Archive for November, 2009

Every Second Counts

Welcome to the new moment!

Every single minute of each hour that I spend time on the planet presents yet another opportunity for me to create my future.  Sponsors of Alcoholics Anonymous offer the practical suggestion that an addict approach his desired recovery “one day at a time.”  There are some days when I find it necessary to break this down even further and acknowledge that my power to create a ‘new life’ exists within each and every approaching minute.

Each new moment in the day becomes my time to choose how I want to spend it.  I can choose to be hopeful for my future or I can entertain disappointing thoughts of my past.  If I use each minute wisely, my hopeful thoughts will build upon each other to create the momentum necessary in order to reach a state of unwavering expectation toward a desirable future.

Since I am often easily distracted by my own counter-productive thoughts, there are some days when the one-minute-at-a-time method works the best for me.  I have a tendency to use my head over my heart, so even with the best of intentions I will often find that my mind is wandering.  Magic is more of a ‘feeling’ art than a ‘thinking’ process.  When my over-active brain will not remain quiet long enough to allow my desired emotions to expand, I end up spending the majority of my meditation time telling myself to shut the hell up.

Instead of trying to work against my own thoughts and wasting precious time forcing myself to relax, I prefer to take advantage of my charged brain by directing it toward specific thoughts that will spark a desired emotion.  The only way that I can accomplish this mind magic is one second at a time.

There may be hundreds of thoughts buzzing around in my head when I’ll catch a glimpse of one that elicits a desired emotion.  I do not expect that I will be able to dwell on it any longer than a few seconds at first.  I accept that my mind will wander off to a conflicting thought soon enough, so I quit trying to fight this meandering process a long time ago.  Now I know that I have just that one brief moment to work with.

Any one thought, however brief, that sparks a desired emotion has potential.  I focus on that thought like I would a target.  I consciously repeat the association that I made between the thought and its corresponding emotion for as long as I can hold it.  It may have been fleeting, but I celebrate the fact that it was there.  Even a fleeting moment is long enough to imprint the association I made on my busy brain.  Now I can recall that particular imprint and deliberately choose it again in the next approaching minute.  Then I will practice thinking and feeling that specific imprint again in the next minute, and then the one after that.

I cannot make myself feel hopeful without a corresponding thought to relate to.  Even if I have to sort through the hundreds of disappointing thoughts that surround it, I will isolate the one thought that can spark the emotion I’m searching for.

A few blissful seconds may be all the time that I need.

Membership Has Its Privileges

Nothing generates shared sentiment more readily than motherhood.  There is a universal sisterhood among mothers in which unspoken sympathies are exchanged during any occasion that involves our precious offspring.  Durwood calls it a fellowship of “blubberers.”

Last night’s trip to the airport felt like any other routine pick-up.  Even though I had not seen James since he left for college over three months ago, it had been an unusually hectic week and I did not have the time to think much about his arrival.  Of course, I missed James and was looking forward to seeing him again.  But his flight was not due to arrive until well after midnight.  It had been a busy day already and there would be much to do the following day.  Picking him up from the airport was just one more item on our long list of things to do.

Durwood and I made it to the airport early enough that we had plenty of time to spare before Jim’s scheduled arrival time.  We were pleased to find that there were two vacant seats available in the crowded waiting area for arriving flights.  It felt nice to have secured a comfortable position in which to relax and wait.  We sat and watched as droves of airline passengers filed through the gates to be greeted by their loved ones.

Perhaps it was my current mindset, but many of the travelers appeared to be college students carrying their backpacks, or dressed in their respective university attire.  Among the millions of relatives who are traveling this holiday weekend, many are college students like Jim who are returning home for the first time since leaving home last summer.  I couldn’t help but smile as I sat watching them, one by one, while their young anxious eyes searched the crowd until sudden recognition directed them towards the familiar face awaiting their return.

Enjoying the affectionate scenes that were unfolding all around me, I allowed my gaze to linger upon a young lady who was wrapped in the tender embrace of an older woman.  Mother and daughter stood in the middle of the parading crowd of people and held on to each other in complete oblivion to anyone around them.  Time was suspended as I watched the daughter bury her face deeper into the crook of her mother’s neck.  I felt mom press her hand ever so gently on the back of her precious daughter’s head to draw her even closer as they stood together in an unending embrace.

