meditation

The way the energy’s been lately this felt good for a Sunday.
‘nuf said.

Carry on,
xox

“Damn! Why does that keep happening?” I repeatedly yell at my Macbook, WordPress spellcheck, and most loudly at myself.

You’ve probably seen the ones that escape me. The number one spelling faux-pas that makes it into my blog post and drives me insane.

If I forget that first “t” in meditate the word becomes mediate.
Fuck!

And because it is a word in its own right it slips by all the checks and balances and even my highly discerning eagle eye.
When I finally do catch it (or *#@& Dominator calls it to my attention), I want to scream,(and often do) “No, no, not mediate—meditate!”

The other day while I was maneuvering deep behind the curtain of secrecy that operates my blog to change that reoccurring rogue word to the one I intended; I was struck by lightning.
Well, not really, I was wearing my rubber flip-flops and there wasn’t a storm cloud in site, but I’m speaking figuratively.

Figuratively I was struck in the forehead by a giant, white-hot, lightning bolt of AhHa!

Meditation and mediation are NOT separate words with different meanings; they mean the same thing!
Who knew?

MEDIATE

Verb: mediated, mediating.
1.
To settle (disputes, strikes, etc.) as an intermediary between parties; reconcile.

4.
To act between parties to effect an agreement, compromise,reconciliation, etc.

Holy shit you guys! That’s what mediation does for us—it mediates!

And just like any good mediator it settles the disputes between our endlessly fearful, misinformed mind-chatter, (This is crazy! It doesn’t feel safe! I’m going to get hurt! I’m never wrong! Lash out! Tell lies! Act like an idiot!), and the wiser, quieter voice in our head that has the good sense not to come to the table without a mediator (and a fancy hat).

It acts as the intermediary between me and me. Meditation helps to bring about peace of mind, (shhhhhhhhh, all is well) self reconciliation, (you did the best you knew how, let it go), and clears the way for the removal of any (and there are many), misunderstandings that stand in the way of our spiritual growth.

It can and does, convey many messages and gifts; ones that can only be realized through quieting the mind through meditation. (Ideas, insights, and forgiveness, to name a few).

It is the third-party that helps us to reach a compromise between what our ego wants to do (like strangle the check-out girl at Target), and what our higher self knows is the right thing to do (zip our lips, smile and say thank you).

So the next time you see mediate where I probably meant meditate—think again!

Meditate and then Carry on,
xox

ELEGANT
el·e·gant
ˈeləgənt/
adjective: elegant
1.pleasingly graceful and stylish in appearance or manner.
“she will look elegant in black” (a reason why I always wear black, ha!)
synonyms: stylish, graceful, tasteful, sophisticated, classic, chic, smart.
antonyms: messy, unwieldy (hot mess)!

Oh yeah, I’ve talked about this. I cautioned you in the previous post.
We can aspire to it, aim for it, even pray for it, but enlightenment, spiritual awakening, whatever you want to name it, is rarely elegant.

And by rarely…I mean never.

There is a mine field of inelegance that surrounds becoming conscious.
You can side step the big stuff, like disaster and dis-ease, but you’ll still get your shoes dirty.
It’s kinda the name of the game.
If it was pretty; clean and easy, everyone would do it.

Take meditation for instance.
I can’t tell you how many friends have said this to me: When I started meditation, all hell broke loose.
It starts out all zen and blissful, with the breath and the inner peace. You will have that in your back pocket for life; but ask anyone who’s seriously meditated for a while.
Shit can hit the fan!
If you meditate every day, you literally change your brain…and your body.
You put the monkey mind in its place, and make your connection with source.

But source likes a clean link. It doesn’t like an old plugged up infrastructure, so it cleans and clears things out. When that happens, all your bad habits, your sabotaging self talk, your anger, hate, rage, lack of forgiveness, selfishness, greed, and jealousy, to name a few, are chased out of the shadows and into the light.

Get the fan.

This will set you free, but these guys won’t be graceful, chic or elegant.
They will give you the middle finger on their way out.
Meditation shook their cage, and they’re pissed.

