power

“Let us realize that the arch of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
~ MLK

I know. You don’t come here to read about politics, and believe me, I don’t come here to write about it. 

I like observational humor. I like looking at the ordinary and finding the funny. Trust me, I tried to write funny, but talking about anything else besides the elephant in the room right now feels trite. 

You don’t come here to have smoke blown up your ass either. So I won’t bother, as fun as that sounds.

I’m just like you. My chest has felt heavy since Friday. Since that snake of a woman Susan Collins made her case for the Judge to become a Justice. I had no words (rare) and I wanted to cry (not so rare these days).

It felt like a giant GOP elephant had set up camp between my boobs.  Now that’s funny. That these days picturing the symbol of the party of the Moral Majority and Christian, family values tangling with my tits seems… normal… excusable… like “so last Tuesday”.

My how things have changed. 

I’m pissed. I’m sad and I’m discouraged, and I’m looking for a fight.

I’m a fist in search of a face

A scream in search of an ear.

A belief in search of a…what? A mind to change?

I learned a long time ago that you can’t yell somebody into your way of thinking. By the way, that’s a lesson the old white guys in politics have yet to learn; ‘cause if women loves one thing—it’s a man screaming in her face. Mansplaining. It doesn’t work. It makes you look ridiculous. Use your words, fellas. You’re overreacting. You seem hysterical. (Sound familiar?)

So, I turned off cable news this weekend. And I silenced my phone. I made the radical choice to tune-out.

Not forever. Just for now.

I lost myself in Bradley Cooper’s periwinkle-blue eyes and fantasized that he was singing love songs just to me.

I chose to be happy. 

When someone texted me the final vote, that fucking elephant did the Macarena, which caused me to grab my chest. The pain was real. Until finally, I told it to scram! Knock it off! Enough is enough! I refuse to live at the whim of some boob dwelling pachyderm. 

I needed the distance so I could reclaim my balance. Because I know how this shit goes.

Listen, I’m not gonna sugar coat it. We’re in store for some real, fall-face-first-on-the floor, big changes in the not-so-distant future. Some that could hurt women and hopefully some that could bend the moral universe toward justice. 

You guys, you wanna know what I see? I see women in positions of power! Lots of ‘um!

And if I know one thing for sure, it’s that equalizing the playing field at the highest levels of power has been a long time coming. I also know that we, as humans, don’t make huge, paradigm shifting changes when things are going well. We fence sit, scrapbook, and make friends with the status quo. 

But when shit gets real? When you fuck with us women? Well, you had better brace yourselves for some real and LASTING change. 

Ladies. And you decent, tender hearted men. This is exactly what we’ve been waiting for. It had to get this bad to get us off the sidelines and fight. 

We may have lost this battle, that is true. But we have NOT lost the fight. Trust me. It may look bleak right now, but I think this has changed the trajectory of history in our favor. I believe we’ll look back at this time as the beginning of the DECADE OF THE WOMAN. Or the CENTURY of THE WOMAN. 

And it’s about fucking time.

Carry on,
xox

I don’t know if you saw the movie Arrival earlier this year. But I did. Four times.

That’s because it had so many of the elements that interest the super geek in me. Science fiction, time anomalies, aliens, language and Jeremy Renner.

The premise is this: 12 alien vessels simultaneously land at various points on the globe. They are still and silent which of course scares the bejesus out of all of the military types in charge of figuring out what they want. America decides to send a scientist and a world-class linguist along with several CIA goons into the ship in Montana (at the invitation of the aliens), to figure out how to communicate.

Hilarity ensues.
Not really. But needless to say, this is when the movie really gets interesting.

Language is a sophisticated skill-set developed over time by a species in order to communicate complex thoughts, emotions, and ideas. One wrong word can start a war—wiping out mankind. Such a calamity takes place in the movie when the linguist mistakenly translates weapon instead of tool. As you can imagine, the guy from the CIA blows a gasket and the entire project goes off the rails.

(Cue the dire music.)

That’s a HUGE oversimplification of a very complicated plot and I won’t blow the ending for you but let’s just say the whip-smart woman with all the right words keeps a cool head and saves a planet (or two).
Again.

