inspirational

If our souls live forever,
marking time inside each day,
if we share in this endeavor,
then I guess it’s safe to say,
I will love you past the end of time.

As we share this mortal coil,
and we wear a suit of skin,
never stopping at the endings,
waiting for each lifetime to begin,
There, I will love you past the end of time.

Life may bring the next adventure,
we never know where it will lead,
I will wait for you, my darling,
I will not miss you, there’s no need,
for I will love you past the end of time.

JB to her beloved RB 

Here is my disclaimer right up front: This is a story about a very shallow girl…me, and how a list, a good friend, and some abracadabra, helped me manifest my true love.

At the point where my story begins, it’s the year 1999 and I have known Wes for about five years. We first met at the channeling group of a mutual friend.

Let me stop right here.
Wes is drop-dead gorgeous! He is a 6’3″ tall, dark, handsome, drink of water. When I first saw him at this friend’s house, I thought to myself: Okay, Spiritual practice, now you’re talkin’, because, up until that moment it had mostly been women that showed up for these things or men who still lived with their mothers.

He and I made goo-goo eyes at each other and tried not to burst out laughing at some of the questions that were asked. I know – Not my proudest moment.

We thought EVERYTHING was hilarious.
Wes is very chill about all this spiritual stuff. He doesn’t take any of it too seriously, which I love, and we had a lot in common. We had read all the same books, had a very similar spiritual practice, had the same twisted, warped sense of humor…and both loved men.

Sad, but true.
So, I was the Grace to his Will.
We loved each other madly, with no extra benefits.

After the crash and burn of yet another one of my romantic relationships, instead of saying, “I told you so” Wes suggested going to our channel friend for a session with just the two of us. He was also newly single at the time and felt we could get some good one-on-one advice, without other people asking if their dead Aunt was speaking to them through their cat.

At this session “they” suggested we each make a list of the attributes our beloved should possess, after which we should meet and give that list to the other, for them to use as kind of “manifestation template.”

Before I go on, I want to add this little side note:
I thought it would be a good idea at the time to take all of my ex’s cards, pictures, etc. and burn them. I would then scatter the ashes to the wind, giving the Universe a smoke signal that there was now a boyfriend void to fill.

With my right shoulder cradling the phone, I took Wes outside with me, along with my box of memories and a lighter. It was about 8 p.m., cold and dark and lightly drizzling, which I thought was a good sign.
I put everything on a large stone in the middle of my wet patio and lit it up. After a couple of minutes, there was a good little fire going, and I watched our smiling faces and birthday cards filled with his once loving words, melt before my eyes. Trouble was, a significant breeze had picked up and started swirling a small tornado of embers all around me! I was screaming and trying to get away, but the lost love delivery system, disguised as burning paper, was in my hair, my face, and my mouth and burning tiny holes in my flannel nightgown. All the while, Wes laughed hysterically into my ear!

So…
We met at an Italian restaurant, and armed with a bottle of Chianti courage, we exchanged our Relationship Lists and decided to read each other’s out loud, to gain clarity.
Big mistake…Huge.

He read mine first:
Affectionate…okay
Passionate….yep
Funny….critical
Loves sex….um…
Loves my cats….he glanced up at me and winced
Loves a lot of sex….gulp
Snappy dresser…..really?
Enormously wealthy…Shallow, I warned you!
Blah, blah, blah.

Hearing them out loud was literally painful. My face was on fire with humiliation.
Wes was laughing so hard he had to hold a napkin to his mouth, tears streaming down his face.

Then it was my turn to read his list:
Concerned about the planet…okay.
Philanthropic…of course
Self confidant…uh huh
Belief in a higher power…shit!
Nurturing…I want that!
Concern for my well being…give me my F*cking list back!

My light and funny friend surprised me, his list was seriously great! It was honest and deep and full of heart.

Mine was crap. Where’s a candle? It NEEDED to catch fire!
I was lunging across the table, trying to grab my ridiculously shallow list back, but he put it in his pocket and kept it.

And then, my magical, mystical, friend manifested the perfect man for me.
In a year.

That is the actual list above…I have no pride.
Wes found it in a box during a recent move, framed it, and gave it to me for my birthday last year.

I have yet to manifest a significant other for him….have you seen his standards?!
Xox

Let me give a quick recap, for those of you that haven’t read parts I & II.
(But I suggest you do)
This is a recounting of the spiritual awakening that happened to me in late 1993.

Me, the shitty meditator, suddenly can’t stop meditating, and then crazy, mystical experiences ensue, one of them being a booming voice telling me: “We have an agreement!”…twice.
In my pre-technology search to find out what the hell is happening, I encountered an energy worker, “T” with whom I got a “body work” session.
There, now I think you’re all caught up!

I’ve actually been hesitant to write about what came next, because it wasn’t pretty.
But in the spirit of full disclosure, here goes.