Yoga is right up there too. A great practice, amazing for the mind and body, but it’s not just exercise, there is a spiritual aspect to Yoga that you can’t get around.
Yoga in Sanskrit means “the Divine Union”. Using the physical postures to bring the mind under control and join with the Higher Self or Source.

Uh oh.
Get the fan.

A regular Yoga practice will unleash all the usual suspects.
Anger will be released from your hip joints, sadness from your shoulders.
There will be heart openings, epic realizations, even tears.
It will free YOU as well…it just won’t be elegant.

Choosing the path less traveled.
Operating outside your comfort zone.
Mindful living.
Being of Service.
All call for making the tough choices, lots of “no’s” = Fast track to a more enlightened life.
Elegance…not so much.

The path may not seem the most elegantat first, but don’t loose faith you guys, elegance comes later. Trust me.
Choose wisely.

XoxJanet

Hi Guys,
As fucking fabulous as that Fuck That Meditation is, this is actually the one that I’ve been sending to friends and starting my mornings with for the last couple of weeks.

I recommend listening to this before your feet even hit the floor, eyes closed, maybe even using headphones. It keeps crazy-head at bay, not even letting it get a foothold.
…at least not until after lunch.

You don’t have to know Abraham or understand the jargon to get the benefits of this morning meditation.
To me it’s a cosmic reset. A head start on positivity. We all need that in this current energy, you know, so you don’t jump across the desk and punch your boss in the face, or go postal sitting in traffic during your family road-trip.

Enjoy your Sunday!
carry on,
xox

OMG, you guys!
I love this so much I can’t breathe! And I KNOW you’re going to love it too.
Now this is a guided meditation I can get behind.

Carry on,
& You’re welcome!
Xox

Today I heard the most beautiful Buddhist meditation/prayer for fear.

It is recited by Colleen Saidman Yee at the end of her yoga classes.
I just love it and I thought you would too.

Here are her words.

“It goes something like this: Sit down and notice where you hold your fear in your body.
Notice where it feels hard, and sit with it. In the middle of hardness is anger.

Go to the center of anger and you’ll usually come to sadness.
Stay with sadness until it turns to vulnerability.

Keep sitting with what comes up; the deeper you dig, the more tender you become.
Raw fear can open into the wide expanse of genuineness, compassion, gratitude, and expectancy in the present moment.

A tender heart appears naturally when you are able to stay present.

From your heart you can see the true pigment of the sky. You can see the vibrant yellow of a sunflower and the deep blue of your daughter’s eyes.

A tender heart doesn’t block out rain clouds, or tears, or dying sunflowers.
Allow beauty and sadness to touch you.
This is love, not fear.”

Isn’t that beautiful you guys?
Happy weekend,
xox

You can catch Colleen’s entire interview with Marie Forleo and hear her say the prayer on my Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/Theobserversvoice

Colleen’s new book:
Yoga for Life
A Journey to Inner Peace and Freedom

http://books.simonandschuster.com/Yoga-for-Life/Colleen-Saidman-Yee/9781476776781

I’m certain my face looked identical to this! LOl!

I was startled Wednesday; on my walk; by a bird…who flew at full speed into my left shoulder and then kept going. Apparently it had a full morning and no manners.

I walk with earphones, traversing the neighborhood in a kind of meditation stupor so you can imagine my surprise when something hit me from behind.

I would have LUUUUVED to have seen my face. I’m certain it was an attractive mixture of what-the-hell surprise and indignation.
I think I may have even yelped…and done a skip-kick.

Some would have called it a scream-cry, although it wasn’t; it was the WTF yulp of a middle-aged woman in yoga pants, with arms weights and boob sweat, chugging along at eight thirty in the morning, minding her own business and smiling at dogs.

In other words, just another fitness failure trying to get some cardio in by walking ten thousand steps in order to stave off writer’s ass.

I gotta tell ya it stopped me in my tracks, (I kept my feet moving while I looked around, in order to keep my heart rate up, YO!) but there were no witnesses to my hit and fly, so I just shrugged and kept on movin’.

Since you know me by now and the fact that I can’t take ANYTHING at face value, I made a metal note to look up “personal bird strike” when I got home. But since my brain is currently made of swiss cheese…I promptly forgot.

