beliefs

 “What beliefs of yours are running your show?” ~ Somebody smarter than me

He snuck up behind me, his footsteps muffled by his baby blue crocks.

“What makes them magic wands?” He asked in an accusatory-tone more suited for a courtroom. Startled not only by his stealthy approach but also by the question, which oddly enough had, up until that moment gone unasked, I was unsure of how to begin. I mean, much like the punchline of a joke, if you have to explain it—the funny or the magic in this case, is lost.

“I suppose it’s the belief that they are that makes them so,” I replied, arranging the brightly painted pink and red wands of magic in the bucket.

He mumbled a few more pearls-of-jackassery like, “you’re crazy,” and “there’s no such thing,” as he shuffled away.
“Just so you know, dude, I’ve been called gullible, woo-woo, or a Pollyanna my entire life so you’re coming at me with a dull knife when you call me crazy. And for someone like me who’s spent most of their adult life believing in the unseen, things like magic wands require no explanation. They just are. Besides, folks who wear crocks outside of a hospital, restaurant kitchen, or garden have lost their right to judge others—I don’t make the rules!”

THAT was my imaginary response. In reality I said nothing.

So that happened three years ago when the bucket of wands was a summer staple in our front yard.

Kids and their parents would come from far and wide to take home those spiky little reminders of magic in the world. And because magic pays dividends, they left sweet cards and homemade thank you notes scribbled in crayon and all was right with the world, that is, until some soulless, shell-of-a-human-being took umbrage and stole the entire bucket of wands—not just once—but three times!

I tried like hell to remain not bitter but I failed. For three years, I refused to wand-up the hood.

Fuck it! I thought. Besides, all the kids are grown (they weren’t), all the magic is gone (it wasn’t) and anyway, I’m too busy for this shit (straight-up lie). But y’all, by the time the unreasonable facsimile for summer 2020 rolled around, I decided that if any year needed a bucket of fucking magic wands, it was this one! Only this time I went old school, leaving them in their natural state because I was out of paint and I think it was Jesus who once said,

“Wands are magic, no matter what color they are… Amen.”

Cut to: a couple of days ago, while I was in the front yard cutting the last few remaining stalks, a lovely, middle-aged woman tapped me on the shoulder interrupting the podcast about love, (yet another unseen force I fully subscribe to) that was playing in my ear. “I love that you’re doing the wands again!” she said, “I still have mine from a few years back!”

“You do?” I was truly impressed. Many others who’ve been gifted wands from me, told me that they eventually wither and die—albeit a very magical death. I’ve been told that if you mulch them the dust grows a unicorn. Again, I don’t make the rules.

“What do you call these flowers?” she asked.

“Agapanthus,” I replied.

“And is this the color they turn when they die?” She was twirling a green one in-between two fingers, admiring it like a fine glass of wine.

“Uh, well, they start off with blue flowers on the end and when those fall off I cut them and make them a wand…and then they die,” I answered.

“Well I have to tell you,” she moved closer to me so I could hear her whisper through her mask, “I don’t know if you believe in this kind of stuff, but I’ve experienced a miracle with my wands.”

I tilted my head to the side, not sure if I’d heard her correctly. Don’t believe this kind of stuff? Lady, I fill a bucket with dead agapanthus stalks and label them magic wands, I think that puts my freak flag about as high up the pole as it gets. 

“Tell me more!” I said aloud.

“So, I have two of your magic wands and I’ve kept them alive for three years in a vase of water. The color hasn’t faded a bit which I’ve come to believe is a miracle, don’t you agree?”

I nodded. OMG. Was she for real?

“I’ve been so impressed by the fact that they’re still alive that I even took the purple one to Cedar’s when my mom was getting her chemotherapy. She improved so dramatically that everyone, even all of the nurses and doctors, were convinced it was the magic wand!”

Is she serious, she really thinks the purple and red are the natural colors? Colors like that are found in spray cans, not nature! How do I tell the crazy lady that it’s PAINT. Not a miracle. PAINT! 

