energy

You know that phenomenon that occurs when you spill red wine? How it is attracted to anything residing in the white color palette?

And even though it was only half a glass (okay maybe 3/4 of a glass – it was shitty day) the spillage appears to be more like an entire bottle and requires four rolls of paper towels to clean up.

You familiar with that scenario?

One glass of wine that has now ruined:
1) Your new silk and linen blend light beige pants that you’re wearing for the first time.

2) The white flokati rug that has the nerve to sit under your friend’s coffee table. (Who has white rugs?)

3) Your reputation as someone who can balance a glass of wine, a cocktail napkin, eat some kind of tartlet stuffed with cheesy goodness — and tell a funny story, without spilling a single drop.

What about a drop of black dye in a cup of water?
It swirls and undulates, acting as if it’s alive as it permeates every molecule.

Until in a matter of seconds it appears as if by magic that the entire contents of the cup had turned the color of midnight.

A single drop.
An entire glass.
Saturation.

When I wake up in the mornings, even before I get out of bed, I practice gratitude.

I’m thankful that I had the good fortune to wake up, that I can smell coffee in the other room, and that I don’t have to be woken up by the shrill ringing of an alarm.

I do that to get myself into a good feeling place. To keep my imaginary glass of water clear. It makes for a smoother, better day all around.

Most days I can stay there on pretty solid footing.

Other days I can’t make it to the bathroom without the spilled wine worries invading my thoughts; staining everything I think.

Recently, it seems as if black ink has been saturating me right as I come to consciousness. I think one nice thought and I get hijacked. BLAMO!

Black ink in the form of a troubling thought is swirling in my head as I try to find my balance; it’s reminding me of something awful, making gratitude the boulder I’m now struggling to push up the mountain of my mind.

If it takes hold I’m screwed. Covers over the head, might as well go back to sleep and reset, kind of screwed.

You all know how that goes. Once the wine or the ink stains your brain, once it permeates the entire glass of water, it is such an effort to escape –– it can ruin a whole day.

Then I remembered what my husband told me he was doing. Instead of letting an awful thought take hold and then attempting to play catch-up all day; he just kept his gratitude driven thinking going 24/7.

It took work but he was up to the challenge. The alternative was unacceptable –– it felt like hell.

“You can’t process thoughts from opposite parts of the brain at the same time.” He reminded me. “It’s impossible! Try being sad and grateful at the same time. Or happy and anxious. Love or hate. You just can’t do it. So I just drive around these days, ALL day –– feeling appreciation and gratitude. It keeps my thoughts from going dark”

He was right! (Damn, I hate when he’s right – insert forehead slap here) but what he’s doing is SO much easier than trying to turn your emotional ship around after its run aground.

You have the choice to pick a better thought. You do. I challenge you to try it.

Don’t get me wrong, some days are going to be a fight.
A fucking fist fight street brawl.

It will feel like using a tweezers and a magnifying glass to look for a needle of happiness inside of a haystack of sad.

But don’t give up. I know you; you won’t. You’re scrappy like me.

Feeling grateful, or something above despair, even in the shit times, is like those drops they give you to take to the Amazon to clear the water of all those swimming amoebas that’ll kill ya.

You swirl it around for a couple of minutes and viola! Your cup is full of crystal clear drinking water.

Let gratitude clear your glass of water. If gratitude is too far of a reach try a happy place moment.

I go to a beach on Maui on a seventy-two degree day, with zero wind, perfect rolling waves, warm water and my twenty-five year old body…sadness, at a least for a few minutes – out of sight, out of mind.

It’s a start, and SO much better than an entire day of feeling bad.

That’s all.

Carry on,
xox

NOT ANYMORE!

Hey guys,
So…Going out on a limb here.
This is going to be an interesting post. More Woo-woo than most.
If you’re like me, I think most of you will find it interesting at the least, and take it with a grain of salt (and some dark chocolate) if it doesn’t resonate with you.

Here’s the deal. I get emails and follow a few very esoteric “teachers” you might say. Their information comes in the form of channeling or meditations, or just being kick-ass energy interpreters.

Believe it or not, I’m actually pretty discerning; so I read what they have to say, and then I sit with it –– to see how it feels. I like to think I have a finely tuned BS meter.