Upon returning home I got sidetracked into bringing in the trash bins, sweeping the patio, looking at old recipes, and trimming dead fronds off of the ferns that frame the fountain by the back deck off of our bathroom. That fountain then reminded me in a not-so-friendly-way that it needed to be cleaned. Badly. It gurgled my name, taunting me: Janet…come on…don’t keep ignoring me…stop being an ass…please…clean me…

What was once a lovely, melodic stream of water is now an anemic, name calling trickle, due to a filter that looks like the lungs of a three pack a day smoker. Clogged, black and ineffective.

Three weeks ago I had laid out the rubber gloves and bucket and then lost my enthusiasm for the project and left them there to remind me. So, the supplies were there and I had the time, which meant I got to work emptying the water one bucketful at a time in order to get to the leaves at the bottom and give the filter a fighting chance.

The reason I’m telling you this is: Midway through the scooping of the water — out comes a dead bird. A small, (not a baby) obviously not so bright, brown bird. I’ve observed them bathing and drinking in that fountain for years, so, unless this was a suicide, or a contract hit, this guy had not been the sharpest tool in the shed.

And it made me wonder: What the fuck is the thing with birds today? I can go years, no make that decades, without a bird incident; so I immediately ran inside to look it up lest I see something shiny and forget once again.

There is a ton written on birds hitting widows, planes, and cars, but people — not so much. And when they do, they usually hit them in the head, often to weigh in on a morning of bad bed-head by grabbing a few stands and some scalp for their nest or to warn them away from their hatchlings.

MY bird was nowhere near my head.
Maybe he was trying to grab me under the arm and carry me to his nest; or in order to fashion a cape for me like the birds in Snow White, he was trying to get my arm length measurements.
The jury is still out.

The inter-web also mentions the fact that sometimes birds just don’t see the things they fly into — like I’m invisible. Not a real boost to my self-esteem.

I posted on Facebook: On my walk this morning a small bird flew into the back of my left shoulder and then kept going without so much as a “Pardon Me”. What do you think, texting while flying or an Omen?

When I looked it up here’s what THEY say about Omens:
“Everything is an omen, really.(We knew that) There is a reason for everything, nothing happens by accident. We just need to learn to realize these omens and how to interpret them easily. The more “wild” the omen, the more “dramatic” the outcome, or so it would seem.

Many people feel that birds represent freedom, as they can soar up into the sky where there are no obstacles and go wherever they wish, and then return to the Earth once more. Also because of this I suppose you could view them as almost having two aspects: one that departs and one that returns. What that means to you is up to you. Also, one could consider birds as messengers. Some view them as messengers to the gods. There is a phrase that begins, “a little bird told me…” (I thought that started with my seventh grade teacher Miss Law who was sneakily trying to get to the truth of a math quiz scandal)
To me, birds also represent awareness, since they can soar above almost anything on this planet and can witness everything–taking place outside, at least. They are like the wind. They start out one place and end up in another, carrying stories and memories with them.”

Okay…Kind of a stretch, but I get that everything is an omen, so I looked up dead bird and here’s the message there:

These beautiful animals are actually messengers from the Divine, Spirit, Universe, God, whatever name you choose. The message is not one of doom and gloom, you are not going to die in the next three days, it is not a “forerunner” of death and destruction. (Well, THAT’S a relief.)
Dead birds are actually very similar to the “Death” card in a tarot deck. It represents a death, but it is a death of something you have been focused on. It could be the death or “end” of a bad relationship, or a bad financial situation, or a behaviour pattern you have been wanting to break, etc. And with all things that end, the way is then clear for new opportunities to come into your life. (Yippee)
For instance, if you are in an unhealthy relationship, it is unlikely that a new healthy relationship is going to come into your life if you are still involved or healing from the unhealthy one. Once you have dealt with it and are ready to move on, the universe will send you a message to let you know that it is now time to move forward with your life.
That is what these dead birds are, a message that whatever you were dealing with is now “dead” and behind you and you are now ready to move forward with the new opportunity that has been presenting itself to you but that you have been ignoring for some reason. So, see the sign, and determine what message it is sending you and be grateful that you have now received the message and start looking for the new opportunity.
http://pathwayconnection.com/what-does-seeing-dead-birds-mean/

As I’ve written about lately, there are SO MANY endings and beginnings for me right now that this makes perfect sense — and I know that a bunch of you guys are going through the same thing, so take my bird omen and run (fly) with it.

