It’s Never Too Late To Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

Meet Brutus.  Brutus is over 12 years old, which makes him about the same age (in human years) as my dad.  Set in their ways, and fiercely loyal to their routines, both dog and man have zero tolerance for disruption in their lives.

My dad is very firm regarding his basic requirements.  For example, he would become very disgruntled should my mother, my sister, or anyone else have the audacity to schedule an appointment that may interfere with his morning nap.  My mom and Mary Jo may roll their eyes, but for the sake of all vested parties, both of them adhere to the known guidelines regarding Dad’s routine.

The dog has a self-centered and structured agenda, as well.   Every night at exactly 9 o’clock, Brutus stands at the foot of our bed and demands (with a series of short, irritating yelps) to be lifted onto the bed so that he may retire for the evening.  Most of us groan, but one of us will eventually comply with his incessant bidding, since none of us can withstand that unnerving bark of his for any length of time.  His bark oddly resembles Dad’s grumble when he is five minutes past his lunch time.

Dog and man are both content in their established routines.  They have no desire to change, and do not have any misgivings toward expressing a steadfast devotion toward their fixed agendas.  Anyone who would suggest otherwise can expect a fair amount of resistance (as in grumpiness).  I believe that Dad and Brutus are entitled.

As physical residents of the planet, we are often creatures of habit.  Most of us become comfortable with what we know ‘works’ for us.  Like my two favorite old guys, we are certainly entitled to continue operating within our own familiar realm when we are content with our lives.  It is only when we are not satisfied with our current experiences that we may consider approaching unfamiliar territory.

When I was completing an internship for addictions counseling, there was a popular credence toward the significance of “comfort zones.”  Encouraging clients to step out of their familiar territory was considered an essential aspect in recovery from addictive behavior.  There were so many workshops and case study sessions dedicated to the thousands of possible applications to “comfort zone” scenarios that the idea itself became superfluous.  C’mon.  What is addictive behavior if not one big comfort zone in the first place?

Addictions aside, any desire to transform your current life experience will require some measure of venturing forth into unfamiliar realms.  Fortunately, we have the benefit of time, which allows us to ease into our self-expansion at a manageable pace.

Challenging ourselves to step out of our usual patterns of behavior, even in small increments, will initiate the process of change.  Making the phone call that you have been putting off forever, holding your tongue from the usual terse remark, speaking from the heart instead of remaining silent, saying hello to that person you usually ignore, or even something as simple as taking a new route to work one morning could qualify as steps into the unfamiliar.

Personal efforts such as these will foster the opportunity for a wider perspective of your environment.  With each and every attempt to alter habitual patterns, the Universe will respond in kind.  Clarity increases and you will begin to observe things that you ordinarily may not have noticed before.

As is typical among any support system, I gleaned more wisdom regarding the process of change from fellow addicts than I ever did in studying effective ways to treat us.  Genuine clarity from someone who deliberately steps out of their comfort zone on a daily basis can offer fellow beings the most insightful and concise anecdotes.  I fondly recall one colleague’s astute observation that entrenched patterns of behavior are much like a speeding train.  When the decision is made to change course, it takes some time to adequately decrease the speed of the train in order to completely alter the direction that it has been traveling.  Recovering addicts appropriately refer to this process as the “one day at a time” approach.

We are the conductors of our speeding trains.  Unless, of course, you are like my two favorite old guys, who are perfectly content with the direction in which their trains are traveling, it is inspiring to know that our own train can be redirected, expanded, and eventually gain maximum forward motion when given the proper time and attention from us.  Just a few simple steps out of our comfort zone, when repeated over time, can eventually turn a speeding train around.

I think that I will make that phone call tonight after Brutus goes to bed:)

To Be Or Not To Be

Any well-founded witch can appreciate the teachings of the Buddha.  The Eightfold Path and other basic Buddhist teachings promote the practice of meditation to reconnect with the vital energy of self.  Relaxing the vigilant mind’s ego allows us the freedom to create our own happiness.  As we release our ego, we increase our awareness of truly “living in the moment.”  I honor and respect the practice of mindfulness as a way of life, but I wonder if the Buddha has had to change a diaper like my nephew had yesterday after eating prunes for breakfast.  When I am up to my elbows in poop, the concept of ‘living in the moment’ seems overrated.

The practice of ‘mindfulness’ offers the opportunity to balance the ego’s need “to do” with our innate capacity “to be.”  I appreciate the concept, but there are some moments in our day-to-day life when ‘being’ in the moment presents a challenge.

Anson’s ‘prune incident’ occurred in the midst of our beagle’s need to throw-up the contents of the bathroom waste basket that she had apparently ingested earlier.  Being that I was the only adult in attendance for the Bean Household Waste Elimination Festival, I questioned the intrinsic value of reveling in each moment.  I wonder if it is not more productive to view these not-so-pleasant moments as occasions to focus on what may be in the future, instead of what is occurring in the present?

In January, I ran a half-marathon with my Aunt Cindy.  Completing the thirteen miles turned out to be easier than I had originally anticipated, but there were moments when masquerading as a volunteer who stood on the sidelines seemed an attractive alternative.  Aunt Cindy is almost twenty years older than I am.  Due to the fact that she was maintaining a determined pace, my ego would not allow me to sneak off and pretend that I was a spectator, but I did entertain the notion somewhere around mile seven.

During mile eight is when I formulated my own compromise between the wisdom of ‘being in the moment’ and the desire to finish the damn race.  It is the language of self-talk that becomes most relevant when your knees are suffering, or you have poop all over the front of your shirt.