Holy Tin Foil Hat, what a nut!

“Anyway, I love that I got to meet you and thank you personally,”  she chirped. And with that, the mother ship shot down a beam of light and transported her back to…wait, would you just look at me—I thought she was a kook because she believed in miracles! Nevertheless, I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

I can’t be sure, but it appeared her belief in the extraordinary eclipsed even my own—and I’d turned into the crocks guy!

Carry on,

xox JB

Your beliefs become your thoughts.

Your thoughts become your words.

Your words become your actions.

Your actions become your habits.

Your habits become your values.

Your values become your destiny.

I think Mahatma Gandhi said this…or Oprah. I can’t keep them straight.

That’s big stuff right there. A big concept.

Because most of us, most of the time, myself included, think that all of those things, those actions, words, habits, thoughts—are all separate—disconnected. That they have nothing whatsoever to do with one another.

Wrongo Bongo! We could not be more stupid, misguided, delusional, misinformed, naive, forgetful.

You know this stuff.

I know this stuff.

My freakin’ dog knows this stuff.

So, just a gentle reminder to be mindful of your beliefs, thoughts, words, actions, habits, and values because they are all coalescing to form your destiny.

If you’re sloppy about it like I can get from time to time, you can say and think that you’re eating kale—but the kale is really donuts—and your belief in the destructive power of warm, yeasty goodness is too powerful to overrule the word kale—and just like that—the donuts I ate this weekend go straight to my ass. So…

Not sure of what you’re creating? Look around at your life. It’s a big clue. HUGE.

You like what you see? Fantastic! Keep doing what you’re doing. Not so thrilled with the lump of a chump on the couch? Even better! Because ALL of those things, those thoughts, words, blah, blah, blah—can be changed.
By you.
Right this minute.
Or after you finish your donut.

Isn’t that worth knowing?!

Wait. I think we just created a new belief. Let’s run with it! (Put down the scissors first).

Carry on,
xox

The magic is back by popular demand!
And by popular demand, I mean all of the neighborhood daddies pushing babies in strollers who have both demanded, and by both I mean daddy and baby (and the occasional nana), who in no uncertain terms, some covered in goldfish orange-colored drool, have yelled loudly, and in unison, “Where are the magic wands?!”

Calm down everybody! (By the way, babies stained orange yelling about magic—is just adorable.)

I LOVE doing this for the kids, and the Agapanthus (the wands), which have bloomed late this year I’m sure due to the drought, LOVE being wands!

So… yesterday, in the early morning hours, I was forced to sneak up and down the streets around my house, darting in and out of the bushes to hide from cars, clippers in hand, cutting wands.

What I won’t do for a pail full of magic!

Magic is everywhere you guys. It’s the hummingbirds crowded around fragrant flowers in your garden, your babies first tooth, peach pie and an unexpected phone call from a dear friend.

Wands are just a small reminder every summer that we can abracadabra some magic right from our fingertips!

Have a joyful, magical holiday weekend!
xox

Morning you guys,
I say this ALL THE TIME. That the world is better off and safer than its ever been—and most people look at me like I’m wearing an armadillo hat—on my two heads.

But it’s TRUE! I know it is! Yet…
Why are we so invested in being scared to death? Is this a dangerous world? A bad place?

I believe not.  Are you willing to change your mind?
Take a look at this essay by Pam Grout, take a deep breath and know that there are many of us out here who are trying to drown out the 24/7 cacophony of terror.

Carry on,
xox

“Why it’s time for an intervention from the relentless 24/7 media
by ps grout

“Violence is interesting which makes it a great obstacle to world peace and more thoughtful television programming.” –P.J. O’Rourke

Crisis, conflict, and violence are the prevailing themes of our 24/7 media. If some stranger talked to us the way newscasters do, we’d tell them to go jump in a lake. Likewise, if our boyfriends made us feel the way headlines often do, our friends would line up for an intervention. ‘Toss the jerk out on his head,’ they’d say.”