What is mine is yours, as always — you’re welcome!

Do you believe in omens or animal totems? Got a story you’d like to share? Think this is all a big bag of bullshit?

Carry on,
xox

Will you look at this freaking tree?

I’ve had this graphic on a poster for years; its been rolled up in drawer somewhere. It was given to us at a Jesuit retreat and my friend promptly tacked hers up on her bathroom wall. I forever after had a hard time peeing without feeling highly inadequate.

Out of all these practices I MAYBE do five…six on a good day, year.

Now I kinda like looking at it. I do.

I used to feel bad, like I had so far to go in my search for the perfect mindfulness practice. It was like Oprah’s List of Accomplishments Family Tree to which mine could never compare.

Then I started looking at each one, contemplating (wink) if I would ever have the discipline to undertake the ones I’d never even heard of. Take Lectio Divina for instance. It involves reading passages of the Scriptures and contains four separate steps: read; meditate; pray; contemplate; Blah, blah, blah.

You will never, ever find me doing that. I will seek my enlightenment elsewhere; thank you very much.

Sweatlodge: My husband swears by ’em.

Me? I tried it twice…almost dying from the sweltering heat and the overwhelming smell of body odor and cheesy feet — both times. I came close to death, (very,very slight exaggeration, infinitesimal actually) left the tent; pucked; felt like a hot and sweaty failure and a spiritual hack; shame crawled back in…only to almost die again…all in one long night. Then I tried it again (for five minutes) the next day.
Then I went for pizza.

Never, ever, again.

I have so many stories like that because I was a devoted seeker and that’s what seekers do, we see graphics on a poster, with a tree full of paths to contemplation, and like a white sock, black shoe wearing tourist fresh off the bus, we are anxious to go and see and do them ALL.

I wanted to check each one off my imaginary list (there’s a real list somewhere, who am I kidding), like some eager beaver at a cosmic scavenger hunt; in order to cull the nugget of enlightenment contained within.

But alas, I am only human, and a flawed one at that; so I’ve stuck with the ones that work for me; and that’s the point.

Singing;

meditation;

chanting;

walking meditation;

yoga;

labyrinth walking;

silence;

storytelling.

Those and perhaps a few more work for me; the others — not so much.

My advice?
Try the ones that sound interesting; and don’t feel bad if you hate a few.
As you do that, I promise you’ll find the practice or practices that work for you, the ones that quiet your mind long enough to listen to your heart.

Then squirrel those away in your back pocket or your tool box and use as needed.

I’m thinking Sufi dancing, I haven’t tried that one yet.

Carry on,
xox

Mindfulness is “the intentional, accepting and non-judgemental focus of one’s attention on the emotions, thoughts and sensations occurring in the present moment”, which can be trained by meditational practices derived from Buddhist anapanasati.

So let me get this straight, these little kids have figured out what has taken me YEARS to grasp?

I want to feel bad about myself…that late bloomer thing and all…but I can’t get past the exhilaration.

What an incredible future lies in store for the world if this catches on.

What amazing students they’ll be;

What incredible employees and business owners;

Imagine the children they’ll raise!

You guys, this is getting so good.

Carry on — mindfully,

xox

The Sound Of Silence
-By Simon and Garfunkel

“Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted
In my brain still remains
Within the sound of silence.”

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed Monday.

I went to sleep in lovely Los Angeles, California and woke up on the dark side of the moon.
It was desolate, deplete of oxygen, and I found myself suffocating in sadness.

I had nightmares all night long, you know the ones. You can’t for the life of you remember anything except how awful they left you feeling upon awakening.
A pit in your stomach, a heart full of dread and a bitter aftertaste as a parting gift.

The dogs are fine, our health is good, the weekend was unremarkable…

So what gives?
There was no apparent reason to feel such malaise, but I have the kind of mind that searches for a reason, so I spent an hour digging up the corpses of buried woes.
It’s the opposite of a gratitude list.
It reminded me of a mutant case of PMS on steroids.
I’m sure you can relate.