I had the body/energy work, which wasn’t a massage, as my naïveté had led me to believe. His hands never touched my body. They radiated lots of heat, and gave me a tingling feeling as they passed about 6-8 inched above me.
Well, that’s a lie.
He poked and prodded my feet with such intense pressure, I kept yelping, and pulling away. His response? “Breathe through it”.
Thanks pal.

On my way out, he mentioned that I should get some apple cider vinegar to put in a bath, and soak 20 minutes to move out any toxins. He also said I may feel sick.
As I was walking around the Von’s near my house, getting the vinegar and a People Magazine, I started to feel nauseous. Let’s just say, I barely got home without defiling my car. I proceeded to projectile vomit all day and all night for 3 days!
I can remember in my vomit induced semi coma, calling in sick to work, drooling into my pillow and asking the Universe, or whoever would listen, what the hell was happening to me.
“Detox” was all I got.

“T” called during that time to check on me. He actually laughed when I told him how sick I was. “Good, get all that shit out” he said. I never did get used to his weird sense of humor and bedside manner. “It’s all stuck emotion; name it as it leaves.” So I did.
“That’s fear…that’s anger…that’s sadness.” I didn’t have to make it up, the emotion would name itself on its way out. I still do that to this day.

I did tell him I was worried I hadn’t kept any food down is three days, and he suggested I ask “them” to let the food stay, and not leave as vomit. That actually worked. It was so freaky to eat toast and tea, and a half hour later, have the vomit be clear. How does THAT work?

Also, I had no idea the Universe had a request line.

About two weeks later I met “T” for lunch, and he announced that I was ready for another session.
NO WAY, JOSE!!!
He just laughed, telling me that the first time is always the worst, and that mine was particularly ferocious because I am someone who likes “to move fast”.

Why is my process so funny to him, and how is it he thinks he has me all figured out?
He was fast becoming one of my least favorite people, AND
I went the next day for more energy work.

WHAT is my problem!!?? Have I lost my mind???
Not yet.

(To be continued)
XoxJanet

If life is a dance, I have two left feet.
Which of course makes it hard to buy shoes! Ha!
But if you’ve seen me dance, or do Zoomba, or even Tai Chi, you know what I mean.

Everyone else is moving in sync to the right, I’m moving, always with great conviction…to the left.
It’s just my nature.
Always has been. 
As much as I desperately want to avoid embarrassment, it is next to impossible for me to just blend in, to stay inside the lines, to behave and “dance” like everyone else. But, I really have tried, and it has been exhausting.

Just like I play my own soundtrack in my head, as it runs through my life (don’t you?)
I have my own unique, sometimes awkward and clumsy choreography; which I often dance alone. 
It may not be pretty, but it has gotten me here.

Every once in a great while, I’m supremely graceful; like the Prima Ballerina in Swan Lake.
I’m dancing around, up on pointed toes, with my neck long, and my arms fluttering slightly.
The only problem is, the rest of the world is doing a tap routine, and I look like an ass!

So, here’s the thing: I had a humongous epiphany after catching The Dead Poet’s Society on HBO a couple of weeks back. Damn! I had forgotten what a great movie that is, OR, I didn’t have the depth of character in 1989 to fully grasp it’s meaning. Probably the latter.

In case you don’t know, or can’t remember, it takes place in an elite all boys prep school, in the 1950’s. There’s a new, unorthodox English professor, Mr. Keating, who, among other things, has them stand on top of their desks to see the world in a different way. He also challenges them to call him “O Captain, My Captain.”

John Keating: “O Captain, my Captain. Who knows where that comes from? Anybody? Not a clue? It’s from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now in this class you can either call me Mr. Keating, or if you’re slightly more daring, O Captain my Captain.”

He is pushing these boy-men to embrace great literature and poetry, to become free thinkers, to question authority and buck convention. In other words, my Holy Grail!

Bear with me here, because it was this next scene that really got me.
He has his class assemble in the school courtyard, where, as an exercise in self-expression, he has them walk in a circle. A couple swing their arms, several stomp their feet, but soon they are all marching perfectly in time. Although they find it funny, Mr. Keating is proving a point.

We may start off marching to our own beat, but we soon succumb to the herd mentality. We all fall in step, conform, becoming part of that herd.
It’s encoded in our DNA.
Mr. Keating wants them to break that code, to consider being another way.
Perhaps, to even entertain the idea that it might be okay to go left, instead of right, to dance to their own untamed choreography.
Hmmmmmm. Maybe my feet aren’t broken after all.

John Keating: Now we all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go,
John Keating: “That’s baaaaad.” [imitating a goat] Frost said, “Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

Amen, Captain, My Captain.
XoxJanet

I’m going to print this and put it up everywhere!!

There is a tightrope that lives at the edge of the cliff,
that spans to the other side.
If you fancy going any further, my friend,
the need for balance is implied.

To take a first step may terrify,
those among you that fail to comply.
For lack of fortitude, courage and balance, has caused,
Many a hopeful to die.

Their death isn’t really an ending as such,
it is merely another chance to try.
For energy doesn’t just disappear to dust,
It regroups for another ride!