All of this to say, I believe words have energy. A power beyond their meaning in the dictionary. They should be chosen carefully especially if you’re, I don’t know, someone whose words can influence worldwide financial markets—and launch missiles.

Saying that a ridiculous, nonsensical word has hidden meaning to a chosen few instead of admitting the fact that you were tantrum-texting in the middle of the night is an insult to those of us who possess a working brain, treasure words, and to those people who take the time to pick just the right ones. Like journalists and diplomats to name a few.

It is also terrifying for all the reasons that need no explanation. I know how this movie can end.

Let’s not get distracted by the absurdity that surrounds us these days. It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

Well, I’m hurting. Are you? 

Carry on,
xox

This is the cake my tribe gets almost every time we get together because we have SO much to be grateful for that if we listed everything there wouldn’t be enough room for frosting!

*”The running commentary that dominates my field of consciousness is kind of an asshole.”
~ Dan Harris ABC News Nightline Co-Anchor

Who hasn’t felt like that about those saboteurs that dominate your brain-chatter? Listen, did you know that you can banish them for good? Well, you can, so let me tell ya how!

I’m in the middle of Pam Grout’s new book Thank and Grow Rich which is about the unimaginable power of gratitude.

Although the title insinuates it is about accumulating money—it is so much more than that. It is THE gratitude handbook. A  manual on how you can start thanking your way toward a “rich” life in every damn way you can imagine.

Love, relationships, creativity, peace of mind, and FUN!

Yes, life can be fun.

*”Life is a ticket to the greatest show on earth.”
~ Martin H. Fischer Physician and Author

Here’s the rub. *“Quit thinking, start thanking.”

I could blah, blah, blah, all over this page giving you a synopsis of what the book is about but I think I’ll let Pam, the author, do that instead because she says it way better than I ever could, as a matter of fact, she did! Here is a quote from page 72.

*AMASSING ALCHEMIC CAPITOL

“The bliss, the wisdom, the creativity, the laughter, the friendships, the joy, the serenity and peace that have been, for the most part, seen as an impossible dream will become your most ordinary state of being.”
~ The Way of Mastery

More than another book on counting blessings, this is a book about climate change. Changing the climate of your energy field, upgrading the resonance with which you perceive the world.
Practicing gratitude, more than penciling a written list, is to practice alchemy.
Looking for the good in life literally changes things. Physically changes things.
Financially changes things.
Mentally and emotionally changes things.
It literally changes atoms and rearranges molecules.

Cynics like to discount gratitude, downgrade it as sweet, nice, something for naive Pollyannas.

What I’ve discovered is that living on the frequency of joy and gratitude causes cataclysmic reverberations.”

So I, for one, am getting my Thank You on. What do you think? Are you with me?

Carry on,
xox

*Taken directly from the book Thank and Grow Rich
https://www.amazon.com/Thank-Grow-Rich-Experiment-Shameless/dp/1401949843/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474414863&sr=1-1&keywords=thank+and+grow+rich

Baba Rajneesh.words for the wise the word FUCK by Mazanga_Von_Badman

My friend Steph sent this to me the other day.
Her husband thinks we need to start following this guru. It could be that he thinks we would appreciate his blissed out nature or his silvery spacesuit, but I’m guessing it’s because of his deep and profound UNDERSTANDING of the word, fuck.

I love this Baba, I really do, and I’m sure you can guess why.

If you gave me a dime for all of the fucks I’ve said OUTLOUD, I’d be richer than that idiot, bigot, candidate with the orange face and horrible comb-over.

If you laid the fucks I’ve written end to end, well, we could all walk a road of fucks to Mars and colonize it this weekend.

I’m telling you. This guy gets it. He really does.

But be warned: watching this is a little like watching Mother Theresa being interviewed by Howard Stern.

It’s so wrong it’s right.

Carry on,
xox

“So, he said I have a really cute vagina…”

I just about dropped the carton of eggs I was pulling out of the fridge for our breakfast but made the save. The half-smoked cigarette I was balancing between my lips wasn’t as lucky, falling onto the kitchen linoleum, just barely missing my bare feet—as my mouth hung agape.

My roommate chattered on as I stomped out the hot ash that was skittering about with my heavily callused heel.

“One of the prettiest he’s ever seen.”