“I am content with myself, no matter what is happening right now”  has been changed to, “I am content with myself and will be EVEN HAPPIER when this is over.”

The process is never as significant as the outcome.

A Beefed-Up Connection

After investing weeks, months, or the years that some of us require in order to remember Who We Are, it can feel like quite a setback to experience dismal moments (especially when they seem to last longer than we would like).  As physical beings, we can accept that mood changes are part of the human experience, and yet these vibrational ‘dips’ can produce unpleasant and ‘backwards’ feelings of disappointment in our ability to maintain our connection to Source.  Attempts to transform our disappointment into mild annoyance can provide some improvement, but even the slightly higher vibration of irritation is not satisfying once you have had the experience of a sustained Divine signal.

Intellectually, most of us understand the concept of allowing these feelings of uncertainty to ‘pass through’ our experience before they take root.  There are some occasions, however, when this knowledge (and the procedure to allow it) feels easier said than done.

Welcome to earth!   As part of the human race, we have many available circumstances to choose from that can trigger the onset of a dismal mood.  Physical exhaustion (as in lack of sleep), bad news, really bad news, worse news, or even a crappy weather day has the potential to present a challenge in maintaining an optimum connection to your Source of Well Being.

If you feel like you have spent at least forty-nine years overcoming unwanted patterns of self-destructive behavior and drama, it can be disappointing to find yourself entertaining an ancient instinct to run down the drain every time an unpleasant circumstance shows up in your experience.  Jeez!

It happens.  We are active participants within the human realm who are sensitive to our environment and its subsequent circumstances.  It is good to know that we have options that can redirect our momentum.

Since our connection to Source is not static, the ebb and flow is very much dependent on our deliberate awareness of its strength.  During those moments, or days, when my connection seems to reflect more ebb than flow, I have found that it is helpful to approach the tweaking process deliberately.

Deliberate intention to beef-up your connection to Source can be limited to small incremental blocks of time throughout the day.  Using this piece-by-piece method can be effective when you are feeling as if you have ‘accidentally’ found yourself in the midst of a shitty mood that seems to be lasting longer than you would like.

You may already have several elements in your repertoire that you trust to elevate your vibrational output.  This method will require that you rifle through those particular items that you have accumulated in your personal bag of tricks.  These items may include a particular song that lifts your spirit, or perhaps the memory of something that made you laugh with abandon.  Most likely, one of the items in your bag of tricks came to mind as you were reading this.  That’s the one!

If you cannot bring yourself to choose an item, I understand.  I know that sometimes identifying a personal smile-inducing item is not easy.  I can relate to how it feels during those times when you don’t even want to open the bag.  In fact, I know what it feels like when it seems like consulting a bag of tricks is pointless, because it won’t make a damn bit of difference in whatever is happening around you anyway.  It’s okay.  Since I have spent what could be HUNDREDS of lifetimes honing a proclivity toward low self-esteem, ironically, I am quite CONFIDENT that I rank among the highest professional levels when it comes to issues of self-worth.  I completely understand how difficult it can be to turn your attention away from ingrained patterns of disappointment and try to ‘look’ for something that makes you smile.

You are smart, so you may be fully aware that reacting to dismal circumstances with lowered vibrations are carrying you further away from your Source, and yet the last thing that you FEEL like doing is reviewing a personal list of things that have been known to bring you a smile. (Really?!?…because putting a smiley-faced band-aid on a gaping wound is going to do something?!)  However, if you keep in mind that you only have to pick ONE, the task may not seem as daunting (or repulsive) as your dismal mindset would insist.  In addition, reminding yourself that this is the action taken by a deliberate creator (and a most practical witch) helps a little, too.  If you are still unable to open your bag of tricks and choose an item, you are more than welcome to borrow one of mine.  I suggest listening to Karl Jenkins’ live performance of Adiemus (if you are halfway down the drain) or Le Festin (if you feel as if you may be only headed toward the drain.)  The resonance of vibrations offered in either of these songs can assist in enhancing the network of connections between conscious mind and spiritual Source.  (Links are provided on the right side of the home page for this site)

Once you choose a reliable item from your bag of tricks (or mine), commit to spending a few minutes out of the upcoming hour using it.  While you are holding your image, or listening to your favorite song during this allotted time, imagine that this effort is creating a new connection, almost as if it were an additional ‘wire’ that you are adding to the pathway that exists between your physical self and your Source.  The main connection is already there.  You are not concerned about this prevailing ‘cable’ at the moment (since it seems to be weak, anyway).  You are focused only on the new connection that your participation in this ’smile factor’ activity is creating.

Upon the completion of your first effort, you may feel no immediate improvement in your mood.  It’s okay.  Higher Self honors the effort you have made in creating an additional pathway.  The less time that you stress over the lack of perceived improvement in your vibrational alignment, the better.  Know that you have the upcoming hour to add an additional connection, and trust that these deliberate efforts have been duly noted.

Using this one-hour-at-a-time method to deliberately create new connections along the pathway between your conscious self and your spiritual Source will beef-up your system in due time.  The deliberate expansion of this network eventually makes a noticeable difference in your ability to maintain a higher vibrational level for longer periods of time.  Bad news, worse news, or even a shitty day will be no match for a carefully constructed, kick-ass system.  Uninterrupted communication between yourself and your Power Source will be your own beautiful creation in and of itself, and dismal moments will be a mere and passing memory.

