humor

Be prepared to O. P. E. N your mind here.
I’m going to elaborate on this council I mentioned in the March 25th post.

Here’s what I’ve learned over the years, through various books, lectures and classes and what I now believe wholeheartedly.

I’m just going to save you the years of searching and condense it, humanize it and try to make it palatable.

You’re welcome.

As always,  the parts of this that resonate with you, set the rest aside. That’s what I always recommend. It’s how discernment works. And, it helps you fine tune your bullshit meter.

So, here goes. Since we are all infinite energy, we exist with consciousness, even when we don’t have a physical body. That is why death at that level, is just an illusion.
When we get bored playing around in the non-physical and we decide to take a body on Earth, there is a lot of responsibility that goes with the planning and coordinating. You can’t just come down without a purpose. As I’ve said before, there are no “extra” people wandering around down here.
Okay, we do experience amnesia, which makes things…interesting, kinda exciting, even an adventure. And without it, we wouldn’t play the game.

So…we’re thinking of taking a body again and all that entails.
The pros: An experience smorgasbord of:
Touch, feel, taste.
Sex
Emotions.
Personal interactions, relationships.
Endless choices
Just to name a few.
The cons: All of the above.
Add a dash of Free Will, and let the games begin.
That’s where the council comes in. It is composed of several souls that have such a vested interest in our plan, that they want to tag along. They very much need to be present at these “meetings” to coordinate just when and where they will make their
appearance. They may be the love of our lives AND the boss we can’t stand. Playing the parts that will help us the most to grow. Our parent’s souls are definitely part of that group. Enough said.

Then there are the souls whose job it is to help others plan their lives on Earth.

I think of them as the experts or the Masterminds. They may have never even had a life here, but they are the go-to source of all things Earth. (Which to me is like a priest teaching sex education, I’m just sayin’). But it works. They have an easy time being dispassionate. In other words, they don’t buy into the drama and the bullshit.

Also at the table, is the part of your soul you left behind. Often referred to as The Higher Self. The energy we are all composed of, is too huge to squeeze into this tiny body, so a large portion stays behind. It’s that part of us that has infinite knowledge, the smarty pants part of our souls. You can tell it’s your Higher Self a mile away, they cheer the loudest.
They all wear TEAM sweatshirts. TEAM JANET’S are red.
Seated next to them, are our Guardian Angels.
The bottom line is this: Everyone present wants to help us succeed with our purpose or plan.

Even if we don’t, they do check in at various times in our lives, to remind us of our path and give us love, support and chocolate. Most especially when the wheels have fallen off the cart and we are dangerously close to starring in our own TLC reality series: Living Bad Choices, Her Life As A Hot Mess.
Whenever I witness a complete 180 degree course correction in my life or someone’s close to me, I know the council had a hand in it. Bless them and their infinite patience and sense of humor.

All of this is done at an unconscious level of course, most likely while we’re asleep…or driving…or while our neighbor drones on about the snails in his garden.

When I was young, this all felt very “Big Brother” to me. Were they watching EVERYTHING? Did they see me in the bathroom or watch me try on bathing suits at Nordstrom?
But as I’ve grown older the thought of this council feels…comforting. Often, before I go to sleep at night, I give some thought and then set an intention as to what I’d like to discuss that night. If there’s a certain problem I want them to chew on for me, I just ask. I know they have the map of my life, all spread out, with the big picture. They know my purpose and the 17,000 different paths I can take to get there, and I trust them to show me the way. They are the voice of my intuition after all.

What color is your TEAM sweatshirt? Make a list of three topics you’d like the council to work on for you right before bed, then share the results with us.

XoxJanet

Thank you so much for all the lovely Birthday emails and comments. I love my blog family! And I didn’t bite anyone…one out of two.
XoxJanet

Who does that? Whose got the time? Yet, those are still the directions on the bottle of shampoo. If your hair won’t come clean after one shampoo, you’ve got bigger problems baby.

Tags on a mattress: It is forbidden, under penalty of law to remove the tags. 
Who leaves them on?
I rip tags off of everything…immediately.
I once worked my way around a friend’s apartment discreetly removing the tags that were still on her futon, chair cushions, couch and pillows. I couldn’t help myself.
Was she just lazy or following directions, hoping to avoid the tag police?

What about waiting a half hour after eating, before going back into the ocean or pool. “You’ll get a cramp and drown”. That rule never made any sense to me. Maybe it did happen to Margie’s cousins, kids, nephew. Never mind that they didn’t know how to tread water, it was the bologna sandwich that did them in. So, our moms enforced that rule to-the-minute. As a kid, I could inhale my lunch in 2.5 seconds, so a half an hour was an eternity. But to my mom, that rule was law.