Starting with Woe Number 378:
Why can’t I lose that stubborn twenty pounds so that I can be the weight I was MY WHOLE LIFE – until I turned fifty? There is not a bag of potato chips big enough to sooth me. Could it be because I eat the same amount of food that my 6’4″ – 250 pound husband does. Sometimes more? Nah. I didn’t think so.

Number 217
God dammit, some days I’m so God damn old.
I wrote the previous post about it. Hey, maybe that’s what sent me off the deep end.

BTW – I couldn’t write on Monday – just wasn’t feelin’ it. I couldn’t have found an inspirational thing to say to you if you’d have paid me a million dollars. Seriously.
Not sure today is any better, but misery loves company, so I thought I’d share.

I function at a pretty high happiness level, so this felt like shit and I was desperate to feel better.

Sat down to meditate…it felt like the express elevator into the abyss, so I took a pass.

I took off on my power walk like I always do in the mornings. It helps balance me.
That’s when I listen to all the inspirational talks I have on my phone. It sets the mood for the day, and usually when I get back – I’m pumped! AND I’ve accomplished the 10,000 steps needed to keep a flat “writer’s ass” at bay.

Every step from that point on is gravy. Even the ones to the fridge. It’s the law.

But Monday I was so low that the walk only got me to a place where I could suppress the ugly cry.
Tears were right at the surface.
Big ones. Unspecific but insistent, with sobbing and snot and oy, oy, oy-ing.

Number 442
The boxer-shark-puppy has dug up half the back lawn and it is a continuous mud pit. The dried mud is everywhere, paw prints, nose prints, butt prints, you name it; to the point where I’ve stopped sweeping or washing or hosing the outside living area. We all just sit in the filth.
She has also become extremely destructive, eating our plantation shutters, chairs, and a carefully curated list of items she knows I really love.

When I returned from my calming, centering, inspirational walk, the puppy had breached the defensive fort my husband had built to keep her away from the shutters, finding an opening and then dropping in from above, like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible.
The old dog just watched while she gnawed a shutter-slat into a toothpick.

So I had to beat my dog. Number 12.
There came the tears. I hate training and punishment. I cried my head off – she filed her nails and popped her gum like the brat she is. (Relax – it’s one of those flimsy little coupon flyers wrapped in a plastic bag, so it sounds worse that it feels – followed by a time-out in a small bathroom.)

At noon I recovered enough to go help a friend brainstorm some work stuff, which focused my mind and actually felt really good. As I walked up the driveway upon my return, a light rain was falling. I was at once reminded of the puppy destruction displayed in the side window, the fact that our gutters are filled with leaves and our trim needs paint along with the pit of impending mud in the back.

That acted like a one way ticket straight back to hell.

Which led to the “Come to Jesus” talk last night.

Not the puppy and I – me and my husband.
I think he was a little scared of me in my melancholy state. Probably because I started with the declarative statement: “I know I’m a piece of work right now, and you love me but you’re probably not in love with me – anyway…”
Looking at me like you do a wild beast that’s about to rip you to shreds, he backed away, shaking his head, and silently (that silent part is SO smart) got the crate back down from the attic so that the puppy will live to see another day, and we can salvage some window coverings and continue to sit on chairs with legs.

Then I watched “When Harry Met Sally” to remember how to smile, and went to bed.

Some days are beyond salvaging.

All this to say: Holy Shit! I have horrible days. I do!

Dark side of the moon, sounds of silence, I can’t meditate, so don’t ask me to, beat the dog, see every flaw, cry baby, demon possessed, post menopause PMS, wild beast, unreasonable, pick a fight, non-salvageable days.

Here’s praying today’s a better day.

Dear God (or Source or Whomever),
Every day is a gift.
Filled with potential.
Please don’t let me spend another day in hell.
I won’t call the day wasted, even though it sure felt like it.
I’ll just consider it part of the ebb and flow of life.
It will make me appreciate the good days that much more.

…Oh, that’s sneaky God. That thing you do.

Water never tastes as good as when you’re really thirsty.
Food never tastes better than when you’re famished.
It never feels as good to sleep as when you’re exhausted.

Okay.
I get it.
Wise guy.

Xox