Familiarity washed through my entire being and I felt the well of tears begin to rise.  I knew that I would have to look away from the scene in an attempt to quell the flood.  I no longer wished to intrude on mother and daughter’s private moment, so I was averting my gaze to the opposite end of the terminal when I caught the eye of another woman.   She blinked her watery eyes and smiled, apparently engaged in the same observation that I had just experienced.  We exchanged a knowing glance in a split-second connection that concluded with a courtesy nod between us.

Durwood woke up from his stupor and turned his head toward mine in time to recognize the ensuing drama displayed on my face.  One precise “don’t” look from me was enough to assure him that any potential sobbing episode had already been properly contained.

I never did get to greet young Jim upon his initial arrival into the waiting area of the airport terminal.  By the time that his plane had finally arrived at the gate, my bladder had exceeded its limit.  I had been concluding my visit to the ladies room while Durwood collected our son.  Being completely drained of all fluids, I was able to execute a tearless and joyful reunion with my eighteen year old baby boy.

As my own dear mother would remind me, “once a mom, always a mom.”  No matter what age our kids are, we will forever hold that privileged place within where our children remain our precious babies.

My younger sister Evie came over to visit this morning with Caroline and Anson.  I described the tender scene that I had witnessed at the airport last night and smiled with compassion as her eyes began to fill with those familiar heartfelt tears.

Welcome to the club, Evie.

Time Out

Even grown-ups need to separate themselves from the rest of the population now and then.  It may often be just the people in your own home that you require some separation from.  Who decided it was a punishment?!

“Time-out” is such a broad concept.  Parents and caretakers often use time-outs as a method in correcting a young child’s inappropriate behavior.  Grown-ups may find it to be an effective tactic to employ for themselves sometimes as well.

Time-outs are not exclusive to a form of punishment.  When we take a time-out for ourselves, the reasons can be similar to the ones we deem worthy to place a child in time-out.  When we are overworked, exhausted, overwhelmed with too much to do, or just stressed in general, it’s likely we’re no fun to be around either.  We may act crazy, scream obscenities, bang shit around, or at least be on the verge of feeling like we are about to.  In any case, we usually realize when it’s time to remove ourselves from any innocent bystanders and give ourselves a moment to shut down, regroup, take ten, or do something that gets us alone and away from others.  In times like this, we more or less ‘parent’ ourselves.

I try not to refer to a time-out for Caroline as a punishment.  I prefer to think of it as an isolation technique, much like Kat uses with the horses.  On occasion, horses (and kids) will do things that are unacceptable, in which case a correction is necessary.  Uncooperative ponies (and kids) who act out with inappropriate behavior need to be separated from the herd as a consequence.

I do not expect Caroline to sit in time-out and “think about what she’s done.”  She is two years old.  What I do want her to have is some time to understand that there are certain behaviors that place her out of the realm of human interaction.  If she is going to contort her arms and kick her legs when it is time to get her pajamas on, or the pony is going to dance around and toss his head when it is time to get his halter on for turn-out, then we are all going to have to take a time-out.  Alabama Pony can go back in his stall and Caroline can sit safely in a chair without any toys while Aunt Jillian resumes an enticingly fun and exciting life without either of them in the picture.  They will be welcome to join me when the pony ears are no longer flattened and the toddler legs have calmed down.

Horses take just a little longer before they decide they want to join their herd again.  With young children, a good witch’s rule of thumb is that time-outs last no longer than a minute per year of the child’s age.

That means that when I can’t behave appropriately around other species of my herd, I’ll need to put myself in time-out for about 49 minutes.  Or more.

Rock Collector

I love rocks.  I’ve been collecting them since I can remember.  I grew up near one of the Great Lakes and used to spend hours searching for arrowheads, traipsing around the local rock quarry, and generally taking every opportunity to pick up any stone or glistening pebble that caught my eye.

I can’t walk past one of those display tables full of small polished stones that they have in gift shops without stopping.  I stand there in some sort of trance-like state while gently scooping up handfuls of shiny stones.  I admire the facets and colors of each and every stone as they fall one by one from my open palm, dropping back into the pile while making that “plink, plink” sound.  Souvenir shops normally sell them by the pouch, but how could I possibly choose among them?  I always wish that I could buy the whole lot.  If I had a table full of polished stones in my living room, I’d never get anything done.