For the last few months they’ve all been saying the same thing, more or less, and I LOVE when that happens, so for me that’s confirmation.

There are a handful that I have followed since the early 1980’s and pretty much everything they’ve written about has come to pass, so they’ve earned their credibility with me.
Their information is always positive. Without exception.
I can watch CNN if I want to hear otherwise, right?

I remember way back when, hearing them talk about things like yoga, meditation and esoteric teachings becoming mainstream. Things that at the time were very fringe, they felt would be everywhere, even on TV! They predicted it over and over again and each time I scoffed, knowing that it was bullshit, and would never come to pass…Hello, Eckart Tolle, Deepak Chopra, Byron Katie, Abraham Hicks, Hay House, Oprah and Super Soul Sunday!

They also used to talk about technology “downloads” where the influx of energy with regard to triggering certain advances in technology, say like personal computers, (one in every household, like a television –– even handheld computers) was happening at the time. This also sounded like so much bullshit to me back in 1988.
If they’d only been more specific and told me to buy Apple stock!

So now here they go again, and now I have a blog with which to share it.

I think it’s fascinating information and it’s been going around since the end of 2014, and looks to still be on track to come in around March.

So here’s the scuttlebutt on the spiritual streets these days:

There is an influx of energy that is expected to come in, starting in March, that will begin to help us out –– and here’s how:
The human brain only uses a percentage of it’s potential. That’s been agreed upon, right? Some say ten percent and other studies have determined that it’s more like 30-ish percent.

What if the rest of it was storage? Ideas, thoughts, languages, great works and skills we’ve mastered over lifetimes lived on this planet. We’ve all heard about the guy who suffers a traumatic brain injury who then wakes up speaking a foreign language he never knew – fluently. Or the hit on the head that unleashes a previously unknown mathematical genius, or a prolific writer. What if it caused a person to begin to paint – masterpieces. Its happened.

How about children who are born knowing how to read? Or others that play piano or the violin like a virtuoso by the age of three, solve complicated math theories, or remember who they were before they were born?
How could they know that stuff? Does that accumulated information and wisdom remain stored in our brains, waiting to be “remembered” at some opportune time? Are these children simply fast tracking, remembering skills in order to bypass the usual eighteen years it takes the rest of us to come online?

So, it’s about timing, right? The time was right for the tech downloads, a few people around the globe picked up on them and UNDERSTOOD them, and within twenty years (which is the blink of an eye in the scheme of things) we all got Smartphones.

Now the timing is right for a “remembering” energy influx or download, tapping into the brain storage, and even upping brain capacity in a few short years into the forty percentile.

So what would that look like you ask? Apparently, it will start off slow and only if you want it (remember, free will, not everyone invented iPhones) and put simply –– you’ll get really good at stuff. Things you already excel at will get so much easier and better, and supposedly, we could all start consciously bringing forward other things we want to excel at.

Remembering feels different from learning. It’s cleaner, faster and easier.

Want to have a facility with foreign language? Want to retain what you read and listen to with ease? Want to write a book when you’ve never written a grocery list? (I can relate to that one.) Want to ace mathematics, cooking and public speaking? It’s probably all in there, in that storage facility called your brain.

I’d love to think that this is true, to believe that all things are possible, that we can begin to tap into that warehouse of knowledge when we need it, that the energy will allow all of use to fast track, not just a special few.

Don’t you? Hey,why not? Because otherwise, really, what’s the point? Are we here to learn something over, and over and over again?

Let’s all wait and see, I’d LOVE for them to prove me wrong…again.

If this made you laugh or upset you in any way, just forget about it –– oppps, too late, you can’t unknow something…

Carry On,
xox

The energy since the first of the year has been intense. No, it is not your imagination. It has been howl at the moon, scare small children, eat an entire pizza by yourself level intense. But as fate, or luck, or all our answered prayers would have it, it is leveling the fuck out.

The good part has been that it cleaned out all the muck. Good way to start the new Year – muck free, don’t you agree?

One friend asked her massage therapist last week to virtually “get in
there with a Q-tip.” I like that. Getting into the corners and crevices and really digging that shit out.

This energy, bless it’s heart, cleaned out our collective closets. It shook all of our Etch-A-Sketchs. It threw all the plates in the air. It emptied the refrigerator, even way back on the bottom shelf.

