May 27, 2013

It’s 840a in Paris, and I’m in a line of at least 1,000 people, or less, ha.  It is quiet, serene, calm.  We are all snaking around orange ribbon-lined lanes (the guard/helper is dressed in a dark suit with same-colored orange tie. Way French, very cool) – headed toward Immigration/Police auxfronteieres - Border Patrol.  I’m heading to gate F49 and everyone’s headed somewhere.  Couple in front of me has a flight in 20 minutes – likely they’ll miss it.  The snaking that we’re doing is a slow snaking.  But no one’s tapping toes, huffing and puffing, or griping.  It’s really a nice feeling.  Maybe because most of us? have flown overseas and are on different body clocks, and are somewhat sleepy.  For my body, it’s 1:30am.  After a 4 hour ‘nap’ on the plane, I feel at least coherent.  And it’s a sunny day, with lots of windows in the airport to brighten our wait.  The smell, on the other hand, is less cheerful.  When I rounded a corner coming down an escalator which brought me to a hallway of bright green glass, my nose was assaulted with a stench of poorly maintained public restrooms, or a dirty litter box.  Pew!!!  It’s not as bad in this line, but it’s still lingering.  Ugh.

I’m reminded again of Angel, who was looking shriveled and small when I left her this afternoon.  Ugh.  I’m not sure what’s going to happen with her.  

OMG!!!!  Everything is a long line!!  The walkway to the lane, thank goodness, is all glass-sided, because it’s about a quarter-mile long, or so it seems this morning.  And we’re all shoved in here, standing, waiting.  Given that it’s a flight to Naples, I’m now hearing lots of Italian, much more of a sing-song cadence to it, and certainly more lively than the sullen group an hour ago.  The sun feels good;  I think it’s chilly out – or in Italy, anyway, as I’m seeing lots of sweaters, jackets, and boots.  Yikes!  I brought mostly summer wear; I have a funny feeling I’ll be wearing the two sweaters and one pair of long pants that I brought for the better part of the trip.  We’ll see.  At this point, I’m just glad to be here, and to be awake.  

The last time I traveled to and in Europe was 20 years ago, with my dad, and I was then in my beer-drinking phase (that lasted about 35 years), so my arrival in Europe found me groggy and tired for the first day or two.  It feels good now to not have that going on.  Twenty years older, and I feel better – that’s gotta be good.

Things have come a long way in 20 years – with all the huge technological advances, the ability to call my cousin in Naples from France (or the US) is possible.  Not so my last visit here.  Unfortunately.  One time, my dad and I were meeting in, I think, either Luxembourg or Brussels, at the train station.  He arrived earlier than I did, flying in from Albuquerque, and I from Atlanta, on Delta, which we thereafter, (not so) fondly referred to as ‘the ten-minute airline,’ for its 2-3 hour delayed departure times, announced to its passengers in 10-minute increments.  As in, …”we’ll be leaving shorty.  In approximately 10 minutes.”  You get the idea.  So my flight was significantly late, and I wasn't at the train station when dad was there to meet me, or at the next train’s arrival.  Or the next, or the next.  It was crazy – he must have, in looking back on the situation, been more than a little worried.  I’d called the Hotel from Atlanta before leaving, but they said he’d checked out (?!?).  A comedy of errors, really.  So we only ever connected when I showed up around midnight to a weary but happy-to-see-me dad. Cell phones then would have been so nice.

The other way new and cool thing was a TV screen at every seat on the plane, with a ton of movies, shows, games and music – for free!!  I remember when some flights had a stereo system with 7 or 8 channels of music, comedy, sports, etc. to choose from, the dial was on the armrest, and headphones to listen cost $3.  That when beer was $2 or $3.  Now it’s $7.  Glad I quit drinking!!!  

