Archive for January, 2010

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 my assessment of the 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.  Of course, he’ll have to pick up all of the empty clothes hangers that are spread all over his floor first.

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.

Mrs. Bean vs. Jelly Bean

Physical beings are magnificently designed to promote survival.  Among the amazing internal mechanisms within our physical make-up are the adrenal glands.  Adrenal glands are vital in performing several hormonal functions, but it is the adrenal medulla that receives the most notoriety for providing us with the ‘power rush’ needed to react to extreme physical and emotional stress.

There are numerous mind-boggling accounts of people who perform super-human feats in response to emergency situations.  My mom and her siblings still marvel over the time when my grandmother, weighing in at approximately 110 pounds, lifted a 1943 two-ton automobile in order to release my uncle who had become trapped underneath it.  Apparently the car had become dislodged from its temporary lift while my uncle was engaged in some sort of repair work underneath the vehicle.  Grandma dropped the basket of laundry that she was carrying to the clothesline and rushed to the scene that she had witnessed from across the yard.  Reacting to my uncle’s cries for help, she proceeded to lift the automobile high enough to reach under and pull her son to safety.  His injuries were serious, but it was presumed that they were not as critical as they could have been had Grandma been forced to await assistance from the nearest town (15 miles away) or even from the closest neighbor (over a mile down the country road they lived on).  Perhaps Grandma had decided that if she were to save her son, she could not afford to wait the decades that it would take until 9-1-1 emergency response systems were instituted.

Maternal instinct, combined with the body’s capacity to respond to a crisis situation, can obviously produce an amazingly productive adrenaline rush.  Any recounting of Grandma’s story might even imply that there were miraculous forces at work.

I am pretty sure that my own recent experience with an adrenalin surge could not be defined as a life-threatening situation; but after I successfully popped a tightly wedged jelly bean from the depths of Caroline’s nostril last week, it sure the hell ‘felt’ like a miracle to me.

Most likely, it was my aversion to the thought of having to spend a perfectly good afternoon in the emergency room that may have contributed to my seemingly miraculous feat.  Many years ago, one of my sisters had somehow managed to insert a plastic holly berry from a Christmas ornament deep enough into her nasal cavity that my parents were required to take her to the doctor’s office where a special instrument was used to retrieve it.  Although I was very young at the time, I remember that it did not appear to be much fun for those involved, particularly my poor sister.

In addition to the memory of the ‘holly berry incident’ that ran through my head, my mind was busy entertaining thoughts of the unfortunate conversation I was going to have to have with my sister Evie.  I was going to have to try and explain exactly what I was doing while her daughter, who was under my care,  was busy shoving a jelly bean up her nose.

My heart had been racing as fast as my mind, but I believe that it was the sound of Caroline’s crying that triggered the calm sensation that overcame me while I went to work on my niece.  I knelt down in front of Cara, placed my hands on the sides of her puffy little cheeks, and tilted her head back gently to glimpse the rounded bottom of a jelly bean that was just barely visible deep within her nostril.  I used the flat side of one thumb to ease the embedded jelly bean down and away from the corner of her eye, all the while thinking how desperately I wanted it to come toward me.  I think that both of us were more than pleasantly surprised when that snotty little bean suddenly rocketed down the tunnel with uncanny speed, slid over her quivering lip, and landed on her chin.

Of course, I still had to tell Evie what happened.  I felt a little less like an irresponsible aunt when Evie informed me that Caroline had recently been discovered conducting various nostril insertion experiments in her own home, as well.

Since I may have consumed a fair amount of jelly beans that afternoon myself, perhaps it had been a good old-fashioned sugar rush that contributed to the triumphant extraction.  Among my other possible excuses, the fact that Caroline is young and malleable may also account for the ease in which her nasal bone was so surprisingly manipulated.  In any case, it felt like a miracle to me.

No more jelly beans for Caroline.  At least not until we have more practice with putting them in our mouth:)

Creator, Party Of One

Although I was quite young at the time, I remember that my grandmother would point her finger at us and say, “Do not give your power to anyone.”  Grandma was barely fluent in the English language and she would never elaborate on her statement.  When questioned, she would simply repeat the declaration while adding a flourish to the same words, as if one should know exactly what she meant.  Interpretations of Grandma’s frequent reminder to us remain as varied as the individuals of her large extended family.  For me, the essence of Grandma’s message is crystal clear: “Keep your mouth shut when you are creating.”

The power to create what we want in life is our birthright.  Most of us do not recognize that we are in possession of this ability until something that we have been wanting either shows up, or happens to us.  Even then, many people will attribute this ‘miracle’ to a force outside of themselves.

For those of us who do realize that we hold the power to control our own destiny, we often continue to search outside of ourselves to learn how to use it.  Scouring for any guidance in the form of practical tips and useful applications is a worthy venture, but only you can ultimately make the connection to your Knowing Self that will activate the deliberate creation process.

Once you have developed a working relationship between yourself and your Higher Power, the unique properties of this personal connection are practically impossible to describe.  This could explain the frustration and skepticism that many of us experience when we first begin studying the methods offered to us by others who are successfully manifesting their desires by using the Law of Attraction.  There is great value in continuing to investigate and practice the techniques so graciously offered by others, but only in the sense that these suggestions provide you with the bits and pieces that work for you.

When you start to get the hang of it (and you will), you will discover that your true magic exists within the space between the onset of your desire and its manifestation.  This is the time of actual creation.  This is the time that Grandma was referring to when she reminded us not to “give your power to anyone.”  This is the time when you tell no one.