Every hiking trip I have ever taken has included the procurement of a rock souvenir.  When the kids were younger, I used to meet my best friend from college every spring season for a five-day sabbatical.  Gabrielle and I would rent a secluded cabin in the mountains to indulge in some serious girl time.  We watched movies, napped on the porch swing, ate whenever and whatever we wanted, drank, stayed up all hours of the night, talked, laughed, cried, and then hiked the mountain trails for hours on end.  I always returned home with several new rocks for my collection.

There was one trip in particular when we set out on a early morning hike that ended up lasting until well after dark.  Of course, we hadn’t planned on staying out that long, but we had somehow managed to detour off a well-marked path somewhere along our trek.  Confident that we could find our way back to the cabin, we ended up completely lost instead.  By the time the sun began its descent toward the horizon, daylight among the trees had diminished and we were still not even close to any familiar-looking terrain.

By this time, we were more than a bit nervous.  Ribbons of panic wafted between us.  Neither of us had been able to receive a cell phone signal for most of the afternoon.  I’d like to attribute ’sheer luck’ to the fact that we finally emerged from the trees just as the sky completely darkened,  at last stepping onto what appeared to be a road at the bottom of a steep hill.  Luck, coupled with a shared burning desire to get the hell out of the scary woods, had delivered us to the first sign of civilization we’d seen all day.  Our exhilaration was short-lived.

Two growling black dogs stood before us.  I had one of those moments that I’d read somewhere, where you want to scream to the top of your lungs, but the sound gets stifled by fear in your throat.  The only audible noises that I made sounded like strange, long tones trapped somewhere behind my immovable lips.  Elle and I stood frozen, pressed together like two wide-eyed statues while each of our brains were busy formulating the option of fight or flight.  It was probably the longest few seconds of my life.

I noticed movement in my peripheral view and glanced to my right in time to see a figure emerge from behind a truck that was parked in the middle of the gravel road, about one hundred yards or so from where we stood.  In our excitement upon finding the road, neither of us had bothered to notice the truck, or the fact that we were standing on some one’s driveway.  That someone was Mrs. Louise Turner, owner of two protective dogs and a shotgun.  If I’d had anything to drink recently (which I did not, since who takes more than one water bottle on a short morning hike?) I would have peed in my hiking shorts right then.  Miss Louise furrowed her eyebrows as she gave us the once-over, lowered her shotgun, cocked her head to one side and uttered the finest single word we had heard all day.  “Lost?”  She said it more like a statement than an actual question.  Of course we were lost.  Living among the mountains her entire life, she had experience with “our kind.”

Louise Turner was a cattle rancher, horse breeder, and chicken farmer who had the largest hands that either of us had ever seen on a woman.  Elle and I still marvel about them to this day.  She didn’t have a chainsaw or a banjo (that we knew of) but she did have a lighted house at the end of her driveway, and the best pot of lukewarm coffee that I have ever tasted.  She had precise knowledge of the location of our cabin (over twenty miles away on the other side of a landmark the locals referred to as ’seven mile ridge’) and a warm truck to take us there.  We had been rescued.

This is the part of my story where I had to tell you all of the above, just to tell you this: That was the day I finally quit collecting rocks.

Aside from the fact that Mrs. Louise Turner referred to us more than once as a “couple of yahoos,” Miss Louise (as she preferred to be addressed) was a kindhearted, practical, salt-of-the-earth kind of woman.  As the three of us prepared for the journey back to our rented cabin, Miss Louise offered to load our backpacks into her vehicle.  As she lifted mine from the ground, she showed no sign of physical strain while hefting my backpack in one fluid motion into the bed of her truck.  She shot me a puzzled look.  “Jeez, girl,” she chimed. “What ‘cha got in this bag of yours? Rocks?”

“Well yes, Ma’am,” I replied. “As a matter of fact, I do.”  LOTS of them, in fact.  It had been a long, long hike over plenty of uncharted territory that day.  There had been countless rock specimens of irresistible beauty that beckoned to me throughout the day.  I picked up every single one of them.

“Dear child,” Miss Louise asked me in her sweet southern drawl. “What in God’s name are you pickin’ up rocks for?”