Living in fear sells products, creates economies, elects politicians and keeps the flying monkeys on the job. But it’s not the truth about the world.

The reality is that the world is safer today than at any time in history. The murder rate has plummeted in the last ten years. School shootings are no more prevalent than they were in “Leave it to Beaver” days. In fact, collaboration, goodness and, yes, love are the norm.

It’s just that the dominant paradigm, the one we’ve blindly bought into is “life sucks.” Any thought to the contrary is sidelined immediately by the 27-inch box in the corner of most of our living rooms (and kitchen and bedrooms). In fact, if you pay attention to the box–and most of us use it to form our view of reality–you have little choice but to conclude that murder, rape, war, and genocide is the human condition.

But if you look at it scientifically, the math just doesn’t work out. For every Koran-burning Terry Jones, there are 335,000 ministers who aren’t burning the Koran, who are espousing peace and love and tolerance. For every Scott Peterson, there’s 58.9 million husbands who didn’t murder their wives.

Every day, we’re spoon-fed “news” about missing children, identity theft, the mild-mannered neighbor who walks into work with an AK-47 and a bomb pack and blows up his boss and 27 co-workers.

Why do we think this is news?

On the same day (February 18, 2008), two-year-old Karissa Jones was abducted from her home in Louisville, Kentucky (by her father, as it turns out), there were 53,298 two-year-olds in Kentucky who didn’t get abducted, who were safe and sound at home, happily sipping apple juice from their Winnie-the-Pooh high chairs. Nearly a million children of all ages in Kentucky also didn’t get abducted that same day.

Why is Karissa the “news?”

News, by definition, is new information that teaches people about the world. Picking out what happened to two-one thousandth of one percent of the state’s two-year-olds is not an accurate picture of the world. If you ask me, what happened to the other 53,298 two-year-olds is a bigger story. Or at least it’s more realistic news.

What you see on the newscasts at night, what you read in the morning newspaper is not a realistic perception of our world. It’s an anomaly, an out-of-character thing that happened at one moment in time. News junkies pride themselves on believing they’re well-informed. Because they know what Ann Curry said about the latest layoffs at Boeing and what Morley Safer reported on the earthquake in New Zealand, they smugly believe they’re up on current events.

But do they know about the African-American postman in Germantown, Tennessee who jumped into a lake to save a couple whose brakes went out of their car when they were coming home from a hospital dialysis treatment? Do they know about the Marysville, Kansas attorney who flew, on his own dime, to Israel to donate a kidney to a 10-year-old he’d never met?

Thinking you’re informed because you watch the news is like thinking you understand a zoo when you’ve only seen the “Z” on the entryway sign. It’s not a complete picture, guys. It’s not even a good picture. I’m not going to argue that you can’t find the letter “Z” at any zoo. But if you try to convince me you’re a zoo expert or even that you have a faint understanding of what a zoo is all about because you’ve seen a “Z,” well, I’m sorry, I have no choice but to argue.

Attention-grabbing headlines and newscasts are nothing more than a sales tool, no more “factual” than “The Simpsons.” Isolated incidences get turned into frightening trends and our own thoughts have become conditioned to leap to the worst.

The mission of this blog is to free readers from the straitjacket of the relentless news media. Instead of asking “What’s wrong?,” a question we hear over and over again, I’d like to pose a simple question with the power to change the world: “What’s right?”

Pam Grout is the author of 18 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the about to be released, Thank and Grow Rich: a 30-day Experiment in Shameless Gratitude and Unabashed Joy

“Charles finally attained inner peace by ascribing all the world’s ills to the 24/7 news cycle.”

Things are moving extremely fast these days as we continue going through our cycles of cleansing, purging, and re-birth. Right? I mean, I can’t be the only one out here who has been re-inventing herself for the past few years, decades, millennia.

One of my dear friends remarked just the other day, “I’ve changed so much recently, I don’t even know who I am! It’s like someone shook the snow globe I live inside of and everything is falling around me differently”

I agree! We barely resemble our former selves and life can be so freakin’ confusing in the midst of a snow globe shake-up.