This is a promise from a practical, and (former) professional low-self esteem witch:)

Small Town-opoly

Helga recently reminded me of the day when I officially removed my token from the Community Gossip board game.  One of our monthly PTA leadership meetings had just adjourned, and the two of us were exiting the conference room to head toward the front office.  We needed to log in our volunteer hours.  Helga and I walked side-by-side as we snaked our way around multiple single-file rivers of children.  Parading streams of students were being led through the school’s main corridor by a teacher holding a clip board.  It was lunch hour, and the shuffle of classes moving to and from the cafeteria was in full swing.  A sporadic symphony of small voices sprang forth from the tributaries of children that were flowing past us.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bean.  Good morning, Mrs. Dodge.”

Southern-bred offspring are well versed in their traditional greeting etiquette.  Most of these kids knew us in our homes as “Miss Jill” and “Miss Helga,” but it appeared that there was an amendment to this constitution that required children to use a formal address of “Mrs. Last Name” when aforementioned adult is met within an official educational environment.

As a former Yankee who had spent the majority of my life in and around a large metropolitan area, most of these traditional regulations were baffling to me.  One aspect of this new environment was familiar.  The procedure by which these rules were presented was much like the method used by the family dynasty in which I was raised.  Unspoken and expected to be understood, it is commonly known as the This-Is-The-Way-We-Do-Things Policy.  It reads something like this:

“If you want to be a part of our group, then you have to do things our way.  If you refuse to comply, or if you are a slow-learner, there will be no forgiveness, and your membership will be revoked.  In this event, you will be required to relinquish any welcoming gifts that we may have initially bestowed upon you, as we do not tolerate any instances in which you may be mistakenly identified as one of us.  In addition, we reserve the right to talk about you, and whisper criticisms amongst ourselves in your presence, once you have been deemed unworthy to join our group.”  I knew the drill.

In the few years since Durwood and I had become active participants in our interrelated PTA and Little League communities, I was getting the hang of most of the expected Southern Manners and Hospitality rules.  It was regarding the Small Town Personal Information Disclosure and Privilege Game in which I appeared to be in the slow-learner category.

Who knew what about who, that was not supposed to know what they knew about another, are supposed to tell you what they think about it, but only if you did not hear it from them, so that you will keep that in mind if you talk to another, or someone who already knows about it, but is not supposed to know.  It was mind-boggling.

I was the newly elected PTA vice-president, serving on a board full of life-long residents whose families have resided here for over a hundred years.  They had been playing a sanctioned game that I did not understand.  I was thirty-some years old, but I felt like the new kid in their high school.

Thankfully, I do not remember the specific details involved with the infraction I had committed during this particular PTA meeting.  Whatever I had said, not said, did, or did not do, had ruffled enough feathers to effectively rescind my invitation to become a member of this exclusive club.

Helga may have been a life-long resident in the community, but she was also my friend.  When the two of us finally arrived at the entrance to the school’s office, she placed her hand upon my shoulder to prevent me from continuing through the door.  With a most sincere expression, Helga confirmed the assessment of my current situation.

“I’m really sorry,” she said.  She lowered her voice, leaned her head toward mine, and spoke to me through her eyebrows. “It would appear that some of us believe that we are still in high school.”

“Or kindergarten,” I thought to myself.

As is typical of my approach to most things, I lack the patience and concern for preparatory instructions.  I have always preferred the ‘jumping in’ tactic over the ‘look-before-you-leap’ philosophy.  Any time that the Bean family has acquired a new board or card game, I limit my procedural review to the fundamentals of “getting started.”  My interest lies only in initial directives.  These may include how many cards to distribute, how to set up the game board and pieces, choosing a token, where to place it, or how to determine who rolls the dice first.  I will then hand the directions to someone else (usually Natalie), and start playing until I need to ask, “Now what?” (in which case, Natalie will have read the pertinent information by then).

Durwood, on the other hand, will insist on reading all of the directions before any participating family member is allowed to touch tokens, cards, or any other accompanying provisions that are included in a newly acquired game.  Once the appropriate set-up has been completed (according to the instructions that Durwood has read first to himself, and then out loud for the rest of us at least a dozen times), he will not validate any attempts at score-keeping until we have played at least one or two practice rounds.   Official play will be allowed to commence after we have exhibited some level of competence and understanding of the game that we are playing.

Had I followed Durwood’s procedure before officially placing my token on the Small Town PTA board game, I may have avoided many of the uncomfortable and confusing situations that I found myself to be in during those first few years of attempting to become an active member in our new community.

Helga, who remains a genuine friend of mine to this day, recalls this one particular PTA meeting as the dawning of her acute awareness of the ongoing game being played among the life-long members of our small town.  Her position on the game board has fluctuated over the years, as she has managed to control the nature of her contributed moves.  She is still looking for a way to get off the board completely, but short of moving out of town, this option remains unavailable to her.

Unlike Helga, I have had the option to remove my token from the Small Town Gossip game board and still remain a productive resident of my community.  My experience has provided me with a comprehensive and insightful education on how to enjoy my environment, enhance the lives of my children (who technically, are considered life-long residents!), and remain active WITHOUT having to participate in any silly games.

This particular region of the United States has experienced incredible growth since Durwood and I first moved here over twenty years ago.  Although we have moved in and out of several residences throughout those twenty years, we have remained in and around the Small Town that we call home.  Resistance to change and ‘newcomers’ appears to have relaxed considerably, but some traditional Small Town behavior remains intact.

“Looking out for your neighbor” is a valuable asset to living in any community.  Life-long residents of Small Town practice this time-honored tradition through various forms of communication.   When someone asks you “how things are going?” it is always advisable to consider the nature of the inquirer.  After twenty years of trial and error, it becomes easier to ascertain the difference between one who has genuine interest in your situation, or one who requires useful information to hold in trust (should the occasion arise when they will need to re-establish their ranking among the social network by disclosing your information to someone else).