Well, now that was the question.  A good question, indeed.  I’m sure that to Miss Louise (a life-long resident of the mountains) it must have been as baffling to her as it is for me (a close-to-the-ocean resident) to see people gathering shells from the sand on the beach.  There’s at least a million of them.  They are there every single day and the next tide will bring a million more to choose from.  What are people going to do with them, anyway, when they look so pretty where they are, right there among the millions of their kind on the beach?

I finally know.  Each of us are attracted to certain things that we encounter on this beautiful planet full of the billions of aspects that comprise it.  We want to keep and hold onto the aspects that we are drawn to as a souvenir of the experience it gives us.  And what if, for just a moment, we could perceive these collected items as not just objects, but representations of the real emotions that we choose to experience?

What if rocks and stones were representations of fear and doubt?  And if this were true, exactly how long would one person need to continue selecting and keeping them until their meaning and intended purpose could become just a distant memory, and no longer a part of one person’s current experience?  A day? A week? A month?

What about years?  In my case, I’d say that it is about 49 of them.  If I were to include past lives, the amount of time I’ve put into getting to know the rocky aspect of things would make it somewhere around a couple thousand years.  Basically, I have been diligently collecting the cumbersome experiences that include the aspects of fear and doubt for what amounts to several lifetimes.  Every pouch, pocketful and backpack full of rocks that I have ever carried for any length of time could potentially be added together to create quite the substantial pile of rock.  I’m thinking it resembles a mountain.

Over ten years ago, I heard a sermon that was given by Reverend Bob Marshall, pastor of the Unity Church Of Christianity.  He was describing what to do when fearful thoughts crossed our minds.  He used the example of the frightening scenarios that parents visualize when their teenager is out with the car, and the child has yet to return a phone call to the parents updating them on their status.  Reverend Bob indicated that although these frightening thoughts are a normal occurrence in the mindset of a parent, we often magnify their potential by attempting to dismiss these thoughts in a panic.  We say, “Oh my God, I cannot believe that I just thought that!” and end up trying desperately to pretend that we didn’t allow the thought to cross our mind at all.  This panicked response often amplifies the worried state we are in already, essentially feeding it with additional negative energy.

Reverend Bob offered the suggestion that it may be more productive to stop for a moment after we entertain an unwanted thought and give ourselves some time to acknowledge it.  He recommended recognizing the fearful thought long enough to realize that it is unwanted so that you can move on in a rational manner.  I can’t remember his exact phrasing after that, but I distinctly recall that it included the word “choice.”  Reverend Bob was offering us the idea that instead of trying to fight off frightening thoughts that we encounter, perhaps we might focus on them just long enough to really get the FEEL of them before making a decision that we no longer will allow thoughts like this to dominate our personal experience.  This would be much like giving yourself adequate time and sufficient details in order to make an informed choice between two opposing thoughts.

So what in the hell does this have to do with rocks?

I believe that I’ve been collecting rocks as aspects of doubt and tucking them away in a souvenir plie without ever allowing myself to just FEEL the actual vibrational weight of them.

Most of the experts who write books and conduct seminars on the Law of Attraction express the importance of positive thinking.  They suggest that we invest our energy into finding the silver lining among every circumstance of our lives.  They promise that even just a little bit of effort to seek a positive outlook will increase our chances in manifesting desirable experiences.

This may be true in theory, but rather difficult in practice.  I am a devout Pollyanna and professed advocate of the half-full glass.  But I understand the reality in trying to focus on feeling like the picture of health when your head is throbbing violently.  Or how fun it must be to try and look at the bright side of a failing relationship.  Or how easy it must be to locate a glimmer of hope after receiving a notice of foreclosure on your family home.  As members of this enormous planet of unlimited contrast, are we not entitled to experience our pain?

Exactly how long is long enough for these unpleasant vibrational energies to impart their wisdom on our soul?  How deeply must one experience these undesirable aspects before the choice to move on is clear?  The answer is as individual as we are.  It is, without exception, relative to the terms that each and every one of us determines in order to reach our own desired level of understanding.

Apparently, I have chosen the thousand-year plan.  It has taken me approximately that long to surrender to my fears and stop fighting the aspects of doubt that I have held in some sort of enshrined collection to gaze upon.  I believe that I have gathered quite a sufficient supply.  It is more than enough for me to completely, deeply, and most profoundly acknowledge and allow the full weight of its impact to be felt.  After a thousand years, the mountain has finally reached the level of understanding that I require in order to move on.