Yet, sometimes, no, make that always—we should always ask ourselves the hard questions.

Who are we REALLY? Are we the persona we carefully construct on social media?
Am I the happy-go-lucky, upbeat, person who people meet for the first time—or the whining pile of insecurities I show to a handful of close friends who have earned that (privilege?) by sticking around?

I can be all of those people. But who am I at my core? Because that core personality makes most of my life decisions. It colors the way I handle difficult situations. It choreographs my re-birth. It does, don’t argue, it’s science!

To get my bearings when I’m feeling uncertain about who is running my show, I try not to make any sudden moves (those are always a mistake. It’s better to let the dust or snow settle), and I don’t let the peanut gallery define me (because they will be oh, so, willing to do that for us).

What I do is I take a look around at my life. What clues is it showing me? How has the person that lives deep inside me done so far? You know what? I can tell by how I feel.

Do I feel happy with some great people around me? Is there something on the horizon to look forward to, a relationship, a trip or a creative project? Or am I in a constant state of anger or anxiety, mad at the world? Lost in the endless 24/7 bad-news cycle, feeling depressed and alone?

I’ve been both of those and believe you me, I prefer the first one. But getting there can be a struggle. (Especially if the core you is moody and depressed).

Not sure who you really are at your core? Ask yourself these questions:

Am I lover or a hater? (I immediately yelled LOVER! Then I flipped off the guy next to me in traffic on the 101 Fwy.—so I may need to take a closer look at that).

Am I a peacemaker or a fighter? (Fighters are always fighting someone. The government, their landlord, insurance, family).

Do I appreciate or condemn? (This person can walk into a beautiful room and all they can see is the tiny scratch on the floor. Know anybody like that?)

Do I see possibility or failure? (I am an eternal optimist with an inner asshole/naysayer at my core …good to know).

Do I criticize or encourage? (You can tell by what’s coming back your way. Compliments or nasty critiques?)

Am I hopeful or hopeless?

Do I look forward to the future or live in the past? (People who live in the past feel that their best days are behind them. What kind of future does that make for them?)

Is life (the planet), improving or falling to shit?

Do you live in a benevolent or malevolent Universe? This is a BIG one! Man O man! It will color your beliefs about life. We all know the person who thinks that the world is a horrible place that is out to get them. Is that you?? Look at your life!

These are simple questions but they can really help you get to the bottom of who is running your life. Can you trust that part of you to make the big leap? To turn things around? Or will it betray your trust by being too fearful, pessimist or critical to be of any help?

First, you have to become aware of it, then you can change it.
When my asshole/naysayer starts to dictate the rules I tell it to fuck off. “I don’t need your help here!” I’ll say, “You’ve made some pretty bad decisions in the past that were all based on fear. I don’t trust you with my re-birth! Hit the road, Jack!” But he never leaves for good so I’m content to let him sit and watch. Quietly.

I hope this helps you. It’s one of those great tools that can come in so handy in the middle of a snow globe shake-up. I  made a lot of the same mistakes over and over again until I took the time to see what my core beliefs were, who was running the show, and most of all—could they be trusted with this precious new endeavor?

Carry On,
xox

I forwarded this to my honey yesterday. He is two weeks into a minor but highly annoying post-surgical recovery.
“Thanks”, he said, nodding his head, “I needed the reminder”.
“Me too”, I replied as I reassuringly rubbed his back. Then I thought of you guys.
I think at one point or another we ALL need the reminder that everything is energy…and we are a self-healing masterpiece/miracle in a meat-suit.
Love you,
Carry on,
xox

Your body has self-healing superpowers
by psgrout

“Life is not about healing; it’s about accepting that we are already healed.”–Annie Zalezsak prescription-pad

Yesterday, I invited readers to share a meme from the old paradigm, a meme they are now re-writing, thank you very much.

A wonderful reader named Bob brought up a meme that is in our face night and day. “Getting old means your body is supposed to fall apart.”