When information extraction techniques are unavailable through direct communication, there is the time-honored practice of driving through town until you ’see’ useful information to gather.  Since Durwood and I have lived in what is considered the ‘outskirts’ of town for the past 4 years, I witness the execution of this particular method on a daily basis.  Every time that I end up traveling behind a camouflage adorned pick-up truck being driven by a baseball-capped driver, I can expect to drive at least five to ten miles under the speed limit.  This seems to be the appropriate speed necessary in order to give the driver enough time to turn their head and assess the current status of every residential property that we pass.  In the event that some poorly placed trees, bushes, or front gates might obstruct the comprehensive inventory of said property, I can expect to slow down another ten miles or so (if not come to a complete stop) in order for the driver in front of me to obtain a clearer view.  It is a tedious job, but thank the gods that someone is still doing it.

I love where I live.  I love our house and I love our property.  The schools are outstanding and the opportunities are plentiful.  There are good people here ( like Helga!) and our children enjoy a bounty of friends and experiences.  Now that my little sister Evie lives here with her family, life in Small Town is even more rewarding and fun.  Since Helga reminded me of the way things were when Durwood and I first arrived here, I realize that there are many things that will never change.  What a comfort to know that we can.

You Are The One That You Have Been Waiting For

My sister wants something.  She wants it badly.  As if on cue, a barrage of relevant circumstances parade into Evie’s life in order to justify the reason why she wanted this thing in the first place.  As the frequency of these pertinent events increase, so does Evie’s desire.  The more that she wants this thing, the more valid the reasons to have it become.  This vicious cycle of creation can be pretty damn frustrating.

“I am missing something,” Evie declares with great certainty.

For most of us who are engaged in the process of creating something that we REALLY want, the inclination to question the procedure that we are currently following is inherent.  It is what we do.  Human nature requires that we devise plans, experiment by trial and error, explore and investigate various methods , discover a secret formula, and basically try to understand WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON when seeking to manifest our desires.

Often, we want to scream, “What is the problem?!”

We review our checklist.  We know that we have stated an intention, identified valid reasons, formulated the appropriate thoughts, focused on the outcome, practiced expectation, and even ‘pretended’ that this thing we want so badly is already in our experience.  In addition, we have prayed, meditated, prayed some more, read at least 900 books on the Law of Attraction, visited over 600 websites dedicated to successful goal attainment, meditated some more, cast some spells, visited a medium, purchased several thousand programs that guarantee results, and then prayed and meditated some more.

And yet this thing that we want so badly remains an elusive dream.  One might describe this overall predicament as some sort of unforgiving holding pattern. It would seem that no matter what steps are taken, the heart’s desire seems to linger just out of reach.

Do not despair, my friend.  The solution is not as complicated, or as mysterious, as the conscious mind would insist.  Have you considered the possibility that your frustration, and perhaps even the nature of your incessantly inquisitive mind, may actually BE a significant aspect of your creative process?

You are a unique and complex being.  Your story is original.  Perhaps, in the asking of your heart’s desire, you have included your own personal requirement for a deep and sustainable level of vibrational alignment with that which is your Source.  Perhaps you wanted to REALLY know what you know, and did not want to settle for what you think you know.  Perhaps the process that you are participating in is actually proceeding perfectly according to your own Divine plan.

Whichever force that you believe is at work IS.  Higher Self, God, Goddess, All-That-Is, the Light, Buddha, Mother Earth, Jesus Christ, Great Spirit, Subconscious Mind, Divine Source, and any other titles that you may use to define Infinite Power is at work.  Only you, in your absolute unparalleled existence as an individual being have defined your specific level of connection to this Source.  All of the Infinite Wisdom that you possessed before you arrived on the planet is intact.  You are remembering All That You Know in the exact incremental pieces that you planned for.  You ventured forth in your human experience, excited to determine a flexible and sequential schedule of recall along your way.

When your conscious mind insists that you are ready, and convinces you that you have completed all the necessary preparations required in order to receive any of the Divine gifts that you are wanting in this lifetime, it is because it still ‘thinks’ that it is in charge.  Having to ask, “REALLY?!?  Then where the hell are my manifestations?!” is a good indication that your conscious mind still believes that it is running the show.

Here’s the thing.  Whatever you think you are doing, or not doing, is not wrong.  Relax.  It is your plan.  You can trust you.  Enjoy the experience of what you are creating at this very moment, and be thrilled and proud of what you have already brought into your life.  Divine Self has it all figured out, everything is perfectly orchestrated and coming together beautifully.  No matter what your conscious mind is badgering you about, trust that Source has the plan to manifest your heart’s desire.  Source is you.

That thing that Evie wants so badly?  It already exists.  The Source to which she is connected is holding the vibrational tone of her creation.  What is missing?  Not a thing.  Evie’s Source already knows how to do this.  Evie already knows how to manifest her heart’s desire.  The only reason why this one specific desire has not yet manifested, is because Evie did not want to settle for what she only thinks she knows.  She wanted to remember the depth of what it feels like to achieve and maintain vibrational alignment with Source.  She wanted to be able to determine her own schedule.  She wanted to experience remembering Who She Is in the way that it best for Evie.  Then Evie will remember what Evie already knows.

‘Tis a beautiful plan, indeed.

A Not-So-Grim Fairy Tale

I have lived on the planet for 49 years.  With that in mind, I am estimating that I have probably seen the Disney version of Cinderella at least one hundred times.  Maybe more.  Today may be the first time that I actually heard the true message.  I am amazed that I had a profound moment watching Cinderella this afternoon with my niece.