Please don’t bring me any more interesting rocks that you picked up for me while you were on vacation.  Attractive as they may be, those beautiful rocks are just as appealing right where they are.  I appreciate the thought, but my rock collecting days are over.

A Good Day For Cleaning

I washed my mother-in-law down the shower drain today.  Not all of her, exactly.  There are several aspects of Mother Bean that I admire.  I just allowed some of her opinions of me to go right down the drain.  Recent unnerving opinions got scrubbed out right along with any other influences I’ve been gathering these past few weeks.  I’ve decided not to own them any longer.  Time to bid them farewell.

In last night’s post, I offered a method of discarding unwanted aspects that you may be experiencing by asking yourself if they ‘belong’ to you.  Once you make a decision as to whether or not they do, the signal strength to your Knowing Self increases.  Making the actual decision itself is essential.

While cleaning the shower this morning, I realized that I could offer you a second step in discarding the unwanted energy of others that you may have decided to ‘disclaim’ your ownership of.  It’s time to wash it away.

Today is the New Moon.  Before the moon begins its next ripening phase, it is a good day to discard any particular items that you have determined no longer belong in your current repertoire of experience.  Any unproductive emotions, opinions, or influences that have served their purpose and are no longer necessary in order for you to venture forth can be properly disposed of.  Take one last look at them and watch as they proceed right down the drain with the rest of the soap scum and mildew that has been accumulating in the shower.

Here’s the mystical part: be sure to ‘thank’ these aspects.   Appreciate the service that they have provided in offering you the opportunity to experience things that you DON’T want.  Without the contrast that these influences have furnished us, how could we know what we DO want so clearly?

These unwanted influences are only aspects of other beings.  When you isolate them, these particles are managed more effectively.  I wouldn’t recommend that you attempt to shove your mother-in-law down the drain, as much as you may wish that you could.

Have a good day cleaning:)

Still Not My Business…

I know who I am.  Every now and then I experience moments when the connection to my inner and Knowing Self is not flowing at optimum capacity.  I always picture the bar graph on the computer screen that indicates signal strength in the internet connection.  I can feel when mine is weak.

Over the years I’ve discovered various methods to increase the signal strength between my physical being and spiritual self.  I’m like the ’service technician witch’ when it comes to my own repair work.  Any methods I choose to restore the strength of my connection will require that I first determine any possible cause of the disruption between Earth Me and All-Knowing Me.  Most often the culprit is my ingrained tendency to absorb the influence of other beings.  Whether I think their perceptions of me are beneficial or detrimental is never the issue.  Old wiring is extensive within in me because it’s part of who I am.

I was raised in a large family during a time when there was a lot of emphasis placed on outward appearances.  Character presentation to neighbors, fellow church members, and the rest of the population in general was valued.  Imperfections were routinely dismissed and buried.  It was always more important to appear perfect to the rest of the world than to address any improprieties or flaws that may surface behind closed doors.

It’s understandable how many of us developed inner circuitry that indulges the opinions of others.  Most of us relinquished our power to access our All-Knowing source within and programmed our mainframe to receive the input of others over our own instincts.  We acted the way that we thought people wanted us to act.

I don’t blame my parents for this faulty wiring.  It’s just the way things were.  I honor my mom and dad.  They are first-generation Americans who were raised during The Great Depression, lived and served during World War II, and worked diligently to provide us with a more substantial childhood than they experienced.  Dad worked twenty-four hours a day building a landscaping business while Mom stayed home and raised six kids without the benefit of unlimited internet access and reality television programs that showcase large family dynamics.  With only a network of like-minded friends, Dr. Benjamin Spock, and her own instincts to guide her, my mother has my utmost respect.  Besides, there comes a time when we all must take responsibility for our own lives.  Blaming our parents can keep us in an unproductive cycle that hinders any efforts to succeed in our desire to venture forth.