There are many factors that can prevent, or delay, the manifestation of your desire.  In my own experience, there is nothing that stops the creation process more swiftly and effectively than when I share my desire with another human being.

I could site numerous occasions when I have fixated on my desire, fueled my intention with expectation, connected to belief, witnessed the signs that my desire was on its way, experienced the genuine momentum of my own creation unfolding, and then blew it all away because I got so excited that I opened my big, fat mouth.  I scattered my forces.  I did not heed Grandma’s advice.

It does not even matter who I told, or why.  By sharing my creation (before its completion) with another human being, I simply introduced a foreign vibration that effectively stopped manifestation it in its tracks.

The good news is that every day presents the opportunity to focus on new desires, or revive ‘unfulfilled’ ones with a do-over.  Your own magic is as individual as you are.  By all means should you share your creations with those of your choosing; but until these creations are realized, you may consider keeping the actual process to yourself.

As if to illustrate this point, I am fortunate to have a daily reminder.  Every afternoon a particular flock of small birds descend upon our yard full of pine trees.  I love to watch as they scavenge for food, furiously moving over every available surface of the tree limbs and the ground in complete synchronization.

Every once in awhile, one bird will break off from its companions and discover a private sanctuary.  Oblivious to the rest of the flock, this little bird appears blissfully unaware that its friends have made a group-oriented direction change that has moved them to an entirely different area of the yard.  This guy is completely engrossed in a private moment among a stash of seeds that have somehow been missed by the others. All the other birds are busy chatting amongst themselves, while he is quietly engaged in his own little moment enjoying an abundance of  sustenance.

Eventually, he begins to sing loud enough to draw the attention of a few others, who then break off from the rest of the flock to partake in his discovery.  This small group will then chirp and peck together, seemingly enjoying the ‘private table’ that the first little bird has created for his friends.  They finish their exclusive meal and happily rejoin the rest of the flock that has made its way into the next yard.  This little warbler had a dream, he manifested it, and THEN he shared it with his friends.

I think that this little guy may have been talking to Grandma:)

Not That, But This

When I was a child, my mom told me that I could be anything that I wanted to be when I grew up.  When I finally did grow up, I wondered why I doubted it.

I was never quite confident enough in my ability to ‘do anything that I wanted’ because of the foundation upon which my internal operating system was built.  Threads of self-doubt comprised a substantial portion of this underlying framework within which my brain operates.  My mother is not to be blamed.  It was her responsibility as my parent to keep me safe while I learned how to function, manage, and relate to life.  Along with many other adults who were vested in my upbringing, my parents did what they thought was best for me.

Most of us grew up under a similar protection plan.  This plan included inundating us with a continuous stream of information on how to avoid trouble.  “Don’t do this, don’t do that” were repeated reminders throughout our early childhood.  These directives were customarily reinforced with subsequent warnings, such as “you’ll break your neck” and “you’ll put your eye out.”  All the necessary rules that we needed to follow were given to us on a daily basis for the purpose of keeping us safe from harm.

Of course we should provide our children with instructions that will help them to avoid dangerous situations.  As a parent myself, I have first-hand experience with the instinctive nature to protect my children from pain.  While I naturally want to keep them from harm, I believe that the method  for teaching children how to avoid harmful situations requires an equal dose of how to attempt innocuous ones.

A constant barrage of prevention measures that do not include suggestions of what kids CAN do is the blueprint for a framework of avoidance.  Unbalanced patterns of avoidance promote the tendency toward self-doubt.   Any adult has the option to reconstruct a mental framework that was fashioned with more threads of doubt than confidence.  Remodeling an internal operating system can be done during any stage of life.  In my experience, this rebuilding process is well worth it, but often quite arduous.  Once I became a parent myself, I thought I might save the small Beans the trouble by providing them with a confident foundation to operate upon right from the start.

It is really just a simple matter of proportion.  For every directive that contained the words “you can’t,”  I would try to be mindful of offering another statement that contained the words “you can.”  My objective was to supply their developing mindset with at least an equal amount of ‘capability’ threads to balance all the threads of  ‘powerlessness’ that they had been accumulating.  Eventually supplying the young Beans with more “cans” than “can’ts” would be even better.

Initiating this practice was a real eye-opener for me.  It was startling just how often I used the word “can’t.”  My first attempts at offering counter-directives felt a bit clumsy, too.  I used some really stupid and far-fetched edicts, such as “you can’t touch the knobs on the stove because it’s dangerous, but you CAN hold this spoon.”  (What?! What the hell does that mean?!)

Eventually I recognized that the kids were not at all miffed by my awkward associations, and that they actually absorbed the underlying messages quite easily.  Their comprehension of danger was acknowledged with a furrowed brow and a frown.  This expression was immediately followed by bright eyes and a smile while holding the stupid spoon.  This felt like parenting magic at its best.

With time and practice I have improved my relative associations between the cans and cannots.  Some twenty years or so later, it is now automatic to tell my two-year-old niece that she CANNOT walk down the front porch steps by herself, but she CAN hold my hand and count with me while we walk down the steps together.  If I can help my sister Evie construct Caroline’s developing framework to promote more confidence than avoidance, we may save Caroline the trouble of having to undertake a complete remodeling project later in life.

Since it appears that the three Beans are now self-assured young adults who meet situations more often than they avoid them, I am certain that this is one indication that the cans are continuing to dominate the cannots within their mental framework.  Although it does seem rather peculiar that they still smile while holding a spoon:)