This meme is such a big player in the current paradigm that I thought it deserved its own post. We are constantly being slapped around with the crazy idea that our bodies are plotting against us.

Just watch an hour of television. The drugs ads warn us into great vigilance:

Better watch out for this symptom.

Make sure you’re aware of that problem.

It’s only a matter of time until your body is going to reach out and strangle you.

Here’s the ad I’d like to run:

Your body is a self-healing masterpiece.
It is brilliantly equipped with natural self-repair mechanisms that fight infections, repair broken proteins, kill cancer cells and keep you in tip-top shape. The only thing that ever stops it from doing its job is your ridiculous belief that it is not your closest ally.

I got this story the other day from a reader of E-Squared. It was one of a long list of things she says she manifested:

“I regulate my own health.
If I ever feel like I am going to have an allergy attack or something in my body hurts, I simply give myself command not to entertain it, and the allergy attacks and pain go away immediately. I used to pop anti histamine almost daily in spring and summer seasons. I have not taken any allergy medicine for a while now. I simply tell myself, I don’t believe in allergies and I am the overlord of my body and nervous system. My body obeys what I ask, nicely of course 🙂

“Using this, I have stopped allergy attacks, aches and pains, fever, upset stomach etc. experimenting with my own abilities is just so much fun! Anytime I meditate, I reach a new level of self control and enhancement of my ability to control my own health.”

And lastly, I thought I’d re-run this blog post from a year ago about this very topic. Enjoy!!

“It’s supposed to be a professional secret, but I’ll tell you anyway. We doctors do nothing. We only help and encourage the doctor within.”–Albert Schweitzer

At the party of “anything is possible,” there’s always the one cranky uncle who sits over in the corner. More times than not, the belief that stubbornly refuses to budge is the body as in “My mind has no control over my health, disease, aging, weight and any other fool thing my body decides to do.”

So today, I’ve got a packet of Reese’s Pieces and, like Elliott who was able to lure E.T. out of hiding, I’m hoping to lure out that curmudgeonly uncle to at least take a spin on the dance floor.

Reese Piece No. 1: Dr. Lissa Rankin’s book, Mind Over Medicine. After years of being a physician, Dr. Rankin finally got fed up with the seven minutes she was allowed to see patients and the refusal by her colleagues to acknowledge the most powerful component of a person’s health: their beliefs and their thoughts. Initially, she was as hard-nosed and closed-minded as any doctor, but after investigating 50 years of peer-reviewed medical literature (New England Journal of Medicine and Journal of the American Medical Association, to name a few), she found ample evidence proving that beliefs play a powerful role in a person’s biochemistry and to ignore those findings was irresponsible, a betrayal of the Hippocratic Oath.

Reese’s Piece No. 2: The body is wired to heal itself. Our bodies are self-regulating, healing organisms, constantly striving for homeostasis. But instead of teaching our children this all-important fact, we teach them they need someone or something outside themselves to heal. The minute they get a fever or an earache, we rush them to that all-knowing doctor. This, at a very early age, cements in the fallacy that our bodies can’t heal themselves. Most of the thoughts in our default setting are planted before age 5.

Reese’s Piece No. 3: Placebos are often as effective as drugs. Patients have been able to grow hair, drop blood pressure, lower cholesterol, watch ulcers disappear and cure about every other symptom after being treated with nothing but sugar pills. It was their belief they were getting “medicine” that cured them, not the medicine itself.

Dr. Bruce Mosely, a surgeon and team physician for the Houston Rockets, performed arthroscopic knee surgery on two of ten middle-aged, former military guys. Three of the 10 had their knees rinsed (without the scraping) and the other five had no surgical procedure at all. It was an exercise in just pretend. After two years, all ten believed their surgery was a success. What Mosely discovered is that the bigger and more dramatic the patient perceives the intervention to be, the bigger the placebo effect.