Have you ever listened, I mean, REALLY LISTENED, to the words that Cinderella sings?

“A dream is a wish your heart makes…”

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you go on believing, the dream that you wish will come true…”

Wow.  Walt Disney obviously knew more than a thing or two about real magic.  As I watched (and listened) to the DVD with Caroline today, it was suddenly clear to me why so many of us are drawn to Cinderella’s tale.  This is one well-spoken, very focused, and soulful young woman.  Her genuine approach to life reveals the authentic guidelines of Universal Law.

Amid unpleasant circumstances, Cinderella remains centered on her desire for better days.  Meanwhile, she does not sugarcoat her current reality with delusion.  She surrounds herself with positive companions and carries on with dignity because she knows how to maintain her focus on the true desire that remains in her heart.  In times of strife, she allows herself to experience discouragement.  Then she lifts her head, squints her eyes, and re-focuses on her core being.  She KNOWS who she is.

When she reaches her depth of despair, she reveals her human nature by crying out that she “just can’t believe anymore!”  She is entitled to experience her moment of doubt.  This is when her All-Knowing fairy godmother, better known as Cinderella’s Divine Self, reminds her that she MUST still be in possession of her faith.  Otherwise, her fairy godmother (Divine Source, indeed) would not “BE HERE WITH HER RIGHT NOW.”

Cinderella was not just a dreamer.  A dreamer entertains desirable thoughts without really believing that they are possible.  Cinderella was not a day-dreamer.  Cinderella was a true visionary.

It is no wonder that we are so enchanted with her story.  How did I miss it all these 49 years?!?

Coffee and Comfort

I love people.  It seems most natural for me to strike up a conversation with a cashier, another shopper, someone behind me in line at the bank, or even a woman in the ladies room washing her hands in the sink next to mine.  I do not engage in lengthy conversations with everyone that I meet.  Most of the time, a simple nod or a friendly smile is sufficient.  However, if I am waiting in the check-out line at the store, I am more comfortable passing the time with friendly banter than in silence.  I realize that there are some people who are not comfortable with this type of behavior.  I recognize and respect a leave-me-alone signal.  I actually possess one of those signals, too, only mine is rarely (if ever) activated in public.

My oldest sister, on the other hand, prefers that her ‘don’t-talk-to-me’ signal be activated and fully functioning amid the public arena.  During a long-ago shopping trip to a warehouse store with Mary Jo, she clearly expressed her preferred method of social contact.  As we concluded our joint venture to procure enough toilet paper and other household items to meet our needs for at least the next few years, I exited the store first.  When I glanced behind me to locate Mary Jo’s progress, I noticed that she seemed to be coming up fast.  On my heels in no time, she swerved her shopping cart around and rolled up right next to me as we crossed the parking lot on our way to the truck.  She looked a bit perturbed.  Turning her head toward mine and holding her gaze straight ahead, my big sister scolded me through her clenched teeth.  “I am CONVINCED that you will talk to ANYONE,” she hissed.

Jeez.

Apparently, Mary Jo did not approve of my recent exchange with our cashier.  When I asked our cashier how she was doing, she proceeded to fill me in on the details regarding all of the unpleasant circumstances surrounding her current divorce.  She seemed to have a lot to tell us while she scanned our items.  I suspect that this woman just needed to vent, and I was happy to listen and offer some comforting remarks.  Mary Jo does not go for this kind of thing.  I respect that.  I am still going to inquire about a person’s day.  Choosing to share their private circumstances with me is a chance I will always be willing to take.

Myself, I prefer to limit my personal disclosures to a select few humans of my choosing, but I am always open to new encounters.  All physical beings have a connection to All-That-Is, and this awareness will continue to fuel my desire for human interaction.

A personal relationship with Divine Source includes the intricate complexities by which each of us can distinguish ourselves as a truly unique being.  Our ability to access this common Source connects us.  We are sovereign beings who are not alone.  It is this unique property which defines our individual being and allows us to draw strength and comfort from each other.

Elegant and rich in substance, there are many forms of human interaction that can provide us with immediate access to a feeling of Well-Being.  Our openness to a connection with others is often the mother of all unexplored avenues to our own Divine and All-Knowing Self.

I am grateful.  The invitation to join an old friend and fellow witch on her back porch for coffee, a judgment-free cigarette, shared reflection, and personal exchange reminds me that I am not alone.  An unexpected text message that offers words of encouragement to renew a sense of hope reminds me that I am part of a sisterhood, and I am not alone.  And most assuredly, I am grateful for the warm and prolonged hug that is offered by an intuitive daughter, who at the tender age of 15 years, can whisper genuine words of comfort and joy to a tearful mother.

It is this beautiful expression of human nature that reminds me that I am not alone.  Neither are you, my friend.

What Is That Smell?

Where are all of our empty clothes hangers?!  I’ll tell you where they are.  They have been carelessly kicked beneath our beds and dressers, strewn about on our bathroom floors, or they are tightly wedged and perched cattywampus between all the other occupied clothes hangers in our closets.  They are anywhere else in and around our home, except in the goddamn laundry room where I need them.  It is a source of irritation, indeed.

