Isis

Triscuits, Green Drinks and Isis—My Latest Neurosis

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I am so screwed.

On Sunday morning, during meditation, the voice in my head, THAT voice in my head, suggested in a strong tone that I needed to start a minimum three-day green drink fast.

Shit. You’ve gotta be joking.

I knew the voice who was doing the talking and it’s not a prankster.
Part of being intuitive is recognizing the different voices in your head. It was not my Muse, the bossy pants who writes, nor was it the tender-hearted poet. I’m still getting them all straight.

Some would call it my imagination—or even mental illness I suppose. But I love them all as they come to the forefront of my mind and until one of them commands me to rob a Seven-Eleven—I trust them.

This was the wiser, more tuned in presence that resides somewhere close by—always guiding me. An expert at the spiritual heavy lifting that is required in order to keep me on my path. It was that same voice that suggested I could be happier, that maybe I needed to leave my husband back in ’84—it was also the voice that told me I’d live after the devastating loss of my store.

It also guided me toward writing.

It is the steady voice that takes the bull out of bullshit and turns things around. It has steered me right so many times. Too many to mention. So I listen.

But they know who they’re dealing with when they make their suggestions so naturally I struck up a negotiation. It’s what I do. It’s my superpower I suppose. I never take anything at face value, and I most certainly never take NO for an answer. I really should work for the U.N. or the State Department.

The voice said a green drink fast meaning NO food, but first things first—No coffee?
No way.
Not gonna happen.
A compromise? I MUST have my coffee! I yelled in my head. I didn’t hear any argument so I took that as a yes.

Negotiations complete. Now I’m happy to do the fucking fast.

I am SO accommodating. And enlightened. Are you getting that?

Deep down I knew why the fast had been suggested.
Because Isis makes me eat.
Not terrorism as a whole, and not even Al-Qaeda
It is Isis.

Last week was the worst. Isis threw me into an epic food-binging blur.
It made me reach for the wine on a weeknight. We try not to imbibe on school nights, you know, so we can feel disciplined.

All bets were off. As the coverage of the attacks in France escalated, instead of curling into the fetal position and crying I dove into the Triscuits. Fucking Triscuits and cheese! Like, crack cocaine. And wine. Did I mention the red wine?

Also…last weekend…my husband’s ex-wife killed a man.
Yep.
As if the energy wasn’t batshit crazy enough, we heard that his ex-wife had committed first-degree murder. What do you do with that information? How do you process such a thing?

You add meat to the cheese on the Triscuit. Then you throw in some sort of fried food. And wine. Have I mentioned the wine?

So it appears I have developed an Isis and first-degree murder inspired eating disorder, which is redundant if you think about it and the all-time weirdest sentence I never thought I’d write. But I’m guessing you have too. 

By Saturday night, I was in a food frenzy coma. Feeling bloated and angry with myself, I said a little prayer as I rolled like a Weeble into bed.
Let me receive clarity, I asked. Clarity on all of it—Life, death, Isis, stress eating—all of it.
I’m not sure, but I think I feel asleep with a Triscuit in my mouth.

Do a green drink fast for at least the next three days was the first thing I heard the next morning in that place between asleep and awake. That’s my sweet spot, that place. I’ve heard amazing things there from the part of me that has my well-being at heart. Life changing things. Hard things. Things that terrified me in—a good way.

So I assumed that was the answer to my query.

Remember me? I’m the one practicing surrender. Fucking surrender. To what life offers and where my intuition guides me.

So here I am, late Monday morning, a little over twenty-four hours in and I am suffering! The timing of this is a cruel joke.

We shopped for Thanksgiving yesterday, so not only are there Triscuits in the house, there are Ruffles with ridges. And dip. And the ingredients for pies. Pies that I will have to make during this green drink thing.

Lord help me.

There were so many delectable holiday food commercials on television last night that I put myself to bed at 8:30. I couldn’t stand it. Even the Denny’s commercial had me salivating. I think I have to give back my foodie membership card for saying that.

This morning I’m hangry (anger brought on by hunger). I almost killed a man with my bare hands at the car wash. I see you there, you man. Enjoying your Power Bar. Asshole.

I’m coming unhinged.

Pray for me. I’m winging it here and have clearly lost my mind. I’ve decided to go all the way through Wednesday, making this a four-day green drink fast.

This is noteworthy. I am someone who only dabbles in green drinks. I am an amateur and an all time whining wimp. This is the Olympic Decathlon of green drinking and my hope is to medal because I’ve been told by the bravest part of me, the part that knows no fear, that after such a systemic detox—then I will find clarity.

Until then…

I am so screwed.

I’ll keep you posted.

xox

Divine Visitation or Batshit Crazy? What-The-Hell-Wednesday Is Back!

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ME!

I was in the middle of writing today’s blog post, when I received an email from my friend Steph in Florida.

The subject line of her email read: Divinity or Batshit?

When that flashed across the screen of my laptop, I stopped typing (my 17 words a minute) – color me – intrigued.
As I read on, I realized that it would be perfect for another, DA,DA, DA, DA, Daaaaaaa! (Fanfare)

What-The-Hell-Wednesday

Divine Visitation or Batshit Crazy Person? Can they be the same thing?

It seems she’s been visited at work by several “interesting beings” as she put it. If you’ve spent any time in retail this comes as no surprise. The general public is…interesting at best.