Some people follow directions to the letter.
For me, directions, tags, rules for games, most rules in general, are always just….a suggestion.
The ones I can’t get around, like flossing and taxes, I adhere to begrudgingly.

Maybe it’s America. So much fear of liability. You can be sued by anyone, for anything. It’s not that way in other countries.
That’s why I love the Italians. In Italy there is a kind of “live in the moment” attitude that renders laws and rules…obsolete.
To the Italians they truly are only suggestions. Which makes them my people.
I was in Rome for a couple of weeks when every day it was well over 100 degrees. They call that August. There are many, many gorgeous fountains in Rome. Each had a sign that basically said: Stay out of the fountain. But by the number of men, women, little kids, grandmas, dogs, even nuns; standing and splashing around, you would have thought the sign said: Come on in, the water’s fine! Even the politzia turned a blind eye.
Several years later I went back and the signs were down. Why waste good wall space? Godere!

My husband, who is also European, so maybe it’s in the water; has a motto that I’ve grown to love, and have adopted as my own: It is easier to ask forgiveness, than to ask permission.
Meaning, if you know the answer most likely will be no, if you know a rule is about to be broken, and no one’s getting hurt, just do it. Gasp… I know, I know. But there are so many joyful, playful, beautiful things in life that somewhere along the line became “not okay.” Some killjoy decided it was a bad idea to swim too soon after eating or rip a tag off a mattress or shampoo only once or splash in a fountain on a hot summers day, and they ruined it for everyone.

I’m not advocating hurting anyone, defiling public property, or acts of debauchery.
I’m just saying, it’s okay to color outside the lines, to find joy whenever and wherever you can.
Rules are made to be broken. Tear some tags. Laugh in a library. If there are no cars, cross the street just before the light turns green. Oh you rebel! And if you’re caught in the fountain, don’t be embarrassed, just smile and say: I’m sorry, it’ll never happen again.
Until next time.

XoxJanet
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Do you have lists, folders or a bulletin board full of things you desire?
I do. At my store I had an entire wall of cork behind the desk. It was 11 feet high. The entire surface was covered with pictures, cards, swatches, anything and everything I loved. Except for the very tippy top, because if I could reach it standing on my chair, so be it. If I had to get the ladder; it didn’t make the cut. Too lazy.

I dream big. Always have, always will.
I believe EVERYTHING is obtainable.
The extraordinary things I covet and the pictures I collect are just reminders for me.
I want it all!
Then reality lands on my head. And while he messes my hair, he whispers in my ear this loaded question:
Are you willing to do what it takes?
We all know deep down what’s required to achieve our dreams.
What changes, course corrections, sacrifices, hard work and amount of commitment will deliver them to us.
But will we only reach as high as the chair will take us or will we get off of our asses and get the ladder?

Are you willing to do what it takes?
We can ask that question of ANY situation. If we do, often the answer will be: not now, or I’m not ready, or flat-out NO.
Then we have no one to blame but ourselves when something slips through our fingers and that’s no fun.
Blame comes in handy. It deflects the shame.

Sometimes you think you know what you’re willing to do, but if you’d really known what it would take, you’d have packed your bags and moved to Siberia.

When I decided to buy a house I knew I had to put an end to my frivolous spending.
I was making good money and buying everything that wasn’t nailed down. I was a hoarder of all the finest things in life. But I could not continue to be that girl AND own a home. Not unless I learned how to turn shoes into gold.
I was sick and tired of greasing Uncle Sam’s palm with my tax money, and listening to my upstairs neighbor’s terrible music and bad headboard rhythm during sex.

I wanted a house, and I wanted it in a year.
I was 39 years old. Time was a wastin’.
But…Was I willing to do what it would take?
It had to be drastic. I needed to save $40,000 in twelve months. I formulated a plan, and jumped. Are you seeing a pattern in my life? I am.

I moved out of my 3000 square foot rented duplex, and put everything in storage. Then my two Siamese cats, their giant cat tree, and 1/3 of my clothes, moved into a 10 x 10ft. bedroom at my sisters with her husband and my two-year old nephew.
It was a toddler/cat free-for-all for this childless, terminally single girl.
Did I also mention that my 7 minute commute turned into one hour each way?
Oh yeah, now THAT’S commitment.
All the sacrifice, all fur balls and midnight cat fights paid off. I did manage to move out after exactly one year. It was a good thing too. My sister was four months pregnant with my niece by then and was going to need MY room.

As I write this I’m sitting in that very house, which I LOVE. I’m proud of myself for buckling down, behaving like grown up, and going after my dream.
Parts of it were fun, but I can’t imagine doing it again. Not in a million years.