Reese’s Piece No. 4: Our beliefs are the hinge on which our bodies function.
Rankin tells the story of a guy with tumors the size of oranges. After begging his doctor to try an experimental new drug he’d read about, he was treated with the drug and his tumors disappeared. Several weeks later, reports hit the airwaves that this new drug was not as powerful as originally thought. The tumors returned. His doctor, by now savvy, gave his patient a placebo, telling him it was a stronger form of the drug and that the ineffective trials had been using too little of this powerful drug. Once again, the tumors from his stage 4 lymphoma began to disappear. Finally, the FDA pronounced the drug ineffective and pulled it off the market. The patient, who had been rapidly recovering, died within a week.

Okay, enough candy. I could go on and on about how 79 percent of medical students develop the symptoms they’re studying. Or about the woman with a split personality who has diabetes in one of her personalities and normal sugar levels in the other.

But I’m not a doctor and would never dream of prescribing anything.

But I do know this:

We should teach our children that their bodies have self-healing superpowers.

And we should quit hexing ourselves by looking for disease.

And we should remember that if chimpanzees can lower their blood pressure at will, something Harvard doc, Herbert Benson, discovered in his research, there’s probably not much we CAN’T do to heal ourselves.

Uncle, are you ready for that dance?

Pam Grout is the author of 18 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the about to be released, Thank and Grow Rich: a 30-day Experiment in Shameless Gratitude and Unabashed Joy.

Your beliefs become your thoughts

Your thoughts become your words

Your words become your actions

Your actions become your habits

Your habits become your values

Your values become your destiny

I think Mahatma Gandhi said this…or Oprah. I can’t keep them straight.

That’s big stuff right there. A big concept.

Because most of us, most of the time, myself included, think that all of those things, those actions, words, habits, thoughts—are all separate—disconnected. That they have nothing whatsoever to do with one another.

Wrongo Bongo! We could not be more stupid, misguided, delusional, misinformed, naive, forgetful.

You know this stuff.

I know this stuff.

My freakin’ dog knows this stuff.

So, just a gentle reminder to be mindful of your beliefs, thoughts, words, actions, habits and values because they are all coalescing to form your destiny.

If you’re sloppy about it like I can get from time to time, you can say and think that you’re eating kale, but the kale is really donuts, and your belief in the destructive power of warm, yeasty goodness is too powerful to overrule the word kale, and just like that—the donuts I ate this weekend goes straight to my ass. So…

Not sure of what you’re creating? Look around at your life. It’s a big clue. HUGE.

You like what you see? Fantastic! Keep doing what you’re doing.

Not so thrilled with the lump of a chump on the couch? Even better! Because ALL of those things, those thoughts, words, blah, blah, blah—can be changed.
By you.
Right this minute.
Or after you finish your donut. Isn’t that worth knowing?!

Wait. I think we just created a new belief. Let’s run with it! (Put down the scissors first).

Carry on,
xox

I have a friend who’s a bit of a germaphobe.
Before and after every meal I’ve ever shared with her she has to run to the restroom. “Washies” she says doing that shoulda putda ring on it gesture with both hands, you know, the one from the Beyoncé video.

Inside ladies rooms, even the swanky ones, she won’t touch the doorknobs, sink or faucet handles.
She has an elbow that is so dexterous it could tie rope into a Mariners knot. The automatic electric eye and the hot air hand dryer (which I can’t stand by the way, give me a fucking paper towel goddamnit) are her friends.

I once heard her freak out because there weren’t any toilet seat covers. She actually screamed.
When she begged me for one, her fingers grabbing frantically under the shared wall of our stalls, and I informed her that mine was empty as well and that there was full, unprotected ass-to-toilet-seat action happening right in the stall next to her, our freindship tooks months to recover.  Meanwhile, from what I heard, she went through an entire roll of toilet paper to protect her lady parts from those nasty germs.
But guess what?

I could see her handbag on the floor between us. Her black Marc Jacobs messenger bag just sittin’ there, soaking up the Ebola, and enjoying the view from the floor of a public restroom.