You get the picture.

But that can make life VERY uncomfortable.
Some people get sick in response, ‘cause if you’re in bed, binging on Netflix, you don’t have to deal with the shitstorm…yet.
Others are just pissed off. Cantankerous bastards who keep yelling “get out of my way!” We can forgive them though, right? Hey, their Etch-A-Sketch is blank – and the glass is cracked.

I took the coward’s way out. Kidding, but only a little.
I meditated, went to the movies, wrote and slept, as I waited for the shitstorm to pass. Oh, and I played this little ditty on an endless loop. You remember this from earlier this summer. Deva Premal, her voice and this chant in particular, lull me into a sort of coping coma.
If this is playing in the background, I can read the snarky email, deliver the bad news, eat the last of the disgusting holiday leftovers, listen to someone’s squed logic, and watch three minutes of CNN (with the sound off, it’s easier to stomach that way and hey, the ticker says it all).

All that to say, here it is again. Let it help the dust to settle. Let the sound and the calming effect arrange the dust in a more pleasing pattern, so that when we all emerge in the next week, from our caves of confusion, things will make sense…or at least look better.

Happy Sunday
xox

Have you ever entered a room only to be overcome by its personality?

You know – you’re living your life, having a pretty good day; your coffee is hot, the traffic was cooperative, and as you enter your work environment for the morning meeting… SHAZAM!
You’re hit head on by the personality of a crisis.
A late delivery, a screw up, all the computers are down; in other words, some kind of seemingly unfixable, colossal, earth shattering, crisis.
If a room could manage it, it would be running around in circles, with its hair on fire, shrieking – because that’s exactly what it feels like when you walk in.

So then what happens to you? 
Right!?
I know – me too.

It’s happened to me more times than I can count (when it goes beyond fingers and toes, I just stop).

Yep, that’s right, doesn’t matter how high you’re flying, that room and its personality facilitate an energetic face-plant, and before you know it you’re shrieking, running in circles and pulling out your own flaming hair.

If you have the presence of mind, the minute you open the door and feel the yuck, turn around and make a clean getaway, before any of it gets on you.

Call from the corner and tell them you can’t come in – save yourself.

Or if you’re Yoda, Buddha, or Gandhi, you can stand in the middle of the turmoil, keep a cool head and attempt to stop the madness by your example.
Then get the hell out of there before they all start throwing things at you – like scissors and inkjet printers.

It is the rare individual who is immune to the personality of a room.

I can be in a great mood and if my husband comes home and he’s grumpy, surly and out-of-sorts, it changes the personality of the entire HOUSE...and down the rabbit hole I go.

But you know what? There is a silver lining. The opposite is true as well.

I’ve been foul. All dark and twisty; and walked into a room or a store where good music is playing (Christmas carols do it every time) and people are laughing and joking around and before I can say “Hey! I’m trying to be in a bad mood here!” It all gets turned around. The personality of the room sweeps me up in its arms and tickles me (that rascal) and I find myself smiling.

I don’t care what religion you believe in, try to watch the above video and not be moved.
Can you imagine? Racing to the mall, battling the crowds, and then being met by the personality of THIS room?

What an amazing surprise! Just TRY to stay Grinchy.

Plus if you know me, you know I love a good flashmob, choirs, Christmas, and shopping.

This is the feel good mothership – for me.

Xox

This is from the blog of Pam Grout – and it’s a great weekend reminder, we’ve ALL had the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day! Read about her experience. Take it away Pam!

“Refuse to accept apparent delay and detour as anything other than the perfect path.” —U.S. Andersen

“Despite rumors to the contrary, I still feel like unflavored gelatin from time to time. I had one of those days this Tuesday. I was in Grand Haven, Michigan recording the audio version of my book, Living Big, at a fancy-schmancy studio owned by Amazon.com.

My flight had been delayed so I got in late the night before, I had to show up bright and early, I had a headache and the producer was quick to point out my glaring inability to pronounce such words as Dostoyevsky and joie de vivre.

Now, I know good and well that the only thing wrong in this situation was my attitude and my grumpy thoughts, but like a squid, I kept squirting out that woe-is-me ink that puts up a smoke screen between me and my highest intention, which is unceasing joy.