I have four sisters.  In an attempt to repair and replace some of the faulty wiring we had acquired throughout our childhood, one sister (the first-born) had become attracted to the incites she read in a book written by Melody Beattie that is entitled “Codependent No More.”  The book had provided her with so much direction in regards to her relationship with her alcohol-addicted husband that she felt compelled to buy copies for all of us.  She was impassioned with the promise of recovery and wanted to share her discoveries with the rest of us.  She particularly hoped to enlighten sister #2, who’s marriage and similar circumstances bore an obvious resemblance to her own.

I’m relaying this specific incident to illustrate our family’s ingrained tendency to prioritize the opinions of others over our own judgment and self-reflective capabilities.  Sister #2 told me this, “Well, I read the book.  And I don’t think that I am codependent.”  Without much pause she added, “Am I?”

I was quite unable to formulate any immediate response to her question.  I was busy admiring the gigantic light bulb that had just materialized to hover over my head.  I’m certain that sister #2 didn’t recognize the presence of any light bulb when I managed to ask her why in the hell she was asking ME.  As sister #1 would remind me, “you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them drink.”  And denial is a river in Egypt.

Without a clear understanding of how you may have been programmed, it’s difficult to make the appropriate adjustments when you desire change.  I still absorb too much of other beings’ energy, both wanted and unwanted.  That’s simply due to the fact that I’ve spent more years on the planet as a people-pleasing approval-seeker than I’ve spent relying on my own inner guidance and counsel.  It’s only a matter of time before the rewiring and new circuits I’ve created to connect with my Knowing Self overpower the old habits of allowing others’ opinions to interfere.

Every time that I feel the signal to my inner guidance weakening, I take a moment to readjust the power flow within me by employing one simple method.  I ask myself if what I’m feeling ‘belongs’ to me.  If I am anxious, worried, or preoccupied with unsettling concerns, I find it helpful to take a look at these feelings and make a decision as to whether or not they are actually my property, or did I take them in from someone else?  And if I did, it’s up to me to determine whether or not I want to take ownership.  Once I consciously choose which concerns don’t belong to me, the current of power leading to my Knowing Self increases in strength almost immediately.

The job of service technician witch requires personal commitment and training, but the benefits are outstanding.  And who is better at deciding what’s best for you, than you?

Don’t Tell Me What You Think

If I were to explore all the debilitating effects that an overdeveloped concern with ‘what other people think’ has on a person, I could write a book.

I’d rather not focus on the negative aspects that an obsession with outward perception can have on the ability to direct one’s own life.  But if there is a desire to improve your self-confidence, it is beneficial to first recognize certain language and behavior that may inhibit a belief that you are a capable and sovereign being, no matter what anyone else thinks.  If you can identify the unhealthy habits that suppress absolute trust in yourself, then it becomes easier to discover what may promote it.

There’s a big difference between taking into consideration the welfare and feelings of others before you proceed with any self-directed action versus taking into consideration the ‘opinions’ of others that your action may incite. Of course you should give serious thought to the possibility that any of your personal decisions and subsequent actions could have on others (including yourself) if they would cause harm or danger.  But where does awareness and concern for others morph into caring too much what other people think?  It seems crystal clear to me now, but there wasn’t an absolute distinction when I was growing up.

How often can you recall hearing the words, “what will people think?” at some point or another throughout your experience?  Many of us are familiar with the implication that there may be more concern with what the neighbors might say than concern for a family member’s feelings; as if how we appear to others might somehow be more important than addressing circumstances that may be causing uncomfortable issues within the home.

If you’ve been given life-long cues that exemplify this all-too-common philosophy, you may eventually adopt habitual behaviors to reflect the perception that you are constantly being assessed by others.  Once you begin basing your moves on the idea that you are being observed and judged by the rest of the world, you gradually relinquish your power to act alone.  You can feel as if you have no control over your own life or any of the circumstances you are experiencing.

It’s one thing to bounce an idea off a few trusted friends or to consult expert sources for advice.  When you find yourself habitually relying on the experience and opinions of others before determining what your own instincts are telling you first, or you tend to question your own decisions and always look to others for confirmation, you may have simply overloaded your intake valve with the thoughts of others.

“I don’t care what other people think”  is rendered ineffective in unclogging your direct line to your inner and Knowing Self.  Most likely this is because it doesn’t feel true.  It never worked for me because it sounded too damn arrogant.  It  FELT unbelievable, too.  Of course I care what other people think.