Just the other day, during a jewelry repair, a woman spent the entire time talking about meditation and her spiritual journey.

You know, like you do while they’re sizing your ring.

There have been several more out of the ordinary exchanges, but the weirdest one happened just this past Saturday.
According to Steph, a modestly dressed, quiet woman, looked around her store for awhile, until she found a necklace she liked. Steph engaged her in conversation, asking her if she was buying it for a special occasion. The woman was quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time, looking down, deep in thought, then she looked up and locked eyes with her.
Have you ever heard of the Pearl of Great Price?” She asked.
Steph started to make a joke about having much more expensive pearls in stock, (one of the many reasons I love her, quick on her feet…and funny), when the woman caught her even more off guard, “From the Bible” she said, getting intense.
Um…no.”
Here is the rest of Steph’s email:

“Now I’m confused, but I’m listening.
She says that she IS a prophet, an angel on earth who walks with the light of the Lord. She tells the parable of the pearl and in her interpretation the pearl was faith in God and that he “sold all his earthly possessions to buy it” meaning that the man in the parable gave up all material possessions to walk with God.

Okaaayyy? Now I am really confused. Why was this person who talks of giving up material things shopping in a jewelry store? Am I being visited by a divine entity? What am I missing here? As a stand there, mouth agape, trying to process what she is saying…
She goes on to say that she has a letter for Moses who was supposed to be with her here. He was supposed to meet her here. He was supposed to “walk” with her.
(There is no emoticon that can convey my confusion at this point. I am dumbfounded.)
She hands me a folded piece of paper and asks me to give it to Moses.
I refrain from asking “does he still walk the earth?” as a smartass, because I can’t tell if I am in the presence of divinity or batshit crazy.

We exchanged a pleasant “good-bye, be well and God bless” and she left the store.

Since Moses was not available, we read her letter. Immediately, one of my colleagues starts making “crazy” comments, but I just felt sympathy for her. She obliviously believes in what she is saying. It did not seem like a charade or joke. She seemed to be sincere.

Needless to say, the jury is still debating over the possibility of divine contact. My best guess as of right now is a combination of true belief and a little bit of batshit.”

Crazy right?
Yes, I really do live a life where people send me these stories, asking for clarity. Because batshit is my specialty. Well, that and Estate Jewelry, chocolate bundt cake, and divine visitations. Needless to say, they know I’m not going to laugh, I’m obsessively curious, I take nothing at face value, and I’ve probably had something similar happen to me.
It has also been my experience that the Universe uses the disenfranchised of the world as messengers (less filters, no set schedules/obligations).

Case in point. Here is my response:

“All I can say is Wow! And Holy Cow!
I’d love to see what the letter to Moses said.

I don’t believe anything is random or a coincidence, that being said, if your co-workers hadn’t been around you and you could have had a solitary experience with this woman, what would YOU have thought of her?
Divine? Or batshit crazy?

I’m asking because I’ve come to believe that some homeless or seemingly fringe/crazy people are really Bodhisattva’s in disguise.

I once had a kind of, what appeared to be shady/fringe character, come to the Excalibur booth when we were on the dark, second aisle and I had worked there for a very short time. He seemed directionless, asking what I thought at the time were stupid questions: “Are you a happy person?’, “what makes you smile?” annoying stuff like that, all the while intermittently staring at me intensely and looking at watches. Batshit – right? I was alone and he was making me nervous.

He had on a man-purse (before anyone carried one) and when he could sense I was loosing my patience, he opened it, saying he had something for me… and pulled out a white feather and handed it to me. I declined, but he said he was sent to give it to me, so I took it. I still have it.

I think right about that time the owner walked up and said “Hey David” and introduced me to a “dealer” that I later found out was a loaner/free spirit who spent most of his time in Sri Lanka, India, and Burma, trading gemstones.

Five years later when I was going through all that weird energy shit and Terrence, my pocket shaman was working with me, he mentioned The Order of Isis. I was intrigued. (Isis the Egyptian Goddess, not the radical Islamic group – It was 1988) Anyhow, He went on to explain that it was part of ancient Egyptian mystery schools to induct young woman into The Order of Isis before an initiation. 

“Did anyone ever walk up to you and give you a white feather?” he asked, like that happens all the time.
I was flabbergasted as I recalled being handed that feather by David that day. “The white feather is her invitation, her calling card into The Order, now you’re just in the middle of the initiation.”

David and I never spoke about the feather, and I often wondered “why me?” he didn’t go to anyone else’s booth that day, handing out white feathers – just made a beeline to me. (I don’t wonder anymore- I get it)”

When she sent me the letter to Moses, it was kinda out there.
The woman had signed it so I looked her up. She is definitely fringe.
She causes trouble, minor stuff, nothing too major. No Grand theft or anything for Steph to be concerned about. She is around forty, has kind eyes and a nice looking mugshot from two years ago, and get this; they described her as a white MALE.

Aren’t we all going to feel foolish when Moses comes in to get his mail?

So there you have it. Another What-The-Hell-Wednesday. 
Divine or Batshit? Are they the same?
I choose to suspend judgment – I’ve learned my lesson.
Your call.

Do you have any stories for me? I’d love to hear them, you can’t shock me! You can email me at atikhome@me.com 
I’m starting to figure out that ya’ll like to email rather than comment.

Stay crazy!
Xox

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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