“Wait. Who said that? Michael? Your boyfriend?” I asked as if I really wanted to know.

Moments earlier I had innocently asked how her visit to the Gynecologist had gone the previous day. She’d had a couple of wonky pap smear results and, well, now here she was, off talking about all the compliments her vagina was getting—and I was confused.

She did have the attention span of a spider monkey so this wasn’t new, but the subject matter was. We weren’t in the habit of sharing super intimate, sex-related pillow talk.

“No, silly, Dr. SoandSo”, she laughed, smoke billowing from her nostrils as she snuffed out her cigarette in the Philodendron on the kitchen table.

We had a habit of smoking while cooking. Only while cooking. It nauseates me even now. All of it. Even this conversation. Especially this conversation.

I whipped around, setting the egg carton down hard in front of her. Egg snot ran from several of the perforations onto the vintage 1950’s Formica diner table we sat around in the kitchen.

She jumped, startled, as I yelled into her face.  “What the fuck?! Are you telling me you’re Gynecologist said that to you?!”

She looked at me as if my head had spun around (which it had, but just once), her big, brown saucer eyes filled with fear.

“Uh, yeah, he was just…um…it wasn’t…uh…”

“Please tell me he at least removed his hand before he said that!” I asked,  again not really wanting to know the answer. I’m not even sure why that mattered, it’s just that the thought of her doctor wrist-deep inside of her, cooing that bullshit while she’s on her back with her legs in the stirrups made me want to puke—and call the police.

“That is sexual harassment!” I screamed louder than I intended.
”He’s a professional! He should NEVER say that sort of thing to you! Everyone knows gynecologists are only allowed to talk about the weather when they’re down there—below the equator!”

She looked bewildered.

“Honey”, I pulled up a chair and sat straight in front of her, lowering my voice into a calmer, more soothing register as I realized she had no idea what he’d done.

It was a compliment. About her lady parts. From a man.

UGH.

“You have to report him. He’s a bad guy, and not a good doctor. That wasn’t a compliment. It was HIGHLY inappropriate.”

When she finally got it, she looked ashamed.

“If you don’t—I will!”

Sexual harassment in the workplace, from people in positions of power, and I think, in general, is SUCH a subjective topic and to this day—I’m not sure why.

It’s been my observation that most men just don’t get the intricacies.
The boundaries are blurred to the point that unless it comes down to an actual physical assault—it can slide under the radar like it did for my twenty-seven-year-old roommate.

It is often covert—cloaked in a compliment, delivered by someone in authority, wrapped inside of a joke or said straight up to your face with a wink—and if you so much as bat an eyelash—you’re overreacting.

Clearly, the situation was “misconstrued”.

I loathe that word. Misconstrued.
Lots of slimy people get away with highly questionable shit by hiding behind that word.

Here’s the thing, I don’t misconstrue anything. My gut construes everything you said correctly. Your innuendo? It was interpreted exactly how you meant it. There was no mistake made.

Except for you thinking I wouldn’t say anything.

I worked in a male-dominated business for almost twenty years.
And I grew up with a brother and worked my way through school on the night crew of a supermarket as one of only two girls.
I know men. I love men, and I know male humor.
I get it. I can even appreciate it. It can be bawdy and blue and I’m a real broad—one of the guys—so I’m often right there in it AND I can let a lot of shit slide.

But there’s a line. A boundary that should never be crossed, and you know when it has been by the pit in your stomach.

My male boss was always the epitome of appropriate behavior. He never made a misstep.
But one day in the midst of an all-male jewelry buy (or a shark feeding-frenzy, take your pick), the free-range testosterone in the room took control of one of my boss’ partners and best friends. As he went to leave, he hugged me goodbye for a little bit too long, and the hug was just a little bit too tight and there it was—his semi-erect “little friend” pressed up against my thigh.

It was no accident. There were a couple of dry-humps. I kid you not.

Reflexively and forcefully, I pushed him away with both hands looking him straight in the eye—horrified.

He winked, and yelled something back at the guys about his jeans being too tight, and made a quick getaway.

I could barely catch my breath. I was shaking and red in the face. Immediately, I grabbed my boss by the arm, yanking him out of earshot of the others.