The one thing that hasn’t changed, apparently, is airplane food.  Yikes.  I’d ordered a special meal, something along the lines of vegan/vegetarian – 'Muslim' seemed to fit the description - weeks ago.  What I got was 2 pieces of chicken over cooked-to-death LeSeur peas (my friend Moody used to call them leisure peas.  And instantaneous coffee. I miss him!), paper-like lettuce salad, a hard cucumber slice, and some scarily gooey cabbage on top.  Nice to know that some things stand the test of time.  J

OK, this is cool.  I finally got on the plane, and at row 3, realized that my assigned seat in row 25 was WAY too far back for me, so I sat down in an empty seat (in an empty row!) up front, waiting to see if it filled up.  Well, it didn’t, so I stayed and strapped in.  And I just realized that I’m in something like First class or Business.  The stewardess brought us a tube of something that I thought was a granola bar, but realized the it was a ‘refreshing wet towel,' AND I asked for a coke (I was craving a coke!), just on the fluke that she’d bring me one.  “Un moment, c’est vous plais.”  In a moment.  And sure enough, in a moment, she appeared with a 4 oz. cute can of icy cold Coke!  And set it down on the table next to my seat.  ‘Seat left free for your comfort.’  All this and we hadn’t even left the gate yet!  It’s a 2-hour flight to Naples.  I can’t wait to see what else we get!  Thank you, Angel and Dad.  J

Stranger, Cash, And Magic

 12/23/13

        It was cold, it was dark, and my porch light was off.  I’d just pulled the bulb earlier to replace it with some color more “Christmasy.”  (I was thinking red, but was swayed against it by a male friend…)  So the knock at the front door took me aback when I answered and couldn’t clearly see who was there.  I knew enough that it wasn’t a familiar face. 

“Hi.  I hate to bother you.  I’m a new neighbor, and I just locked my keys in my car. I’m waiting to get a locksmith, but he wants $65 cash, and all I have is $52.  Can you help me out?  This is really embarrassing.”

        Do you see where this is going?  If you do, you’re way ahead of where I was.  My antennae were certainly up, and I’ve given money to enough panhandlers with a line to know one when I hear it, but I went with it anyway.  (I have since recognized, and asked to be relieved of, my tendency to not want to seem distrusting of anyone – even when I have every reason to be!!)

        I had no cash on me, honestly, and told him so.  You won’t believe what came next…

        “Well, can you go to an ATM and get some?  I can wait.”

        Wow.  And you won’t believe what came next.  I said OK!!!! 

I don’t use ATM’s, so said I could run up to the grocery store, use my debit card, and get cash back.  (This is embarrassing as I write this.  I must have really been caught off guard!)  I had him come inside out of the cold, while I got my coat, keys, etc.  He then rode with me to the store, at which time he told me who all he’d bought gifts for (2 nieces in New Orleans, a sister, and, ‘of course,’ his wife), how long he’d been married, which house he lived in, where he worked, his occupation, and how much it rained in Jacksonville, where he’d just moved from. 

At the store, I asked if he wanted or needed anything. 

        “Cigarettes would be great.”  (Um, I don’t THINK so!)

        “Um, I don’t THINK so.  I’m already giving you money and extra for gas.  You can buy your own cigarettes.  I meant food.”

        So I got a juice for myself and $20, and back home we headed.  More information on the ride home.  How much their rent was, with a roommate, his wife’s former job, and where his parents lived.  Oh, and his name.  “Steve.”

        “So you want to call the locksmith now, so he’ll be there and you won’t have to wait in the cold?’

        “No, I’ll call him when we get back.  Thanks.”

        I went to drop him off at the house he said he rented (3 doors down from me), but he needed to get his bike first, which was parked in my next-door neighbor’s driveway….  Hmmm…..

        (Gads!  This is so pathetic.  I just get mad as I’m writing this.  How did I miss all this?!  Well, I didn’t, really.  I noticed it all, took it all in, and just didn’t think or choose to ask the questions, afraid that he would think that I “didn’t trust” him.)

        I dropped him off, made sure he’d be OK and said goodbye; he reached across and gave me the hugest hug before he got out of the car.  Where he headed after that, I didn’t see.  I went back to my house feeling, well, odd, at best.  Knowing, though, that I’d helped someone in need.  “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”

        I called a friend (the one who’d suggested I not use a red light out front), told him what had happened, and that I thought I might have just been scammed. 

        “You WHAT?!?  You LET HIM IN YOUR HOUSE!???”

        He was all over the safety issue. 

        “It’s not what he might have taken, but what could have happened to YOU!”

Yikes.  Quite frankly, I myself am baffled at how much I put myself in harm’s way, and yet got out of it only conversation, a sense of good will, and a genuinely appreciative hug. 