I’ve worked two jobs, logged thousands of overtime hours, and passed on great vacation trips, as I’m sure a lot of you have, to get what I wanted.
I’ve learned how to be soft and vulnerable, while getting my heart-broken, in order to be ready for my husband.
Some jumps I’ve taken have failed.
A lot of what I’ve done, I’d never do again.
If I’d REALLY known what it would take, I may not have been so willing.
I think as time goes on you develop a kind of amnesia to the pain. It keeps you in the game.

Regardless, it couldn’t have been THAT bad.
It has all brought me here, and here, is pretty damn good.
So I say: Go for it.

XoxJanet

Ultimatums are rarely a good idea.
In life, in relationships and when dealing with the Universe.
When we are driven to taking this tactic, hands on our hips, lips pursed, loaded with attitude, wearing our bossy pants…we will lose.
And we’ve ALL done it.

Think about it, you have set your terms, made your demands and you are promising some kind of retaliation or an end to communication all together, if you don’t get the answer you desire.
First of all, that’s called emotional extortion, that’s a topic for another day.
Still, it seems like you have all the power… butcha don’t….Not really.

The final outcome lies in the hands of the receiver of the ultimatum.
It’s his call, he could end it all. Because YOU said so.

You know what the Universe says to an ultimatum?
“You’re not the boss of me”.

You know how I know that? Because it told me so.

Recently; like yesterday, I was giving the Universe my latest, in the long line of ultimatums I’ve been issuing, and that “voice” chimed in:
Me: So, here’s the deal, you’ve gotta do “this thing” or I can’t make all this other stuff happen.
Uni: Don’t give me an ultimatum, you’re not the boss of me, give me choices.
Me: What do you mean, choices?
Uni: Give me your three most preferable choices, in descending order, from best to worst. I’ll take it from there.
Me: Why would I do that?
Uni: To maintain your flexibility. It also allows us to throw you a curve ball. Something amazing, that’s completely unexpected.
Me: But I really, strongly, feel that it has to go down my way.
Uni: You are acting stubborn and misguided.
Me: Don’t sugarcoat it, tell me how you really feel…Shit…okay.

After that, I did come up with three scenarios that would work in that situation.
Funny, earlier I was convinced there was only one. So, I shot off a mental memo to the Universe, and sat back feeling relieved.
I wasn’t nervously waiting for the shoe to drop. Now I knew it could go any number of ways and that would be fine.
I DID feel more flexibility around my expectations.
I’m Gumby dammit!

Now I’ve got to go borrow a baseball mitt, gotta be ready for my curveball.
How about you?

XoxJanet 

I like to clear the air.
Literally and Energetically.
I like to have all the windows open when weather permits, with cross ventilation and a breeze. I can smell the difference in a room. No more stuffy, stale dog farts hanging in the air.

It also FEELS transformed. Like all the molecules have played musical chairs, and have repositioned themselves; and the nasty ones have left the room.

I usually take this a step further and burn Nagchampa incense. I must admit right here and now, that I have a thing for incense.
It really sends me. I blame my Catholic upbringing. When the smoke from that rich Frankincense would envelope me during Mass, my eyes would roll back in my head, and I’d be GONE.
Anyway…My original meditation teacher from back-in-the-day turned me onto Nagchampa. It is widely used in yoga, and meditation, to helps create a sacred space. For centuries in India it has been used for cleansing and purging areas of negativity & unwanted spirits and energy. Who doesn’t need some of that?
It is the smell you are likely smelling in every Yoga studio, meditation class and New Age bookstore. And here is why: Nagchampa incense has several benefits. It has a natural sedative effect and will help to unwind your body. It consist of sandalwood which is a strong calming agent and is said to have a high spiritual vibration and aid in calming the restless mind.
Which makes it my best friend and my go to energy unwinder.
If it’s too early for wine, I burn some Nagchampa.

I’m also a big believer in burning white sage.
I KNOW it changes the energy of a room or a person.
The American Indians call it “smudging”. It comes in bundles at any health food store, and has two distinct properties:
1) It is a bitch to keep burning. I’ve heard all the tricks, it’s not dry enough, blah, blah, blah. You either get a bundle that sets off every smoke alarm or one that won’t stay lit.
The benefits are totally worth it; just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
2) It smells suspiciously like pot.
If you smudge your place of business, and any of the smoke lingers, you will get those “knowing” smiles.
My sister and I burned sage so much when my nephew was young, we joked that when he became a teenager and went to his first rock concert, he would wonder to himself (silently we prayed) “Who’s burning the sage?”
I’ve saged every new apartment and house I’ve lived in since I was 19.
You start with the doorways, windows and hallways. Make sure the smoke reaches the ceiling, and just trace the outline of each room, paying attention to the corners.
High traffic areas are a must. Bedrooms are essential. Then I concentrate on any place where a fight or even snarky words have occurred. That is pretty much every square inch of my living space. And since I can be the Queen of Snark, I sage the shit out of myself. I just follow the outline of my body, paying special attention 
to. my. mouth.
All kidding aside, saging someone who is or has been going through emotional crisis can be very healing.