I’d like to share with you an affirmation that does work for me.  An affirmation is nothing more than a weaving of your own personal spell that when stated repeatedly can become your truth.  So the next time you feel yourself getting drawn away from your own instincts and feel overwhelmed with the thoughts of others, tell yourself this: “what people think of me is none of my business.”

More to come…

Mother Knows Best

The whole purpose of parenting is to raise another adult.  We teach our children how to use their inherent abilities so they will grow up to become responsible adults who are confident in their creative power.

As new arrivals on the planet, babies are required to entrust their power to grown-ups who can keep them safe.  Parents essentially hold this power in trust while fulfilling an obligation to provide young minds a secure environment in which to develop and learn how to use their own intuitive skills.

Some parents seem to have difficulty in relinquishing this power by refusing to accept that their children have grown up.  How many times as an adult have you spent time with older relatives who still treat you as if you were a child?  Depending on your current disposition, it can actually be quite comical, or irritating, to still be instructed on basic cognitive skills, as if by some miracle we have actually managed to survive this long without their constant intervention.

Durwood’s mother still reminds him to wear a hat when it’s cold outside.  I admire that he finds it amusing when she coaches him on particular aspects of his business as well, since it’s an industry that he’s had a career in for over the past twenty years.  Mother Bean is a good woman, but she always knows better than my husband.  I admit that when it comes to patience he is a much  bigger ‘man’ than me.

As a parent myself, I can relate to the occasional reluctance to ‘let go’ when it’s time.  A good witch respects the cycle of life, but that didn’t stop me from crying on the first day of kindergarten for all three of the small Beans.  When we moved James to college a few months ago, I cried even more.  He’s over a thousand miles away from home now and I still have my moments when I miss him terribly.  I do know that he is exactly where he needs to be, so I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Every being on the planet has the innate power to direct their own lives.  I’d like to think that each generation improves upon the process of holding this power in trust for children who need time and a loving environment to practice using it, even when it includes making mistakes in order to learn.  Our parents may have rightly emphasized the issue of keeping safety first, but I wonder if the task of always ‘knowing what’s best’ kept us from discovering it for ourselves.

Raising young minds makes us the keepers of a magical trust fund.  It is our job to know when our kids get the hang of knowing what’s best for themselves.

Picture This…

Your future is being formed right at this very moment by you.  Many people find that hard to believe since from the very moment we were old enough to understand the concept of fate, we were offered a preconceived notion that someone more powerful than we are has control over all of our immediate circumstances.

I would concede that this is true if you are a child whose livelihood is dependent on the adults in your life.  It’s perfectly logical that a belief in predetermined fate can develop.  I would invite you to step out of the box for a moment and explore the possibility that any individual who may not be able to control the circumstances or characters of her current environment DOES possess complete control over how she responds to them.  It is this response to any circumstance that you may find yourself experiencing that I am offering the suggestion that your future, therefore your fate, can be orchestrated by you.

With the latest buzz surrounding the Law of Attraction, there are now thousands of valuable resources available to us in the form of books, online courses, seminars and various media sources that offer instruction in using the Universal Laws to attract our desires and ultimately shape our future.  This recent explosion of information is a good thing.  It indicates that we are collectively evolving to a higher level of consciousness.

My children would remind me that it is my generation that came forth to initiate this movement toward spiritual awakening, and it is their generation’s desire to assist us in expediting the process.  My generation spent most of our lives setting the stage, studying the scripts, experiencing the struggle, and discovering, learning and practicing the various methods available in order  to live our dreams.  Our kids are natural vision-achievers who seem to experience their desires in real time more often than not.  Although I admire their inherent abilities and confident nature, it is often baffling to me that they can do all that so easily and more efficiently than most of us were able to, and yet still not recognize that the cat litter box is burning everyone’s eyeballs in the house and really needs to be cleaned.

One cue that we can take from our kids is utilizing the power of our imagination.  Imagination is the bridge between the unconscious mind of the spiritual world and the conscious mind of the physical world.  Cultivating our ability to visualize what we wish for is an essential step in achieving our long and short term goals.

If you think that you have no imagination, try to relate to the mental images that you experience while dreaming.  The simple fact that you remember all or even some of those pictures when you wake up indicates that you have the capacity to create mental images.  Besides, if you’re still reading this post I’m willing to bet that you are not one of those people referred to in psychology as “thickly insulated,” meaning they seldom dream and when they do there is no recollection of it.