        Turns out, where he said he lived was the home of Betty, an older woman who knew nothing about a Steve, but who had been approached the same night, much later, by a man with the same story.  She’d slipped $15 through the screen door, feeling, like I had, sorry for him on such a cold night, right before Christmas. 

        There’s a sucker born every minute, I suppose.  And though I clearly fell into that category, from that situation I was able to identify and release a really unhealthy belief/behavior, meet and befriend a new neighbor (who is a TRIP!!!  She came to the door at noon in bright pink zebra-print fuzzy pajamas, cat-eye glasses, and a big hairdo!), and trust in my heart that “Steve” was an angel of some sort, allowing me to safely let my love outweigh my fear.

  I often wonder if Jesus was perceived by some to be a panhandler with a good line, and can’t help but think that I am sometimes being either tested, or offered an opportunity to give, no matter how it looks.  Maybe that’s why I overlooked all the signs of a con, and went, instead, with a hope and a feeling that gifts given that night were mutual and appreciated.  It was, after all, Christmas Eve Eve.  

November 13, 2013

"Home, Smoky Home"

Most of what I loved about the house was the tree in the front yard.  Next what I loved was the owner. Next what I loved, once inside, was the sweetness of the house within - the love that seemed to be imbued there.  What I didn't notice as much was the smell of cigarette smoke and the stains from nicotine on every surface.  That came later, once I'd bought the house and experienced it empty, without the heart and presence of the (former) owner. 

It was tremendous, the task of de-smoking the house, from ceiling to floor;  hours and hours of washing, scrubbing, painting, cleaning, pulling up, and throwing out.  It was disheartening to have the first of my senses, upon entering the house, assaulted by the smell of smoke.  With a sensitive olfactory and a strong dislike of cigarette smoke, it seemed I had really overlooked a huge obstacle.  So I did what I could to mask or clear as much as possible, trusting that it would dissipate over time.  And it had  begun to, though nowhere near completely.  It was still in the dishwasher, the hall linen closet, the bedroom carpet......It was frustrating and annoying.  I wanted it GONE! 

Or so I thought......

Out on the (enclosed) porch Saturday morning, I felt the chair arm was wet.  Not just damp, but wet.  Earlier, I'd picked up some paper from the table next to it, and it was moist.  "Oh, well," I thought, "it's Florida.  Everything's moist!"  But the light bulb went off, and I looked up at the ceiling - ugh.  There hung droplets of water from the heavy rain the night before.  NOT what a new homeowner (not this one, anyway!) wants to see.  "Hmmm...will have someone come and look at it in the week."  Luckily, it's a flat roof and separate from the rest of the house, which has a relatively new shingled roof atop it.  And then I was off, out of town for the day.

As I was driving, it struck me in the oddest way - the house was crying!  It was missing its owner as much as she'd been sad to move out of it.  Her husband had died less than a year earlier, her health was beginning to deteriorate, she missed her husband, and now, she was having to move to Tennessee to live with her daughter.  She was sad.  She loved the house, the memories it held, and all the years that it had belonged to her family.  Her parents bought it brand new 57 years ago and lived it in until they passed.  She had moved into it to help care for them, prior, and she and her husband took great pride in it and great care of it since they moved in some ten years ago.  She had a lot of love and energy invested in her house/home!  So she was sad to leave it, and now, I saw, her house was sad without her.  And there I was, cleaning and clearing, washing and rushing, to get out all signs of her presence and to make it 'my own.'  I felt so sad!  And a bit ashamed and embarrassed, too.  Since I loved the house so much, it was as though I could feel its pain.  Her house was sweet and lovely because of her!  How silly I was to have wanted it all out! 

So I silently said a prayer of apology, asked the house for forgiveness, and decided to just chill out and enjoy what parts of her were still there in the house.  Not only even the smoke, but now, especially the smoke, as that was really all that remained.  All of her possessions and special touches were gone.  Everything had been stripped bare, save a few curtains in the living room that she'd left behind (and that I'd since given away).