Clearing the emotion off of objects is a different story.
When I worked with antique jewelry, I handled every piece that came through our store, especially in the early days. 
I would clean it, price it, and enter its description in our inventory. Last but not least, I would display it.
Occasionally, I would pick up a piece and it would reek of sadness.
Or anger.
Or both.
Stones, especially diamonds are huge energy absorbers and transmitters.
Think of a crystal radio.
The two methods I know to clear the energy and bring a piece of jewelry back to just metal and stones, are to bury it in dirt or submerge in saltwater for three days.
Get a dedicated pot of dirt if that’s the method you choose. And be wary of squirrels. I’m not kidding.
Back in those early days we had a saltwater fish tank in the store and on any given day you could walk by and see 8-10 pieces of jewelry hanging by their tags in the tank.
My boss would roll his eyes so hard I thought he was going to do a backflip.

I also kept a laminated chart, hidden under my desk blotter, of gemstones and their energetic properties. He was convinced I was nuts and that my “woo woo” techniques were bullshit…until a customer would ask a question about the energy of a diamond, or what healing qualities an amethyst possessed.
As the end of the 20th century approached, it became a regular occurrence.
We catered to celebrities. Celebrities believe this stuff.
In order to make a sale, I would overhear him:
“We have a chart that can answer your question” or 
“We can put that ring in our fish tank and you can pick it up Friday.”
I loved that he said “We.” Ha!
I had no idea he had been paying attention.
I think he may have even started to believe.
At least he didn’t roll his eyes anymore.
Listen, I wasn’t out to convert anyone, but I think it may have just been absorbed through osmosis.

Ah, who am I kidding, he probably has a drawer full of Nagchampa at home, and a dedicated pot of dirt.

XoxJanet

So…I was in the middle of writing another post yesterday morning when the earth moved.
Actually, my wise friend said it yawned. I love that.
Just don’t swallow my house, will ya?
It’s all good.
The dogs got a bit jittery, one picture fell but didn’t break.
I say: No big whoop.

I couldn’t go back to my previous thought though, and continue writing the post.
I kept being reminded, for some reason of the 1994 earthquake.
This mornings was just a poor imititation.
January 1994 was as close to “The Big One” as I’ve ever been, and ever want to be.

Of the things that came to mind, several were kinda mystical, and some started me on the road to retrieving my sanity. I know, pretty dramatic, cut me a break here!

Back in 1994 I lived in a high rise in “mid city” as they call it. So as not to be confused with downtown or the west side.
It was dark o’clock. Just after four in the morning.
I remember waking up to pee and feeling a deep sense of calm and well being.
I distinctly remember those feelings because:
1) They were an anomaly. I was not having a good time. I was suffering horrible anxiety attacks and living on Xanax just to cope. (Read my We Have An Agreement posts. There are four, sorry)
2) The timing. It was like a warm hug of reassurance before all hell broke loose.

I won’t get into too much detail. Suffice it to say, the damage was extensive.
Every window shattered, my walls cracked open so wide you could pass the Grey Poupon into the next room.

The first mystical experiences I had, were part of my post quake hysteria.
I just wanted to get the hell out of my building.
The swaying from the initial quake and subsequent aftershocks was making me sea sick.
I grabbed my purse with my car keys and began my adrenalin fueled sprint down nine flights of stairs.
When I reached the covered garage, I pulled my car out for safety and sat shaking violently listening for any news on the radio.
Then my eyesight went.
Just like that.
It was perfect until the adrenalin wore off. Then I went back to being blind as a bat.
In my haste to escape, I forgot to put in my contacts or grab my glasses.
If I was going to drive or basically function at all that day, I had to run back up and get my glasses. Shit. 

I thought it might be a good idea to brush my teeth while I was at it. If I was going to venture out on the mean streets of “mid city” to forage for food and shelter, morning breath wouldn’t be an asset.
I was terrified to go back up, but I had no choice. When I got to my apartment ( I had left the door wide open) there were neighbors still wearing jammies in the hall. One of the men grabbed me by the arm to stop me from running back inside. He pointed at all the broken glass and then looked down at my bare feet.
He was nice enough with his flashlight (no electricity) and slippers to go inside and get me my glasses and a pair of flip flops. You could hear every tentative step, marked by the crunching of broken glass.
How the hell had I gotten out of there without a single cut on my feet?