Finally, after leaving the studio and being unable to even muster the energy to walk very far along the gorgeous Lake Michigan beaches (I didn’t even leave my normal beach affirmation.), I returned to my hotel room and went to bed.

I woke up the next day feeling bright and sunny and was even grateful for the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day.

Here’s why it was the best thing to ever happen to me:

1. It made me achingly aware of how far I’ve come. Being disgruntled used to be way of life for me. Going back there for a little peek confirmed to me that it’s not much fun. And it made me appreciate even more that my life is now heading in a new direction.

2. I was able to be kind to myself in spite of it all. Okay, so I had a less than stellar day. So what? I used my magic words (“It’s okay!”) and shrugged it off as the perfect unfoldment and realization (see point 1) that I’m on the right path.

3.Lastly, I finally learned how to pronounce my favorite word: Joie de vivre, a French word that pretty much describes my life now that I’ve officially broken up with discontent and grumpiness.”

Pam Grout is the author of 17 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the just-released sequel, E-Cubed, 9 More Experiments that Prove Mirth, Magic and Merriment is your Full-Time Gig.

Happy Saturday!
xox

Dedicated to everyone who’s lost their pet.

Well…you’ve just read about the loss of my beloved cat, Fraidy.
What about Teddy? What happened to that portly, needy, stay at home fella?

Our friend who was taking care of the cat(s) told us Teddy had been his ever-present self while we’d been away, meowing for Fraidy, but grateful for the extra attention.

The day I returned from Palm Springs, to my new life “after Fraidy”, as I got out of the car, I remember noticing tufts of white fur dancing in the breeze all over the front yard.

We entered the house from another door besides the front, otherwise we would have seen it.

The next morning, after Teddy hadn’t come home all night, (maybe he’d seen Fraidy get killed and was traumatized, hiding; we surmised) I thought I’d go down the street calling his name – so he’d know it was safe to come home.

That’s when I saw it. There on his chair on the front porch, signs of a struggle; cushions askew and fur – everywhere.

I screamed for Raphael and we followed the trail. Tufts in the bushes adjacent to the chair, bigger tufts past the driveway and close to the sidewalk (what I’d seen the previous day) all leading to a ridiculous amount of fur in a circle on a neighbor’s front lawn. It was obvious, something horrible had happened there.

I was scream-crying, hands covering my face.

no,no,no,No,NO,NO!…

“Go back to the house Janet.” Raphael was looking around in the bushes, another neighbor had joined him.

“I’m not kidding, GO BACK!” He yelled at me.

“What…do…you…see? Is…he…there? Is…it…Teddy?” I was crying so hard the words were spaced between sobs.

He walked over and hugged me, turning me around, aiming me back toward the house. “GO HOME, NOW.” He didn’t yell, he said it with a quiet authority I’ve never heard in his voice before – or since.

I zombie-walked back to our front porch collecting the fur, Teddy’s fur, along the way.
By the time Raphael came slowly walking back, shoulders slumped, head down, I’d collected three large double hands full.

That’s my Teddy Bear, I thought, remembering a fight I’d broken up years before, in the middle of the night. I had leapt out of bed, woken up by that cat screaming that sounds like babies crying and I KNEW it was Teddy.
I ran stark naked out into the backyard, following the screams, yelling his name, until he made a beeline, running past me back inside. I pulled him out from under the couch and checked for blood, there was none, but he was covered head to toe in sticky, wet saliva.
He ended up having puncture wounds in his neck, under all that thick fur, that abscessed, battle wounds of a VERY close call.
The vet thought it was probably a possum. In the week that followed he had to have drains put in and wear the cone of shame, and his late night battle had taken its toll, that chubby, black Siamese face turned completely white. It took a couple of years to return to its normal color.

Bottom line – Teddy was a fighter, I could see he’d put up a good fight.

I’ve asked my husband many times since then, often in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep, “Did you find Teddy in the bushes that day? Did you see him dead?” His answer is always the same, “no”, but I’m not sure I believe him.

In the weeks and months that followed, I grappled with my grief and my guilt. I felt that if I’d been home I could have saved my boys. I can still feel it as I write this.

I turned to my spiritual practice to help me cope with that kind of loss. I read books and talked to whomever would listen, and the consensus seemed to be this:

Our animals are little angels that share our lives and shower us with unconditional love.