I wasn’t going to mention it, you know, I wanted to have a reasonably sane lunch—until she put her bag on the table. That’s a deal breaker for me, go figure.

A different friend shares a similar affliction. She won’t eat or drink anything that she’s not certain is…safe. Because the story she tells herself is that all food is out to kill her.
Restaurant dining with her is a lark. Such a relaxing and pleasant experience (that right there, is sarcasm).
The menu is frantically read and re-read like it’s the assembly directions for a FLAAGENHOOPER from Ikea. Even the small print. Especially the small print. “That’s where they hide the fact that they use MSG or GMO’s” she whispers conspiratorially across the table.

Like I care.
I eat any gluten-laden, GMO ridden, piece of warm bread you put in front of me. Real butter? Even better.
Oppps. Fell on the floor? Butter side down? That’s okay—five second rule.

One day at lunch, said friend was relaying the story of another friend’s upcoming nuptials. “Oh, that reminds me. I had better get this card in the mail TODAY” she announced, pulling a pale pink envelope out of her purse and dropping it onto the table.
Suddenly her hand dove back in. Soon it was both hands rifling around inside her bag, pushing stuff all the way to one side, then the other. Exasperated, but with absolutely no break in the conversation she removed its entire contents, piling it up beside her plate.

“Hmmmm…that’s funny” she mused, searching the bottom like a deep-sea treasure hunter.
“Ah, there you are!” she said, triumphantly producing a stamp.
One single postage stamp. It was obviously the lone survivor of a role used up long ago.

Covered with purse lint and flecks of tobacco, hair, the sweat of a troll, and who knows what else—she stuck out her tongue and licked it—placing it squarely on the upper right hand corner of the card. “There” she said, pressing it down firmly, pleased with her salvage mission.

I know my face must have registered my horror, so I hastily picked up my napkin and pretended to wipe my mouth, smearing lipstick all over my chin.

Although I probably could have eaten the stamp—I don’t think I could have licked it. Ewwww.

I have some other friends, a couple whom I adore, that eat super healthy, work out like beasts six days a week, drink alkaline water, fly separately so their kids will always have one living parent — and smoke.
Cigarettes.
I know.
What gives?

Fear of germs. Fear of disease. Fear of dying. Fear of life.
It’s all relative. Subjective. Open to interpretation. One man’s perfectly good butter-side-down bread, is another man’s germ infested trash. (FIVE SECONDS!)

It’s tragic. And hilarious. And we all do it.

Pay attention to your fears. What are you doing that is in direct opposition to what you say you’re afraid of?

Carry on,
xox

PS: I’m afraid of her bra…

I just came back from two days immersed in one part progressive religion, two parts spirituality, and three parts humor.
Which, as long as you’re asking, is a very compatible cocktail combination for me.

And surprisingly, there was cursing and f-bombs — like the cherry on top.

I went with my sister to see Rob Bell Keep Going 2105 in Laguna Beach California.

We were turned on to his dynamic motivational speaking at the Oprah Tour last fall.

He has a background as a pastor, but he is not all Jesus this and bible verse that (which would have simultaneously turned me off, put me to sleep and set my hair on fire). He has a brand of progressive spiritual humor that I could get with.

The other speakers involved were articulate, smart, funny, touching, creative and completely engaging. I loved them all.
Check them out:

Rob Bell is a bestselling author, international teacher, and highly sought after public speaker. His books include The New York Times bestseller Love Wins, along with What We Talk About When We Talk About God, The Zimzum of Love, Velvet Elvis, Sex God, Jesus Wants to Save Christians, Drops Like Stars. At age 28 he founded Mars Hill Bible Church in Michigan, and under his leadership it was one of the fastest-growing churches in America. In 2011 he was profiled in Time Magazine as one of their 100 most influential people. Rob was featured on Oprah’s 2014 Life You Want Tour and will be speaking at venues around the world in 2015 on the Everything is Spiritual Tour. He and his wife Kristen have three children and live in Los Angeles.