When I got home later that night, I walked around the house, just taking in all of its sweetness and tenderness, and giving back the same.  The next day in the shower, I smelled smoke, and began to cry.  In that moment, I missed and loved her tremendously.  It felt good to smell it, to know that her presence was still there, and that not only could I tolerate the lingering smoke smell, but could now actually appreciate it!

That has been two weeks ago, and oddly, since then, I have not only not been bothered by the smoke smell, but really only remember smelling it a couple of times.  And I quit trying so hard to make the house mine, make it me.  I figure that will happen on its own, when the house accepts me, welcomes me, and adopts me as its new caretaker and tenant!        

Conversations on the Porch

October 2, 2012

Conversaciones en el Porche

We’re neighbors for over a year now, and, I’ve come to realize, sisters as well. She is quiet and always (almost always) smiling, knows (apparently) almost no English, keeps mostly to herself and her family, and really loves to laugh. And, I realize now, to also just be happy, and to see everyone else happy, too.

When I’d first moved in, after getting to know her some, I asked if I could borrow her washer sometimes, thinking that would be no problem. We share a back porch, and she and her family have the washer and dryer that are hooked up to the only outside water source available in the 8plex where we live. “No.” NO?! But we were just getting along so well!"  It hurt my feelings and embarrassed me some, but it didn’t get in the way of our conversations when we’d meet on the back porch. She does a lot of laundry and I do a lot of cooking; my kitchen door opens out onto the porch where the washer and dryer are, so when we see each other, there’s always conversation. “What are you eating?” “How’s your day off?” Always something to get us off and running. We chat en español, as she is shy about using any English, and I’m fortunate to be bilingual (with a history of living next door to non English-speaking Mexican families ~ a real plus in my language development!).

Sometimes, she’ll get going on some topic with verve, gusto, and speed, and I won’t really know if she’s talking about upset stomachs or removing wallpaper! Mostly, though, we have great conversation and vocabulary lessons, with words like “stilts” and “burps” that keep them colorful! A lot of times, she uses a word that’s different than the one I use to mean the same thing. “Oh, si¢ , es igual” (oh, yeah, it’s the same), she assures me. I told her I was going to write a story and title it, “Lessons on the porch.”

A couple of months ago, she actually knocked on my door, and asked if I could give her a back massage, as her shoulder was really sore. She made no mention of dinero or paga, so I was a little put out (still a sting from the no washer thing, probably), but told her “Sure - En una hora.” (See you in an hour.) On the table she was really quiet, and as I was working on her shoulder, right by her heart area, she started crying. It surprised me! I’d only ever seen her laughing, so this threw me off. Embarrassed, sad, and sore, she took the offered Kleenex and through tears and snorts, told me how worried she was for her daughter, who, living in Mexico, was soon to have a baby….”and as a mother, I really want to be there with her, but I can’t because of my job and my work visa.” (At least I think this is what she said! She may have run into a wall or work or been chased by an alligator. I can’t be sure.) Either way, I massaged some more, and she cried a lot more. Afterwards, she was much more relaxed, and I was most grateful that I hadn’t let my ego dismiss such a huge opportunity. I’ve been repaid for that massage several times over.

The next morning when I saw her son and asked how she was doing, he excitedly told me, “Ud. le curo¢!” (You healed her!)  Oh, the power of caring and crying.

When I recently went to NM for several days, and left in somewhat of a rush, she called me a few days later to see where I was - that she was worried because she hadn’t seen me for many days. I felt loved.

My birthday this year fell on Evacuation Day, were Hurricane Isaac to hit us (which, on Saturday, was the case - our island was dead center, so to speak, of the storm’s path). I had been in denial all week prior, but was prompted by a call from my sister to ‘get prepared’ for what may happen. She sounded so serious and sure, it freaked me out and I went into panic mode! I was darting around like a rat in a maze, unable to focus, gathering and packing, and buying batteries and water (everyone here is ape for batteries and water! And filling up their gas tanks…). The weirdest part is that not many people seemed too bothered by the whole thing. My aforementioned neighbor had lived through a level SIX hurricane in Mexico that blew the roof off her house! So this little wimpy, limping rainstorm moving in meant nothing to her. But evidently, she could see my terror (and what I now realize was loneliness and fear of facing it alone), and took it to heart. On Monday, my birthday, I had started to calm down, knowing that I had friends, places to go, and lots of people praying for our island, and that I - and everyone - would be OK. The storm had started moving west of us, so we would likely miss the direct hit. AND I was still prepared, with bags and boxes of canned goods, WATER AND BATTERIES!, candles, clothes, toiletries, and more, packed and ready to go. Just in case…….