They hold or balance our energy, licking our tears and climbing into our laps when we need them the most.

We will see them again someday.

All of that gave me comfort.

It was also explained to me that since my life had recently changed SO dramatically, it was okay for them to go. I had gotten both cats as a single, working woman in an apartment. A lot had changed; I was married, in a house with a dog and I’d just quit my job of twenty years.

“They held the energy of your old life” a wise friend told me, “it’s okay for them to go, you’re not alone anymore, your life could not be more different. Bless them for getting you here.”

That was in 2006; and I’ve since noticed that when anyone around me loses a pet, their life is going through some kind of transition; a baby, a move, change of jobs, marriage, illness, empty nest, divorce, something that sends the silent signal “It’s okay to go.”

So when you lose that precious pet, if you can crawl out of the hole of despair for just a second, you’ll be able to see it too.

They carried you as far as they could go – and then they handed you, or will hand you, off to someone new.

I get that system. I don’t like it, but it makes sense to me, and I harbor the hope of seeing all my furry friends on the other side.

What a great day THAT will be.

Big kiss with a wet nose,
Xox

“As day turned to night, and our collective sense of history had changed: there would now be a before 9/11 and an after 9/11.”
~ The 9/11 Museum

After forty eight hours and three thousand miles, I still can’t shake off the 9/11 Memorial Museum.

I had to hold back the ugly cry for over two hours. My lip was swollen from biting it to keep from blubbering.

It started with the fountains.
They inhabit the exact foot print of each tower, and are stirring and haunting and beautifully done. I first got choked up as I read that the names engraved in the granite around each fountain are not in the usual alphabetical order, but in groups requested by the families.

All the firefighters are listed with their station buddies, same with office co-workers.
“Put my husband’s name with all the people at Cantor Fitzgerald.” I can’t even imagine saying.

As you ride the escalator down seven stories under the World Trade Center site, it hits you – this is so much more than a museum. It is a sanctuary.

Although you’re allowed to take pictures with your phone, after I took the one above, I stopped. It felt sacrilegious. It’s not that kind of place.

There is energy locked there. 
An overwhelming amount of sadness, fear and shock.
Residual shock feels like fear on steroids. Imagine fearing for your life, yet not knowing what is happening. 
It was palpable – for both of us. Places and things absorb those heavy emotions. We pick them up. Oh goodie.

Short side story: we were riding motorcycles in Spain, in the Basque Country, on our way to Bilbao. Oh happy day, right? No so fast.
“What is this place? It feels awful here.” I was tugging at my husband’s jacket, yelling into his helmet, as we slowed down to ride through a town center.
I had been hit by a wall of sadness, a tidal wave of despair…and shock.
“I know” he said and pointed to the sign as we left town and that horrible energy behind.
GERNIKA.
I got chills. My chills got chills. 

Back to the Museum.

When we got to Foundation Hall, with the original retaining “slurry” wall and it’s cavernous appearance, we both stood there for a long time. It felt like church.

It has in its center, the “Last Column” a 36-foot high steel column covered in mementos, memorial inscriptions, and missing posters placed there by rescue workers and others at the site.

Tears ran down my face. The lump in my throat felt like a soccer ball. The ugly cry was lurking.

My mind couldn’t even begin to grasp the severity of the damage to these immense steel structures. You think you’ve seen every TV special and book, every image and report, yet, unless you are there, standing in that spot, it is incomprehensible.

There are sections of steel ten feet wide, curled up like a piece of saltwater taffy.
They have a section suspended in mid air – from the plane impact zone.

It is sobering. I stood there again – staring – lost in thought – for a long time.

Same with the last remaining “survivors staircase” used by hundreds of people who ran for their lives. You could feel their fear.

In front of a huge chunk of one of the elevator motors, a remnant bigger than a car, (it is estimated that more than two hundred people died inside elevators that day. Ugh, I could have done without knowing THAT) a Docent told a great survivor’s story and the fact that these were the first elevators in their day, that could carry you from the lobby to the 100th floor in under a minute.

Inside the Historical Exhibition (which was fascinating) you are bombarded on all sides by that day, Tuesday, September 11th; from its ordinary start, all the way through the subsequent events, in a series of timeline galleries.
This is where my bottom lip got a workout.