Forget brushing my teeth, no water. Gum would have to suffice.

By the way, the neighbors on the opposite side of the hall from me, had much less significant damage. None of their windows were broken. They could not believe the extant of the damage to the apartments that faced northwest.
Earthquakes are similar to tornados in the randomness of their destruction.
Either it’s your lucky day…or it’s not.

My kitchen was a freakin’ disaster. It seemed every cabinet had opened and thrown its contents against the opposite wall. Not to be outdone, the refrigerator and freezer had gotten into the act as well. There was a ginormous pile of china, food and glass with a booze chaser on the floor.
Here’s where the mystical part comes in.
EVERY piece of crystal, china, and ceramics from my marriage was PULVERIZED.
Like the aftermath of a wild, drunken Greek wedding on steroids.
They weren’t just broken, they had reverted back into sand.
During clean up; there was NO salvage; my shaman friend pointed out that the cabinet just next to the “wedding stuff” had remained closed and everything inside was safe. It appeared that anything fragile that I had purchased in the ten years since the divorce was okay to stay. Anything from before that, was a total loss.
He reminded me that crystal holds energy, it holds memories, and THAT just needed to go.

As you can imagine I had to move. I chose a cute little ground floor garden apartment, all wood floors and bookcases. SO much better for my energy to be around wood. 
The steel and glass of the high rise had been messing with me. 
I started to feel better almost immediately.
That was part one of my sanity recovery.
Part two was the fact that I was no longer alone in my neurosis. EVERYONE was a nervous wreak.
I mean it.
EVERYONE in the city had a story to tell. Men told me how they couldn’t stop shaking. Women were all red eyed from not sleeping. They should have put Valium in the water, almost everyone I talked to was taking them like candy to navigate the daily aftershocks.
It was freakin’ awesome! 
Misery truly does love company I’m ashamed to say.
If EVERYONE is freaking out and you’re suffering panic attacks, you look downright normal.

Okay, one last mystical story.
Fast forward a couple of months.
I’m feeling better, I’m in the shower getting ready to go to a Buddhist chanting, 
and “that” voice says: You’re okay, you’re fine.
Me: yes; yes I am.
Voice: You’re okay, you’re fine.
Me: Um…thanks…good to know.
Voice: You’re okay, you’re fine.
Me: WTF?
Then it started. Very slooooowly. I actually heard it before I felt it.
Earthquake….In the shower…No!
One of my top ten worst fears realized.

But, of course I was okay, I was fine.
XoxJanet

Was in the middle of writing when the entire house started to rock and roll. Earthquake!
Lost my connection with the Muse.
Happy Monday!

Enough said…Happy Sunday!

I just was left a message on my phone, from my darling niece.
She is currently deep into her post-graduate studies in New York, and since I live in LA it’s been months since we’ve seen each other.
I miss her.

Now, if you had asked me if she ever gave me a moments thought, other than when I’m not sitting across from her at her mom’s dinner table, I’d have said: Hell no!
But I was wrong. And I don’t mind being wrong…in this instance.

Let me just describe this virtual hug, because it was delicious.
It was so delicious that I’m going to use all of its ingredients to craft my own and I’m going to surprise hug someone. That’s how nice it was!
You should do it too.

Timing: not too early, not too late. Those calls are fraught with anxiety and just annoying.
You always think: Uh oh, aunt Barbara died. Mid morning is good.

One large scoop of warmth: Make sure this is pure organic warmth, not that imitation stuff.

Tone of voice: Very important. not rushed. Not like you’re jumping out of a cab or racing to a hair appointment. Slow and steady.

Just a dash of well-chosen words, don’t ramble. Rambling just confuses people.
Remember, this is a virtual hug. Can’t be too short (insincere) or too long (awkward).

Mix all these ingredients gently into a phone message.
Serves—All

I think a message is preferable. Pick a time you know they can’t answer.
It wouldn’t have been AS effective if I’d picked up, but hey, a hugs a hug right?
But, the surprise of listening to it later is part of the whole virtual hug experience.

Seriously, she just said: I hope your day is going well, just sending you a big warm hug. Know that I’m thinking of you and I wished we talked more, I love you and have a beautiful Friday.

Short. Sweet. Delicious.

Let’s all do it.
I encourage you
No, I challenge you,
No, I double dog dare you.
To virtually hug somebody this weekend.

XoxJanet