Several baby chicks poked their little heads out of their eggs. Then the larger egg cracked open, but it was not a chick at all. Out popped the head of a baby eaglet! The eaglet looked around with curiosity at the world into which he had been born. After a short time, he noticed that his stomach hurt and felt empty. He looked around and saw that the way the others around him alleviated this stomach pain was to pick around in the dirt and gravel until they found enough food to fill their stomachs. He noticed they communicated with each other by saying 'bwaaak bwak bwak bwak" and that they had wings like he did. The chicks would fly two feet off the ground and land seven feet across the chicken yard. The baby eaglet thought to himself, Well - I guess that's better than walking... But each day, as he had his face in the dirt looking for food, as he learned to talk like a chicken, and as he used his powerful wings to fly only seven feet across the yard, dropping to the ground before hitting the fence, he thought, This just doesn't feel right. Something inside of him was telling him there must be more to life than this. But every time he would get frustrated and begin to dream about something greater, he would look around at the chickens and think, No, this is reality. I had better settle down and accept life for what it is and forget about these crazy dreams. In the meantime, the baby eaglet's mother had been searching the countryside looking for her missing baby. One day she flew over the chickenyard and spotted the baby eaglet. She let out a sharp yell. As the powerful screech hit the chickenyard, all of the chickens looked up and saw the eagle and scoffing, made comments that if they tried to fly that high, they would fall and break their necks. The baby eaglet, however, looked up at its beautiful mother and thought Yes! I knew I wasn't born to bury my face in the dirt in search of food, or to talk this strange talk, or use these powerful wings in a way that feels so limited - I was born to soar! And with a few flaps of his wings, he was up in the sky soaring with his own kind... This story is only slightly altered by me, and is at the very end of a short but powerful book by Larry DiAngi called The Resilient Power of Purpose. I was already moved by the book but after I read this story, I sobbed "Please help me find my people. Please let me speak my language". |
Pimp My Attitude
You need to know, right now, this is all about me. I'm not educated. I don't have any (non-driving related) qualifications therefore, I'm not about to tell you what you should do - I know my place.
And here you are. At my place. So - welcome. If you're here for 10 seconds, I won't even know so I won't be offended that you left early. If you're here for hours and keep coming back, I will consider you a friend because the only thing my diverse yet loyal friends have in common, and what I appreciate most about them, is that they just keep coming back.. Archives
September 2020
|