As a woman in a man’s world, you walk a tightrope—you want to be a “good sport”, “one of the guys”, yet still be treated with respect.

“THAT man!”, I whisper/yelled, “You had better keep your FRIEND away from me—he is NEVER to lay a hand on me again, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? If he does—I will quit and then I will sue him all the way to hell and back!”

He shook his head and shrugged, confused. “O…kay…”, he stammered still staring at my panting, red face.

“He pressed his dick against my leg!” I whispered forcefully, staring him down, trying to make him understand. He immediately looked down at his feet, embarrassed. “Okay”, he replied, wishing he were invisible as he slowly turned and walked back to his buddies.

I think, rather I KNOW, that he thought I was overreacting. That I had misconstrued his friend’s natural affection for lechery.

I tried not to gag every time I had to see that man again, which was often since he was a part of my boss’ inner circle. But nothing even remotely resembling sexual innuendo or impropriety happened again. I don’t know if my boss had a talk with the guys or if they had just decided on their own to behave themselves.

All of them except for that one man.
In the space of ten years, with a wife and two kids to support, he settled three workplace sexual harassment cases (that I know of ), out of court.

If I remember correctly, I think it was when my boss told me about the second one that his face registered some sort of understanding and an unspoken apology for having doubted me.

That would have to be enough.

Talk to me.

Carry on,
xox

*The other day at lunch with a couple of my brilliant writer gal pals, Adrienne was telling us the story of her Elephant Journal piece that went viral. “I just woke up that morning and wrote a sort of rant, a list of all the things I was done with—then I sent it off and forgot about it. When EJ notified me it was up and I went to check it out, the numbers were staggering! I guess it resonated.”

She’s being modest. At over 3/4 of a million views and almost half a million shares.
Uh, yeah, Adrienne, I’d say it resonated.

It sure did with me so I asked her if it as okay to share it with you guys.
I know you’re going to love it! By the end, I was practically standing on my chair, cheering:

She was done! I am done!

See how many resonate wth you.

Take it away Adrienne.
xox

She was done not fully being herself.

She realized she was the only self she could be—and not being unapologetically true to herself was a disservice to her soul and the world.

She was done listening to the noise of the world. She realized the quiet voice of her own soul was the most beautiful sound.

She was done questioning her motives, her intentions, the call of her soul. She realized questions seek answers, and maybe she already knew the answers.

She was done striving, forcing, pushing through and staying on the hard path. She realized toughing things out might be a sign to pick another path.

She was done with friends that admonished her to be more light and breezy. She realized they didn’t understand she swam in the deep waters of life, she felt at home in their dark depths and died if she lived on the surface.

She was done with the distractions, the denials, the small addictions that pulled her away from the true desires of her soul. She realized that strength of character came from focus and commitment.

She was done not following the desires that yelled out in her soul every day. She realized if she did nothing about them, they died a quiet death that took a piece of her soul with them.

She was done with dinner parties and cocktail hours where conversations skimmed the surface of life. She realized the beverages created distortion and a temporary happiness that wasn’t real and disappeared in the light of the day.

She was done trying to please everyone. She realized it could never be done.

She was done questioning herself. She realized her heart knew the truth and she needed to follow it.

She was done analyzing all the options, weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure everything out before leaping. She realized that taking a leap implied not fully seeing where she landed.

She was done battling with herself, trying to change who she knew herself to be. She realized the world made it hard enough to fully be herself, so why add to the challenge.

She was done worrying as if worry was the price she had to pay to make it all turn out okay. She realized worry didn’t need to be part of the process.

She was done apologizing and playing small to make others feel comfortable and fit in. She realized fitting in was overrated and shining her light made others brave enough to do the same.

She was done with the should’s, ought to’s and have to’s of the world. She realized the only must’s in her life came from things that beat so strong in her soul, she couldn’t not do them.

She was done with remorse and could have’s. She realized hindsight never applies because circumstances always look different in the rearview mirror and you experience life looking through the front window.

She was done with friendships based on shared history and past experiences. She realized if friends couldn’t grow together, or were no longer following the same path, it was okay to let them go.

She was done trying to fit in—be part of the popular crowd. She realized the price she had to pay to be included was too high and betrayed her soul.