This time, she knocked on the front door!
“Hola!”
A smile on her face and a bag of goodies in her hand, she came in and sheepishly handed me the ‘Happy Birthday’ bag of soap, lotion, bracelets, and more. The best part? She didn’t know it was my birthday! When I told her, she thought I was kidding, until I showed her some cards I’d received.
“You know that bag says happy birthday in English, right?”
“Si¢ ,” she said a bit shyly, still with a disbelieving look on her face.
“And you didn’t know it was my birthday?”
“No.”
“So you were just giving me gifts??!!!”
Again, simply, “Si¢ .”
Big hugs, laughter, and smelling of scented presents in the bag. Again, I felt very loved and cared about. Just when I think I haven’t any friends, there is one who’s been there all along, and literally, right in front of me!!!

I told her that I was changing the name of my story to “La angel en el Porche.” “The Angel on the Porch.”

Our days continue to come and go, with work, laundry, meals, and more tears and laughter, and each day provides a new story and a deeper friendship. We still have several colorful, animated conversations “en el porche,” with my comprehension improving and her confidence emerging. (She’s starting to use more English!). I think I’ll rename this, my story, “Friends on the Porch.” “Amigas en el Porche”

April 12, 2013

So, I think it’s all in the surrender – to the process of life, to our being exactly where we need to be (and maybe even secretly, want to be), and to the faith that we are not in harm’s way all the time.  That we really are creating and have created the best-case scenario for what we need now, to further us in our enlightenment, or something close along that line.  

Car trouble and car repairs just send me into a hot frenzy. (So does dental trouble, but that’s a whole other story!!)   Literally, my body goes hot and I break into a terrible sweat, anticipating the worst.  The worst being… I don’t even know!!   I just anticipate   something horrible.  (Which never happens….)

Money figures in prominently, for sure. ‘ I won’t have enough to pay for my car or it will put me in other dire straits.’  This used to be true, many years ago, not now, but the fear still runs through me/my mind every time something goes wrong with my car.  Knock wood, I have had nearly no trouble for three years, since I bought my current car.  It’s a 1999, though, and starting to feel its age.  It had 100,000 miles when I bought it, and I’ve driven across the country in it, as well as labored it with daily driving and a few lengthy road trips, so I make sure to keep it maintained (oil, fluids, belts, tires, etc.) regularly.  I know that my radiator is starting to go, has developed a crack, and will soon need to be replaced.  Ugh.  I’ve made an appointment to get it done next week.  And I know that it will all be OK, that I can afford it, that the mechanics will do a good job, and that it won’t be the first in a series of automotive maladies…… 

But back to the surrender thing.  And trust, really…  I took my car for an oil change/check up yesterday, as I had the day off, and had it on my ‘to do’ list for a tad too long.  Went to the place I’d been previously, but found an hour+ wait too long to waste, so was headed home, intending to return first thing next morning when I could get in right away.  But on the way home, I remembered a place a few folks had referred me to - pulled over and called them, found  they could take me right then, AND they were three blocks from where I was!!!!  AND their price was less than what I would have paid at the original stop.  Bingo.

Besides that, the waiting room was nice!!!  Spacious, clean, nice furniture, live plants,   and a clean bathroom!  AND the gal at the desk let me fax a few pages that I'd been driving around with for a week, trying to find a place to do that.  Four for four.  They weren't the fastest team in town, but I figured they were thorough.  When finished, the mechanic gave me a detailed checklist/evaluation sheet that I read once I got home.  One of the notes was "oil leak....need engine steam cleaned to determine source.  $39.95."  I'm thinking, "Pyeah, like I'll get THAT done.  They want to replace a bulb over my license tag for $22.00.  I don't think so..."  And that was that.  Paperwork on my desk to deal with later.  