Vicky Beeching—
Vicky Beeching is an Oxford-educated theologian, writer, broadcaster and keynote speaker. She appears regularly on BBC TV, Sky News and writes for publications like The Guardian and The Independent. She’s been profiled by The Huffington Post, BBC World Service and Time Magazine Online. Vicky advises the United Nations on LGBT equality and religion. She is based between London, England and Washington D.C., USA.

Carlton Cuse—
Arthur Carlton Cuse is an American screenwriter, show runner and producer, most famous as executive producer and screenwriter for the American television series Lost for which he made the Time magazine list of the 100 most influential people in the world in 2010.Harvard graduate Cuse is also considered a pioneer in transmedia storytelling.

Peter Rollins—
Peter Rollins is a provocative writer, philosopher, storyteller and public speaker who has gained an international reputation for overturning traditional notions of religion and forming “churches” that preach the Good News that we can’t be satisfied, that life is difficult, and that we don’t know the secret.

Peter gained his higher education from Queens University, Belfast and has earned degrees (with distinction) in Scholastic Philosophy (BA Hons), Political Theory (MA) and Post-Structural thought (PhD). He is the author of numerous books, including Insurrection, The Idolatry of God, and The Divine Magician. He was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland, currently lives in Los Angeles and will die somewhere as yet not known.

Pete Holmes—
Pete Holmes is a comedian. Maybe you know him from his podcast You Made It Weird. Or The Pete Holmes Show! Or his videos with FrontPage Films. Maybe you saw his hour special Nice Try, The Devil, or his half-hour Comedy Central Presents. Or on Conan. Or Jimmy Fallon. Or maybe you saw him on VH1. Or heard him as the e*trade baby or on Comedy Central’s Ugly Americans. I mean, who knows. Pete also draws cartoons for The New Yorker, wrote for NBC’s “Outsourced” and FOX’s “I Hate My Teenage Daughter.”

Crazy good, right?

I love attending these things. When they work. There have been instances where I’ve been locked in a room for days with a bunch of New Agey crazies; but this seminar was nothing like that.

This one really hooked me in and everything I suspected about life was confirmed.

And here it is in a nutshell: Human DNA sequences are over 95% identical to chimpanzee sequences and around 50% identical to a banana.
AND
We are so much more alike than we are different.

We all ache with loneliness;

None of us can answer the question of why we are here;

We all spit fire when you fuck with our kids, our loved ones or our core beliefs;

Everyone fears death;

Nobody likes their boat rocked;

Most everyone is afraid of failure;

Mullets are universally abhorred;

and no one has yet to explain God or get his direct mailing address and phone number.

I love knowing that — don’t you?

I sleep better at night knowing there are others like me; curious pain in the asses, who are looking for answers, but more importantly wonder.

Bottom line: Freedom and wonder.
Seems most of us want to be free enough of fear to find the wonder in life.

We all want wonder. A life filled with WONDER.

We want to feel ALIVE and laugh and gasp…a lot… to have miracles and mystical, magical experiences mixed in with paying our taxes and driving carpool.

Is that too much to ask?
Apparently not so much after these last few days.

Don’t you guys also love knowing that at any given time there are hundreds of people just like you gathered together trying to figure out how to make that happen – for everyone?
I do.

Carry on and peace OUT!
xox

Photobomb of Rob Bell with Me, Sue and Patti:

Dear Airplane,

I love this arraignment that we’ve all agreed upon.

YOU somehow achieve significant aerodynamic lift; enough to propel us through the sky, from point A to point B, and I sit in my chair in the sky, eating the peanuts, holding the belief that all of that scientific shit is true.

Come on.
Can we cut the crap?

Clearly, air travel is some crazy magic or a freaking miracle.

The sheer accumulated weight of all the passengers and our consistently overweight luggage (I can only speak for myself)
render all that science shit impossible.
Really.

Airplanes work because we all believe they do.

Amen.

*This is for all my friends that are on planes this weekend 😉
Happy Saturday.

Sending miracle Inducing Love,
Xox