There’s a section where they have a series of phone messages left by a husband to his wife, telling her the other tower has been hit and “don’t worry.” In the third or forth message (I was too emotional to remember) he’s loosing his cool. You can hear the public address system and chaos in the background as he cuts it short “I gotta go.”
He didn’t make it out.

In the section of the timeline where the towers have both collapsed, you hear all the alarms, the shrill whistles, that emergency personnel wear. These alarms go off if a firefighter is motionless for over 30 seconds. It’s a sound no fireman wants to hear, and there were hundreds of them.

“Where’s the damn Kleenex” someone next to me said out loud, looking for the tissue stands they have strategically placed throughout; I handed HIM one of mine – avoiding eye contact. 

Inside this exhibit are things that will not only blow your mind, they will blow your heart – WIDE OPEN. Don’t go if you can’t stand feeling emotion, it’s unavoidable.

I gasped out loud, my hand flying up to cover my mouth a few times. People turned around, but then just gave me a knowing look. For over two hours we did that – for each other.

As the anthropologist I am at heart, I was mesmerized by the endless displays of everyday “stuff” they’ve recovered.
Wallets, dry cleaning tickets, eye glasses, flight attendant wings, stuffed toys, drivers licenses, pictures, keys, gym passes, paperwork, tons of paperwork… and shoes. So many shoes.
Shoes get to you. Someone picked out those shoes that morning, put them on and somehow, in the course of that horrible day, became separated from them.

Some looked perfect – others had a story to tell.

At around the 2 hour mark, I ran into Raphael.
We’d become separated and he’d been doing the galleries in reverse order. “I’m done, I can’t take much more” he whispered. “Then don’t go in those rooms, it’s INTENSE” I cautioned, pointing behind me.

“This whole thing’s intense.” He was walking forward, staring straight ahead, shaking his head. There in front of us was a truck that looked like Godzilla had stepped on it, fighting for his attention.

That was the thing, just when you’d swear you couldn’t take one more minute, you’d turn a corner and see something completely unbelievable.
We knew how the story ended, yet, we couldn’t tear ourselves away. Well done 9/11 Museum.

About a half hour later he texted “out in the front where it starts.” He’d had enough.

I picked up my pace, and we both took the escalator up, up, up, to the sunny surface in silence. It was three thirty in the afternoon. 

I wish I’d cried. I wish I’d let the ugly cry take hold, squishing my eyes, distorting my face, having its loud and sloppy way with me. I’d feel better by now.

Instead: Plan B
“I need a drink.” 
“Me too.”
We caught a cab, grabbed a late lunch and a bottle of wine. Then we walked the HighLine.

Saturday afternoon drunken exhaustion trumped feeling emotion, and I DON’T recommend it.

I should have cried. I know better.

Xox

The Muse is clever. She’s a “broad” that has a way with words.
When I sat down to write about the recent energy, with all its starts and stops, she announced: “That’s the Law of Divine Constipation at work. You have the urge to go……..butcha can’t. Frustrating, huh?”
That’s an understatement.

And that’s a new one on me. But I kinda love it. And it describes things perfectly.

Some issues have resolved themselves easily and effortlessly. New projects sailing into fruition, “Like a knife thru buttah.”
Others…..well; others have had a high level of constraint or restriction; a pronounced lack of ease. You have the urge to move quickly on something, only to be thwarted at every turn.

Yep, constipated. Feels like cement. Like you ate a wheel of Brie or a box of matzoh.
Except; you’re compelled to go, go, go.
We’ve all felt held back before. The difference to me is the urgency. I’m raring to go, but there isn’t enough Milk of Magnesia on the planet to get things moving.
It’s going to take TIME.
Even with this overwhelming need to push…….we’ve gotta be patient.
The Muse did tell me a mantra to repeat when the Divine Law of Constipation pays a visit.

THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

I don’t know about you, but patience is NOT my thing. I don’t even reside in the same zip code as patience. It is my tormentor and my teacher.
But it’s been explained to me that when this constipation takes over, it’s got its reasons. It’s here to serve us. To slow us down. It’s for our benefit. It’s Divine after all.
This spiritually guided constipation comes into play so projects have more gestation time, more time to “cook.” It’s saving us a ton of time and trouble, trying to “get out” of something we have impetuously rushed our speedy little butts into. The object of our desire is clear, our course is set, we are just in a holding pattern waiting for all the pieces to fall into place. It could even become something better. Pushing soon could mess things up.
Well……..when you put it that way.
I thought it was just here to make me miserable, when it’s really here to SAVE me from misery. Nice.

I’m sitting things out, for now, waiting for The Universal Laxative of right timing to kick in.

How about you? You feeling the effects of This Divine Law?
You eager to start something, but getting nothing but red lights? I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

THAT!
I know for sure these days!

Since we all agree that everything is energy,
(We DO all agree on that, right)?
Then if the energy of a person, place or thing is a mis-match,
It’s gonna feel like hell!

It’s gotten to the point for me, that if I enter a business,
meet a doctor, or interview for a position,
the energy…the “vibe” just HAS to feel right, it has to be a match.
If it feels off in any way, I get very uncomfortable!
I get moody, anxious, and almost angry if I can’t get away from it.

I know I’m not alone.
All around me are relationships, personal and professional
that are in flux because the energy has shifted, 
and they’re as compatible as oil and water.
I know this from personal experience.

It became time to leave my part time jewelry job the other day.
The work part of it was interesting and fun,
but the owner and myself were just NOT an energetic match.
He’s a good person,
I’m a good person,
But it’s all about energy, and
we are just energetically oil and water.
It finally became intolerable, on THAT we agreed.

Jill Bolte Taylor writes about this unseen energy in her book
“My Stroke of Insight”.
She is a brain scientist that had a massive stroke and consciously experienced the 
left hemisphere of her brain go offline.
Without her left brain, she had no language, no recollection of her life, her education, even her family.

What she DID have was a very acute sense of energy, especially of the people around her, and how it affected her.
She could sense when someone entered the room, 
whether they cared about her, and felt compassion toward her,
which made her feel safe,
or whether they were distracted, impatient, or angry,
which felt awful to her.

Infants and animals are able to sense energy the same way.
Why do we grow up and disregard that?

It was a huge insight for her, and for me.
One of the most profound quotes from the book is:
“You are responsible for the energy that you bring”

I agree, and I would also add that you, as a conscious adult, 
you are responsible for the energy you immerse yourself in,
and the most reliable feedback is how it makes you feel.

I don’t mean the occasional yuck that comes up in long term relationships.
If love and compassion are present,
that can be worked thru and shifted.
I’m talking about relationships that have a continued soul sucking
effect on you.

You KNOW exactly what I’m talking about.
It is not subtle, 
and we’re all getting so sensitive it can feel intolerable.

Friendships, jobs, romantic relationships, even family.
Does it feel right?
Do I like them?

Be aware, be brave and stay strong!
XoxJanet

It seems that the energy these last few days is powerfully fast,
and like an avalanche, it is taking us, and everything in its path,
and is carrying it along with it,
as it races toward the end of the year.

But it seems my race to that imaginary finish line of 2014
is strewn with all the different ways my body is choosing to keep up.

Some days it feels like I’m wearing ice skates,
everything feels very slippery,
people, situations,
and it’s hard to keep my balance.
I’m careening toward the New Year on 1/4 inch blades,
arms flailing, weak ankles turned in, with no triple Lutz in sight.

Other days I’m back as a ten year old, 
Only I’m not, I’m 55, and it’s the Fourth of July,
and we’re having those races across the lawn, 
with our shoelaces tied together…
Or balancing an egg on a teaspoon.
It is as impossible now as it was then,
only then, we laughed our heads off as we fell on our faces,
because we were racing toward ice cream.
Oh, to be 10 again.

The other night I wrote about racing like a demon in an ATV.
Now that’s more like it!

How about a catapult?
or sliding into home plate after running all the bases?

It feels like by the 31st it’s going to be a sprint,
but because I have blisters from wearing heels this week,
(They are beautiful,yet cruel)
I might have to limp across the line…does that count?

Can I be like the courageous athlete who runs the good race only to 
have some calamity befall them, and then literally commando crawl over the finish line?

That’s heart right?

I’ve got heart.

I’m just tired.

How is it feeling out there to you?
Xox Janet