Ironing is perhaps an even greater source of irritation for me.  In an effort to use the iron as little as possible, I practice a preemptive laundry method.  This system includes plucking freshly laundered, semi-damp clothing straight from the dryer, immediately placing them on a hanger, and misting them with a wrinkle-reducing product.  Then I grasp the clothed hanger by its top hook while I furiously wave the article back and forth through the air, as if I am leading the laundry parade.  To finish, I hang the the article on the clothes line above the laundry tub and I hope for the best.  The worst thing that could happen is that one of our cats will slink around the rim of the tub to inspect the clothing, granting their official seal of approval in the form of an attractive swirled pattern of black fur along the shirt tails and sleeves.  This minor setback is remedied with a quick once-over with a lint roller…if I can find one.

This morning, while in the midst of my save-me-from-the-iron ritual, I ran out of available clothes hangers.  Sometimes they will magically appear when I yell from the laundry room door, “Somebody had better gather their extra hangers and bring them to me right now!”  This only works when there are other humans in the house.  Since no one else was around, I had no alternative but to abort my mission until I could secure an ample supply of hangers.  With a heavy sigh that no one was around to appreciate, I slammed the dryer door, reset the tumbling cycle, and headed out to hunt for empty clothes hangers.

I could not remember if I had been in Jim’s room since he returned to college almost two weeks ago.  I figured that I should start there.

Entering Jim’s room has always been a bit like an adventure.  I never know what I may have to try and not notice.  There could also be potential hazards lying in wait.  Practically invisible, a few discarded guitar strings could latch onto the hem of my jeans and whip themselves around my ankles at any given moment.  I might be forced to tap dance around in order to shake the metal threads loose.  Necessary dance steps could knock over a half-full can of coke that has been perched precariously on a nearby shelf for the past month.  I never know what to expect.  Any visit to Jim’s room over the past eighteen years has been an initiative.

As soon as I opened the door to his room, a familiar odor struck my nostrils.  There are not adequate words in the English language to describe the scent that a son leaves behind in his male den.  It smells like boy.  Boy cave.  That is the best representation of this particular smell that I can offer.

I made my way toward his closet in search of hangers.  I had safely crossed half the distance without incident before my bare right foot pressed down upon a sharp and very distinct rectangular object.  I immediately recognized the source of my pain.  It was a goddamn Lego brick.

Bare feet are no match for a ruthless plastic building block.  In my twenty-two years of motherhood, I have come to regard rogue Lego pieces as weapons.  Even with the minimal sole protection of a flip-flop, there is not an adult heel on the planet that can withstand the highly calculated strike from the sharp corner of a Lego brick.  When left unnoticed along a human foot’s path, one innocent-looking Lego piece has the potential to inflict excruciating pain to any unsuspecting victim.  Given the option, I would rather iron several dozen shirts before I would subject myself to the explosion of pain that one treacherous Lego land mine can deliver.

How this particular evil minion from the wicked Lego empire found its way onto Jim’s floor is a mystery.  I am almost certain that Jim has not ‘played’ with Lego sets since we moved into this house over four years ago.  That was when we poured all of the Lego pieces from a storage container into the drawer beneath his bed.

Jim had packed for his return to school at 2:30 am the night before his flight.  Perhaps while rummaging through his drawers to locate certain items, he unknowingly allowed this one stealthy escapee to attach itself inside some article just long enough to drop to the floor and plan its future ambush.  In any event, I was unpleasantly surprised and highly irritated to feel it embedded between my little toe and foot pad.

I plucked it from the bottom of my foot and called it dirty names.  Obviously, this approach is really effective.  I hobbled toward Jim’s bed to return the evil brick.  I’m sure that it wanted to brag among its fellow heinous friends in the drawer.

Somehow, just opening the drawer to see all the thousands of Lego pieces suddenly tempered my sour mood.  I recalled all the occasions when Jim would sit on the floor for hours on end, content to be lost in the construction of his Lego worlds.  I was smiling.  All past and recent encounters with Lego peril had vanished.  I remembered that it was during these moments, when Jim was completely absorbed in his play, that he was most receptive to heartfelt conversation.

Engaging the quiet attention of a boy who is occupied in some form of activity has always been the main avenue to effective communication between parent and son.  I find that this method holds true among boys who grow up to be men, as well.  Durwood not only listens more attentively when he is engaged in some form of physical activity, it seems that he offers his genuine thoughts to me (or the kids) more readily, too.  If one of us requests his undivided attention without any props to occupy him, we are less likely to succeed in obtaining any authentic responses.

This approach has its limits, of course.  Most of us know that it is pointless to attempt conversation with a boy who is watching any type of sporting event on television.  It is also more productive when we are mindful of personality, dispositions,  and current stress levels when venturing into the realm of boy conversation.

I recall one instance in particular when Durwood was on the back porch cooking hamburgers on the grill.  This had to be at least 15 years ago when we were living in our second home.  Freshly satiated from one of my counseling sessions with a gifted therapist, I was bursting with incite.  I was annoying.  I will never forget how Durwood turned away from me very slowly to lower the volume on the radio he had been listening to.  He turned back towards me, folded his arms across his chest, tilted his head to one side while ceremoniously raising his eyebrows, and executed a very long and dramatic exhaling sound from his nose.  I try to remember that reaction every time I have an inclination to talk to him when I suspect it might not be a good time.  Twenty-four years of marriage has its wisdom.

The Bean girls are seldom detached from human contact.  Katarina and Natalie rarely decline the opportunity to share their thoughts, and any consequential emotions that they may be experiencing.  Jim, on the other hand, has always required a different approach whenever I sensed his need for parental guidance.

When the girls come home from school (or work), they are more than eager to share their daily highs and lows without prompting.  Jim would usually retreat to his cave.  I had different tactics to employ if I ever wanted to offer Jim an opportunity to share his highs and lows with us.  Besides waiting until he was occupied with some form of activity (like playing with his Lego sets), there are a few other suggestions to engage the thoughts of a son.