Each time you arrive at the edge of this cliff,
with the tightrope firmly in your sights,
just take a deep breath, and don’t look down,
for that will trigger your fear of heights!

But if you let yourself glimpse down below, my love,
for more than a minute, you’ll spoil the plot,
you’ll see that there’s a net of gold, just beyond the edge,
and an angel has tied every knot.

So don’t fear what you see, and don’t understand,
or what is hidden in plain sight.
You’ll discover there’s help every step of the way,
that you can’t see when you put up a fight.

So run across the tightrope, please give it a try!
save your fear for another day.
Now that your know that you never really die,
you can more than live…you can play!

Happy Weekend! here’s another list of symptoms, that may accompany your open heart attack 🙂
XoxJanet

I hate going backwards. Period! In life. In love. In careers.
Here’s how it manifests in the most aggravating way in real time.

I had a stretch of time a few years back, maybe 7-8 years ago, where I was incapable of backing up my car without hitting something. Seriously.

Small poles and such at first, and then the Pièce de résistance (thank you French husband), I backed my SUV up and ONTO the hood of a brand new Audi S6, with my trailer hitch acting as a can opener, as up his hood I went!

All this at the holidays, in a crowded Post Office parking lot that is literally the size of a postage stamp…(aren’t they all)? Hence the reason I couldn’t hear that guy’s frantic honking over all the usual holiday, postage stamp parking lot honking.

*Side note: I’ve always thought car horns should have different sounds to express different emotions, (I feel the same way about ringtones on phones). One could be a pissed off sounding HEY! for all the Prius drivers; another sounds like clearing your throat, to just get someone’s attention, you know, after the light has turned green and they’re texting. Another is so high pitched that only animals can hear it, for all those cats and errant squirrels that play chicken with my car.

But the one I needed to hear that day was the frantic horn.
Hey!!!! Beeeeeeepppp!!!!! Hey!!!!! Laaaaaddyyyyyy!!!! 

Cool idea huh? You can steal it, just give me credit.
And send big checks.

Here’s the best part. I did it in front of my husband, who was in another car, eyes wide, mouth agape in disbelief, trying to look anonymous even though he had just kissed me goodbye for all the world to see. 

He was also laying on HIS horn too! See?!! Too much honking!
Geez! How’s a girl to think?

So I carry with me to this day, a fear of going in reverse.
I will do anything to avoid backing up. I will drive around the block for hours, to find a parallel parking space.

I get jittery and leave the Trader Joes parking lot if it’s too crowded, and the spaces look dicey. I will NEVER back out of a driveway onto a busy street.
I would just as soon leave my car there and buy a new one.

I’m just so afraid I will maneuver my can opener, I mean car, up onto another unsuspecting victim.

Because I’m so nervous, EVERYTHING is drawn to behind my car! Isn’t that just the way it goes?! The second my backup lights come on, all manner of cars,trucks,scooters, ancient grandmas and grandpas, dogs, cats, children in strollers, ladies in rollers, kids on skateboards, twenty-something girls on their cell phones, and expensive sports cars, magically and instantly appear, (and closer than they really are) in my rear view mirror!

Because of this fear I have become a magnet for the slow and unaware among us.
If I honk to alert them to my presence, they flip me off. Grandmas give me stink eye.

I watch other people with great envy that can just put it in “R” and zip carefree
backwards and out, into traffic.

Remember my list of the things I’m not good at? I’m adding this, somewhere up near the top.
Quit your snickering, you’re all so smug…you can join my husband.

Carry on
Xox

When war is no longer needed
To settle a score
No more banging of the drum
Or pounding on the chest.

When a father’s grievances 
his rage and fear,
hold no weight with his son
for it is not his fight.

When mothers take a stand
and say “No more”!
“You may not have my son”
to fight your needless war!”

When the land of the earth,
under the feet of these men,
will not tolerate division,
then they will understand.

There will be no support,
moral or financial ,
for such endeavors that kill,
in the name of God ,
or his brothers.

Then THAT will be true freedom,
not the one that binds,
not the one that wants to own, 
and imprison,
but another kind.

This freedom does not say
“this is yours and this is mine”
It shares all its diversity,
the sum of the whole being 
greater than its parts.

This day will come,
in the not so distant future,
let the energy support it 
it will be your best future,
and the greatest legacy 
to leave your children.

I will devour this thing called life
In giant sloppy bites!
Because to nibble around the edges would be a crime.

I will take in every taste, feel and smell,
As it is offered to me, with mouth and hands and senses wide open,
Leaving no morsel of living left behind.

If you say you want to live a measured life,
Don’t come sit by me,
For the laughing will be as loud as the tears where I sit.
Things will appear messy and uncensored, and way too big at times.

But if you want to run through tall grass with bare feet,
If you want to stand on the beach with your face in the wind,
If you think you can handle both joy and despair,
Then take my hand.
For this is one wild and crazy ride,
Take all the chances, make every mistake,
Because you only get to be “you” once,
And you will not come out of it alive!