This morning was that 'later.'   Due at work in 20 minutes, I cranked the car, pulled out of the driveway, and a mile away, smelled some burny smell and started seeing smoke.  Yikes!!!  "Maybe it's just oil from yesterday burning off.  I'll go on to work and take care of it tomorrow."  And then more smoke and the engine light.  Yikes again!  Three years, this car has never popped the engine light!  "I"m turning around and heading back  to the mechanic."  Called into work and canceled my appointment (this is a trust thing in itself.:  the appointment was with someone I really did not want to work with!), drove straight to the shop, and huffed into the front office.  Mr. Personality (not) at the desk asked me my name, then started typing with two fingers for a full minute, answered a phone call and talked to  another mechanic about a green Honda, and typed in another few hundred keystrokes while I stood  waiting, feeling annoyed and anxious.  The fear in me took my mind to "WHY is this happening?  What did I do wrong?  What's next?!?"  Natural first reaction.  Car thing.  Until I stopped and thought, "Well, if it's happening, it's probably OK, and might even be good.  All Divine, right?"  Instantly, I felt better.   (Maybe not 100% better, but better!)

Turns out the mechanic suspected the new oil filter put in yesterday "must have a pin hole and the oil leaked out, all over your engine.  That's what you smelled - it's right here by the exhaust system.  I'll pull it and see.  And we'll power steam clean your engine before you take off so it won't keep smelling."  Hmmm......that sounded good!  

Indeed, it was what he'd suspected.  "That's happened two times in thirty-six years."  So I got a second oil filter, another inspection, a free steam cleaning, a big apology, and, for my trouble, a ten percent discount on my radiator replacement next week (which would be significant savings!).  So really, what I'm saving with the discount and the steam cleaning, I made up the lost wages of the morning.

What are the odds?  It made me smile and so appreciate the flawless design and humor of Divinity, and having been able to change my attitude of fear and anxiety to one of surrender and acceptance.  Somehow, it almost feels like that is what brought about the magical outcome.  

I'm guessing I'll have another chance to try it out.  Maybe I'll make a dental appointment for next week, see what happens!  

Butterfly

November 2, 2012

He was so beautiful! I saw him on the sidewalk, crawling on the concrete, little legs barely moving, and wings slowly opening and closing in the late, warm afternoon sun. I’d seen so many butterflies for the last several weeks, and many of them flying recklessly to their death, that at first, I thought he was just one more on his way out. But he caught my eye, and I was instantly struck by the colors on his wings. In circles on the backs of his wings - circles which, to his predators, look like big eyes - were pink and blue! On an otherwise plain brown butterfly. Not like the average butterfly I’d been seeing around town for the past weeks. The more I looked at him, the more intricate designs and stunning beauty I saw. I set down my belongings to cup my hands around him, give him some shade, and just admire his beauty. I also said a prayer that he would magically get up and fly away, though I kind of knew better. I couldn’t bear to walk away and leave him there to die, or worse, get stepped on. So I gently lifted him when he walked onto my finger, and set him on my blouse, where he sat easily and held tightly all the way through the parking lot to my car, then all the way home in the car. At home, I set him on the sofa, where he continued to move a bit, weakly, with wings mostly closed. I figured he was slowly dying, and I just sat and watched him for a long time.

This morning, he was still in the same place, and when I touched him, he moved ever so slightly. Still kickin’. What a tough one! I left him alone and went about my day, not sure why I had brought him home or what I was going to do with him.

This afternoon, I was pretty sure he was finally dead, as he was very still, with no leg movements or wing movements. But when I went to pick up his tiny body, his legs were stuck in the sofa fabric. Maybe he wasn’t dead! I left him there, and said a prayer over him. A prayer of peace, and gratitude that I had gotten to see him. His wings were folded shut, which bummed me out, because they were so beautiful when they were opened. But I left them alone, figuring it was a Nature thing that happened when a butterfly died. I remember years ago when I found a dead dove, and its wings were precisely and delicately wrapped around itself, as though in protection and love. Like it had provided its own ceremonial shroud; one of a most tender and precious embrace.

The day has passed, and when I came and looked at him tonight, there he was, lifeless, with his wings magnificently, beautifully, opened! It made me gasp, then cry. He was so beautiful! It felt like a huge gift.

As I look at him now, I feel an intense and unexplainable connection to him, an immense appreciation for his presence, and a sense that something much bigger is watching over me, giving me wings that, when needed, will unfurl and carry me where I need to go, in beauty and in grace, in love and in magic!