Given ample time in their lion dens, boys (and husbands) will often emerge eventually.  I like to wait until they pose the question, “When will dinner be ready?”  This is a cue to respond with a short answer, followed by a simple observation on their current mood.  I will inform Jim that “Dinner is soon.”  Then I will add a short remark, such as, “You seem tired (energetic, upset, happy, content, busy, something…).”  This will usually produce a genuine reply.  Even a mumbled “yeah” is considered progress with a teenage boy.  A husband might surprise you with a genuine confirmation, and even be apt to offer more.

When interested in sparking genuine conversation with a son (or a husband!), another guideline to follow requires that you limit your statements to no more than five words or less.  This seems to be the magic number when initiating an exchange.  Anything more than that will fall upon deaf ears.  You will be able to increase the amount of words in your statements eventually, but not until you have successfully drawn their interest first with concise prompts.

Jim will be nineteen years old in a few months.  Between the occasional texts and email messaging, he actually talks with me over the phone for more than five or ten minutes at a time.  When he is home from school, he will spend extraordinary lengths of time chatting with me on the front porch.  (I am smiling again.)

Of course, if he reads this post, he will now be privy to some of my tricks.  In that case, I may have to come up with some new tactics.

I could always send a few Lego sets to him at school.  As long as he doesn’t step on one of those demon bricks, he might just sit on the floor of his dorm room one day and feel the need to call me.

Giving Up Without Quitting

In a virtual battle for control over my life, I am my own most formidable opponent.  It is a classic struggle between my conscious mind and my heart’s desire.

The mind is quite capable of acknowledging that there is an All-Knowing and powerful force that exists within each of us, and yet it will constantly prompt us to make ’sense’ of this Divine Self before freely allowing us to run the show that is our life.  The conscious mind, by its very nature, insists that we engage in a relentless campaign to discern some ‘meaning’ in life.  Operating within its logical framework, we are convinced that we must seek some comprehension of this Divine power before we can entrust it with the course of our life.  Our rational mind would have us believe that we cannot possibly experience that which cannot be understood; for what cannot be understood cannot be trusted.

It is quite the dirty little trick.  Your own mind convinces you to pursue a noble cause in seeking to define the purpose of Divine Spirit.  You embark upon a bold and honorable quest to make sense of it all.  You cannot possibly fathom the notion of giving up.  Ironically, you see yourself in a worthy fight for your life.  It becomes a brave battle.  It is one that you will fight to the death (as many often do).

Your own clever mind has persuaded you to think that you cannot put your unconditional trust in the power of Divine Self until you are sure that it knows what it is doing.  Before you will allow it to rule your life, Spiritual Self must be assigned some deep and meaningful understanding.  Otherwise, you would have to be out of your mind!

Meanwhile, Divine Self (with access to the Universe and its infinite power to serve you) lies patiently waiting within.  It continues to hold the perfect vibrational tone of all that you have asked for (and more), while you are busy seeking a rational truth that cannot be defined.  Your own magic has been relegated to a place behind an expertly fashioned curtain of logic that you cannot seem to draw open, no matter how hard you try.

What is a human to do?  Being of sound mind and body, many of us will continue to struggle for the meaning of All-That-Is.  We will seek to discover a solution to a paradoxical circumstance in which there is no rational explanation.  With absolute resolve, we feel driven to pursue our mind’s relentless agenda.  We think that once we are able to figure it out, we will be worthy enough to reveal the secret powers that lie behind the curtain.

Another alternative for those of sound mind and body would be to just wait until physical death.  At that point, we will finally realize what a major pain in the ass our mind’s belief system has been.  We will at last be able to proclaim, “What a relief!  If only I could have released my ego sooner!”  I often wonder how many of us will be pissed when we find out how we made such a simple thing so difficult.

There is a third choice.  Instead of struggling through life to discover the answers , or waiting to die in order to reveal its Divine secrets, we could just surrender.  We could release the conscious mind from its perceived obligation to understand That-Which-Cannot-Be-Understood.

Many physical beings would adequately describe this event as a leap of faith.  For me, this implies that there is something that I have to do, some method that I once again need to understand before I can draw open the curtain and experience the power of Divine Self.  Suddenly, I am right back in the logical arena of the mind again.  It can be so irritating!

Perhaps the best way to think of it (while you are trying not to think of it) is to relate to what it feels like when you hire another person to render a service.  This particular service is perhaps something that you are either not qualified to perform on your own, or something that you simply do not have adequate time to complete yourself.  Pick anything.  Your example will be much more appropriate than whatever I would suggest.  The purpose of this exercise is to feel the vibrational tone of something that you can relate to specifically.  It could be anything from hiring a contractor for a complete home renovation, to getting a haircut, or a pedicure.

Now imagine that the service you have requested is in progress.  In any given scenario, you have most likely indicated what you want, and may even have chosen specific colors or features in your order.  (This is exactly what you are doing every day in your life when you express your desires to Divine Self, still poised behind the curtain of your mind, ready and able to orchestrate the manifestation of your request from the Universe.)

Meanwhile, as you are getting your toes polished, watching your new closet shelves being installed, or just being ‘aware’ of whatever service is being rendered per your request, what are you and your conscious self doing?  Are you standing over your hired professional’s shoulder trying to figure things out?  Is there some ‘divine secret’ in the work being done that you simply must understand? Do you question why they are doing this, how are they going to fit in that, when are they going to do the other….?  Or do you just go about with your own business because you TRUST that they know how to conduct theirs?