She was done not trusting. She realized she had placed her trust in people that were untrustworthy—so she would start with the person she could trust the most—herself.

She was done being tired. She realized it came from spending her time doing things that didn’t bring her joy or feed her soul.

She was done trying to figure it all out, know the answers, plan everything and see all the possibilities before she began. She realized life was unfolding and that the detours and unexpected moments were some of the best parts.

She was done needing to be understood by anyone but herself. She realized she was the only person she would spend her whole with and understanding herself was more important than being understood by others.

She was done looking for love. She realized loving and accepting herself was the best kind of love and the seed from which all other love started.

She was done fighting, trying to change or not her accepting her body. She realized the body she came into the world with was the only one she had—there were no exchanges or returns—so love and acceptance was the only way.

She was done being tuned in, connected and up-to-date all the time. She realized the news and noise of the world was always there—a cacophony that never slowed or fell quiet and that listening to the silence of her soul was a better station to tune into.

She was done beating herself up and being so hard on herself as if either of these things led to changes or made her feel better. She realized kindness and compassion towards herself and others accomplished more.

She was done comparing and looking at other people’s lives as a mirror for her own. She realized holding her own mirror cast her in the best, most beautiful light.

She was done being quiet, unemotional and holding her tongue. She realized her voice and her emotions could be traced back to her deepest desires and longings. if she only followed their thread.

She was done having to be right. She realized everyone’s truth was relative and personal to themselves, so the only right that was required was the one that felt true for her.

She was done not feeling at home in the world. She realized she might never feel at home in the world, but that feeling at home in her soul was enough.

She was done being drained by others—by people who didn’t want to take the time for their own process and saw shortcuts though hers. She realized she could share her experience, but everyone needed to do the work themselves.

She was done thinking she had so much to learn. She realized she already knew so much, if she only listened.

She was done trying to change others or make them see things. She realized she could only lead by example and whether they saw or followed was up to them.

She was done with the inner critic. She realized its voice was not her own.

She was done racing and being discontent with where she was. She realized the present moment held all it needed to get her to the next moment. It wasn’t out there—it was right here.

She was done seeing hurt as something to be avoided, foreseen or somehow her fault. She realized hurt shaped her as much as joy and she needed both to learn and grow.

She was done judging. She realized judging assumed the presence of right and wrong—and that there was a difference between using information to inform and making someone else wrong.

She was done jumping to conclusions. She realized she only needed to ask.

She was done with regrets. She realized if she had known better she would have done better.

She was done being angry. She realized anger was just a flashlight that showed her what she was most scared of and once it illuminated what she needed to see, she no longer needed to hold on to it.

She was done being sad. She realized sorrow arose when she betrayed her own soul and made choices that weren’t true to herself.

She was done playing small. She realized if others couldn’t handle her light, it was because they were afraid of their own.

She was done with the facades and the pretending. She realized masks were suffocating and claustrophobic.

She was done with others’ criticism and complaints. She realized they told her nothing about herself—only informed her of their perspective.

She was done yelling above the noise of the world. She realized living out loud could be done quietly.

She was done needing permission, validation or the authority. She realized she was her own authority.

She was done being something she was not. She realized the purpose of life was to be truly, happily who she was born to be…and if she paused long enough to remember, she recognized herself.
~Adrienne Pieroth

Adrienne Pieroth is a meditation teacher, single mother of two teenage boys, conscious co-parent, writer, mindful technologist and lover of all things human, mindful and heartfelt. Before leaving the world of high tech to raise her sons, she was a network engineer and systems designer. She still loves technology and works to raise people’s consciousness around their digital presence and the use of technology in their lives. She lives between Santa Fe, NM and Los Angeles, CA and can usually be found hiking in the mountains or walking on the beach.

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/04/she-was-done/

“Suddenly at the next corner, came the craziest thing. About thirty women, all in golden crowns, were crossing Market Street. No, I wasn’t hallucinating, maybe they were heading to some trippy bridesmaid’s party. And there I was, utterly surrounded, crying and laughing in the midst of it all, as they passed by.”
~Tosha Silver — “On Crowns and Mars/Venus”

Yesterday morning Tosha Silver (whom I love), posted this and it prompted one of those out-of-body synchronistic moments; you know the ones where you shiver with goosebumps and break into a cold sweat all at the same time.