Epiphany!

January 6, 2012

Epiphany

“Dance like no one is watching.”
“Sing like you can’t be heard.”
“Work like you don’t need the money.”
“Love like you’ve never been hurt.”
“Live like it’s heaven on earth.”

I’ve just gotten off the phone, from doing a long-distance reading. The way I feel is alive, excited, fulfilled. It’s a great feeling, and I’d like to feel this way all the time. Like I’m doing what I am meant to do, what I do easily and happily, and what brings me and others joy and fulfillment (and in this case, clarity!). I feel fortunate to be able to do what I do, to be able to hear from Divinity and to pass it on to people for confirmation of their dreams and desires. Today, one of the many messages was for the person (on the other end of the phone) to use his intellect to be more like a child. To be in the wonder and laughter that a child is; to notice the small things in life and be grateful for them; and specifically, to write stories for and about children. As this message was coming, it came with much alliteration and simplicity. Just like a child’s book. When the man heard this, he told me that he has, for years, dreamed of doing exactly that, write children’s books, but felt that he couldn’t, as he wasn’t the ‘artistic one’ in the family. His sibling had the rights to that. So to speak. My heart and brain just wanted to jump up and tell him that EVERYone in his family who wanted to could write. Or draw. Or paint. Or sing. Or create any life they wanted. That we are all artistic in some way or another, and only our limited ways of thinking keep us from doing anything, and usually, everything, that we want!!!!

But I didn’t, as that’s not my role in giving a reading. My role is simply to share information that Spirit (my Higher Self, God, Divinity, Angels, Guides, etc.) may give me. And when I do that, the judgment part of my brain subsides, and I get to hear much higher ideas. Today, I heard that I, too, can do whatever I want to do; all I have to do is DO it. And one thing (of many) that I want to, love to, do is write. I know this for certain, because whenever I hear someone give all the reasons they don’t write, even though they want to, I cringe and think they are only afraid of ‘not doing it right.’ They can’t because someone else is the writer. Or they don’t have a degree, or the time, or a great vocabulary, or, or, or….

And after the reading today, I realize that I have much to say, love to say it, and am now being encouraged by Spirit to say it in writing. No excuses today, for now. Though here are most of the ones I’ve got in my arsenal ~

No one will read it anyway.
I might come off sounding boasty and know-it-all.
I don’t have the time or the attention span. It takes too long to write something worthwhile.
I don’t know what to write about.

Those are the ones I’ve been hearing most recently. And I know that they are just my fear acting out, keeping me from doing what I love to do, no matter how it looks in the end. Ir makes me think of all the people I have known that don’t dance because they’ll ‘look silly.’ Wow. THAT makes me so sad!!! Dancing is like the best thing anyone can do in this life, and we ALL look silly, to someone. And we ALL look awesome to someone. The same goes for drawing, writing, singing, storytelling, cooking, etc., etc., etc. The list goes on and on. Sometimes, I think that in the doing what we are most afraid of,  lies the power and the fulfillment. Not in the outcome or the act itself, but in the endeavor to move past the grip of fear.

I remember a comedy class that I took while living in Atlanta. It was about 5 weeks long, and our ’graduation’ was doing our rehearsed comedy routine for the public (a.k.a. total strangers!) one evening at Jerry Farber’s, a local pub. We were ALL scared and nervous, for sure. That we’d forget our routine, mess up our lines, draw a blank, look like a fool, not get any laughs, etc Well, not getting any laughs was certainly a valid fear, right? J And what is so funny is that for all of us, the experience was the same. We didn’t remember ANYthing about our time on the stage!! It was all a blur that sped by in a second, and then we were returning to our seats. Wow. We didn’t remember laughter or lack of it. Lines done well or total blank air. All we knew was that we had done it - gotten up there and given it our best.

And lived through it!!!! (I also remember that in rehearsal, a few of the students who were obviously really nervous, were the ones who came off the funniest and made us laugh.)
I think that’s what it’s really all about in life. Just trying something we’ve always wanted to try. Follow a dream that has always tugged at our heart. Living a little bigger than we have before. And be, in the process, inspiration for someone else who just might be watching!