I’d like to share a technique with you that might assist in developing your ability to imagine things.  Our oldest daughter has been riding horses for the past 12 years.   I am a stay-at-home mom with an average middle-class income, so let me assure you right off the bat that excluding the initial financial contributions Mr. Bean and I struggled to provide in getting her started when she was younger, her father and I have had very little to do with the fact that Katarina now owns two thoroughbreds while attending college as a full-time student.  She ‘dreamed’ that she would someday own jumpers and now she does.  Besides being a resourceful and driven first-born, there was definitely some goal imagery in play.  As an aspiring trainer, Kat participates in equestrian events for the specific purpose of building her business by recruiting more students.  In order to make the best of her financial investment which includes show fees, proper riding apparel, transportation and other amenities, it helps if the horse and rider are having a ‘good day’ when it’s time to get in the ring.  One way to ensure this (besides real world practice) is to ’see’ the performance going well in her head.

Now here’s the part where most people will falter when employing visualization techniques to produce a desired outcome.  Even though you may have a clear picture of what you would like to occur in real time, you have to move the image out of your mind by projecting the scene into the real world.  In other words, you have to stop trying to cram it all inside your head and make it BIG.  Think of the scene actually taking place outside of yourself.  This process of projection is one of the key elements in creating the energy necessary to manifest your desired picture on the real-life screen, so to speak.  Kat has to stop trying to reduce the show ring, herself, and the poor horse to the size of a thumbnail print inside of her skull and project it onto the wide screen where she’d like it to take place.

If this all sounds a little too mystical for you it’s because that’s exactly what it is.  Mystical principles are what witches use to practice visualizing their dreams in order to make them their reality.  And that’s why you’re here visiting with me, right?

What’s So Damn Funny?

The wisdom that there is strength in numbers can very often refer to a party of two.

One person alone is capable of creating enough focus on a specific intention to achieve a desired outcome, whether it’s a resolution to a problem or perhaps something as simple as maintaining a calm mood when in an uncomfortable situation.  Enlist the assistance of another trusted and like-minded individual, and the combined effort may not only produce amazing results but provide the unique satisfaction of a shared accomplishment.

We may have many acquaintances, but it seems that there are a mere handful of individuals that we meet, or have known for years, who offer the depth and ‘like-energy’ required to experience a genuine connection between souls.  Those are the beings with whom you feel that instant spark, that sense of ‘knowing’ that you recognize immediately.   Shared energy takes on its own unique properties and often can become powerful enough to do things you may not have found possible to achieve on your own.

My cousin Candace is one of those genuine souls.  We arrived on the planet in the same year, and although we were raised over 600 miles apart in our respective immediate families, we possess a potent connection that has enabled us to manifest many inner desires.

Candace is one of few members in our large extended family who immediately recognized the truth of some secrets that I revealed.  These secrets were some of  the not-so-pretty truths that had been well hidden underneath all of the elephants roaming around in our living rooms.  They had been lurking within the carefully constructed walls of our dynasty for decades.

As a threat to the empire, I was treated as such.  Candace offered strength and comfort throughout the many years that followed in the aftermath of my disclosure.  She’s been the champion of my voice, she has applauded every victory, consoled me in times of despair, defended my honor with courage, and helped to heal my deepest wounds.  In the process we have crumbled a few of the walls surrounding the powerful empire that remains our heritage.

When one or both of us spend time among family members who still choose to remain enclosed within unhealthy realms, Candace and I are ultimately connected in spiritual strength and positive energy.  This ’soul sister’ of mine has truly put the fun back in the term dysfunction.

Comments and behavior that continue to thrive within the dynasty walls used to have such a maddening effect.  Accusing remarks and mannerisms that once caused so much pain and anger are powerless and now rather amusing.  Out of respect, as well as being mindful of our loved one’s comfort level, Candace and I contain our laughter within.  I can feel her beaming presence within me, whether she’s standing right next to me or a thousand miles away.  It’s the best private joke two people could share.

For those of you with similar struggles and like-minded desires to heal family heartache,  I offer you the courage and comradery of a warrior spirit as you venture forth in your expansion.  Candace and I have often asked the question, “what were we thinking?!”  The answer is that anything is possible when we’re together.