Surrendering the ego of our conscious mind is not as difficult as ‘it’ would have you believe.  When all else fails, you can always disarm it with distraction and sneak behind the curtain just long enough to give Divine Self some love.  Once you make a connection with Source, however fleeting or temporary it may be, All-That-Is tends to hold the curtain open for you when the conscious mind least expects it.

Much like that professional that you hired, Divine knows how to do its job.

Choice Words

Most of us are familiar with the phrase, “Choose your words wisely.”  This advice customarily pertains to a speaker who seeks to enlist confirmation, participation, or assistance from another person or a group.  Choosing words that are pleasing over ones that are adverse will create a favorable atmosphere and increase the likelihood that you will get what you want.  The same wisdom holds true when you are speaking to yourself, and ultimately presenting your requests to the Universe.

Now, we have all heard this at least a million times.  Most of us understand the concept that you “catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” particularly when the ‘flies’ are other people.  Using words that convey a sense of respectfulness sets a vibrational tone for cooperation, whether you are speaking to another adult or a child.  For me, it has always been easier to be more mindful of the words that are coming out of my mouth while speaking to others than it has been when ‘talking to myself.’

Choosing affirmative language is elemental when seeking to enlighten and expand your perspective.  Replacing habitual self-talk that perpetuates a mundane view of your own reality is a good place to start.

Almost ten years ago, I was given the most powerful set of words that I continue to use today.  I was in the midst of designing and constructing props and scenery for yet another one of our local middle school musical productions.  I had done this type of volunteer work for years.  I recall this particular production because this was when I developed a burgeoning aversion to gratuitous work.

I had only myself to blame.  Before I became a full-time stay-at-home mom, I had spent a few years designing and painting murals for residential clients.  By the time that our youngest child, Natalie, was born, motherhood and child care had taken precedence and I eventually eased out of the mural business completely.  Since our older children, Katarina and James, were involved in their school’s musical productions, it seemed natural and fitting that I would lend my artistic experience.

Being that I am a former member of the all-or-nothing crowd (coupled with the fact that I was a neurotic perfectionist when it came to my artwork), one season of painting a background set for Natalie’s kindergarten program escalated into five years of comprehensive set design for every full-length production from Cinderella to Peter Pan and beyond.  These were some kick-ass sets.  And I had become an overworked lunatic.

By the time that “Pajama Game” was in production, I knew that this would be my last season of volunteer madness.  For the first time in years, I was beginning to acclimate myself to a new perspective on imperfection.  It was just a middle school play.  There were no theatre critics in the audience who were going to offer me a job on Broadway.  Awe and admiration from teachers and kids were no longer compensating for my frazzled state.  Kat had moved on to high school already, and Jim was not even in the play.  I had to ask myself why in the hell I was subjecting myself to this thankless job.  My answer was that I had committed to lending my assistance to this production, so I would see the project through to its completion and learn how to say “No, thanks” the next time.

At this point, I just wanted to “get it over with.”  The feeling of  indifference to my artwork was foreign to me, but it seemed a welcome alternative to the standards of perfection that I held myself to in the past.  This is when I met Jean.

Jean’s eighth grade son had a role in “The Pajama Game” production.  She had kindly volunteered her time to help me finish painting the remaining windows on the background for the factory scene, as well as any other final work with the props and scenery.  Jean owned her own interior design firm and was well equipped to provide the experience necessary to hasten the process of project completion.

Perfectionism was not on our agenda.  I welcomed this new volunteer work ethic with more enthusiasm than I would care to admit back then.  Had Jean shown up prior to this particular time in my life, I know that I would not have been as receptive (and appreciative) of her attitude.  This was not a paying gig.  We both had plenty of experience in delivering client satisfaction on projects in which an artist is compensated for their time and attention to detail.  This project was not one of them.

As we worked side-by-side that afternoon, there were several occasions when one, or both of us, would step back to assess our progress.  This is when Jean gave me the infamous words that I still use today.  With a smile and a tone of certainty she would say, “It’s exactly what we needed.”

When we ran out of paint for one of the walls, mixed a new batch from what was available, and noticed that it did not quite match the original tone, she squinted her eyes, turned her head toward mine and said, “It is exactly what we needed.”  I had to smile.  When we realized that the shading we had just painted on one window pane did not quite match the light source on an adjacent window, we spent a brief moment glancing back and forth between them.  Knowing full well that it was not quite right, Jean proclaimed, “But it is exactly what we needed!”

This became our favorite expression for the rest of the day.  We finished the set.  It was not even close to my previous kick-ass standards, but it was far from shoddy.  The kids liked it, and it was definitely above-average for a middle school production.  More importantly to me, it was done.  It was exactly what we needed.

These powerful words have remained among my repertoire of productive self-talk ever since that day when I first heard them from Jean.  It is still amazing to me how this simple phrase can effectively shift my perspective regarding minor circumstances that occur throughout daily life.  Former tendencies to focus on inconvenient details only served to lead me away to a perpetual state of discontent.  Using the words, “this is exactly what I needed” has essentially allowed me the freedom to appreciate the perfection of imperfections.  Any notable inconveniences are insignificant to what is ultimately the ‘big picture’ of my life.  It is the overall big picture of my life that requires my full attention, and not so much the imperfect pieces that comprise it.

If you are a detail-oriented personality with perfectionist tendencies, I salute you.  You are forever honored as one of my ‘kind’.  If your skills are required as part of your job,  I hope that you are handsomely compensated.  You deserve it.

However, if you should find that these choice words serve to improve your perspective within the circumstances of your personal life, then you can thank Jean.