Or is that menopause? Nope. Sorry menopause you have never given me goosebumps. Not once, not EVER.

Besides, the serendipity lies in the fact that I had two really heartfelt and deeply intimate conversations with two completely different friends, at two separate times, in the past three days.

About friendship and CROWNS and feeling special.

“I’ve known I was special my whole life” we each confessed in a hushed whisper, as if admitting to a secret affair with Benedict Cumberbatch, or a third nipple.

One of my friends stands on the precipice of great success. Like change your life, slap your mama, kind of success. She confided that the other night she dreamt she was wearing a gold crown, or perhaps it was even (gasp) a halo…and the brightness of it made her so uncomfortable that she pulled up the hoodie she was so conveniently wearing—and covered it up.

Why? Why isn’t that a good thing? To feel special I mean.

Maybe the more important question we have to ask is this: Who killed this in us and why?

What is it with crowns anyway?
I suppose we’ve all agreed that they’re just a physical validation of how special someone is.
Gold and preferably jewel encrusted would suit me just fine, thank you very much.

Then we all laugh, hahaha, that’s so funny—wait, you know you’re not special—right? And just like the soup nazi in Seinfeld, someone shows up and yanks the crown right off of your head, bobby pins and all.

“NO crown for you!” He announces and the crowd applauds,”Who do you think you are? Show some humility!” they all chant.

Here’s the thing: I don’t think the three of us can stay covered very much longer. We seem to have all reached a place in our lives where we are being asked to remove the hoodie and shine!

To spit polish the crown and wear it.
Everyday.
Even with yoga pants. Especially with yoga pants!

We’re called to OWN OUR HALO.

And I know in my kishkis we are not alone.
I’ve seen you in your hoodies, walkin’ around thinkin’ I can’t see the glow underneath. But I can.

We’ll lose friends over it, sure. Family too. Maybe even mates. But that’s old news, it’s already happening.

And just like Tosha asks in the rest of her essay, are you ready to “Own your OWN worthiness, own your own divinity, crown YOURSELF. No one else can do it, no partner, no friend, no teacher. NO one.” Well…are you?

I love that there are a group of us women (& men), at this time in history, that are coming into our own. I love that we are pulling down our hoodies, and shining brightly for all to behold.

You are special too—make no mistake about that! So…are you ready to crown yourselves?

Much love and carry on,
xox

http://toshasilver.com

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
– T. S. Eliot

The End is where we start from…hmmmmmm…

Yesterday was about endings; and about calling my power back. I have to walk the talk, right?

For over two weeks I was so knotted up about it that I had knitted a virtual car cozy, a sweater the size of a car cover inside my gut.

You see, I had decided to put what was left of my dearly departed store into auction; all of it; lock, stock and vintage submarine lights.

Just like Daniele wrote about yesterday, (the timing for me was uncanny) it was time for me to call my power back to me; BUT the hang up was this: at the intersection of empowerment and the past; I kept meeting up with my old energy.

Like some goody-two-shoes a-hole who never forgets an uncomfortable incident; or an appointment; my energy would persistently meet me — right where I left it — back in Victim-Ville 2009.

But since I’ve changed so drastically since that time we were not a match anymore and it really started to feel like shit.

So I avoided going there.

I let the remaining items sit at different stores around the city on consignment, and I paid them NO MIND; because they brought back horrible memories that would instantly knock me out of whack, make me feel bad about myself, and force me to eat Fritos by the fistful.

Every fucking time. That sticky, stinky, shitty, loser energy met me there.

That is a law and the sooner we all realize that, the faster we can shift it.

Here’s how it works:
If you had a fight in a restaurant, the next time you go back there, the minute you give your car to the valet you’ll feel that gut-punch; because your energy is the guy that opens the door and greets you there “Welcome back, we’ve been waiting here for you .”

Shit.

How many times have you had a bad experience with the place that services your car, or the dry cleaners; only to have it repeat itself over and over?

I remember when I went to auditions back in the day; there was a big casting agent on Sunset who was nice as can be, but I NEVER booked a job there. After a while, my disappointment would meet me at the door with its Cheshire grin, making sure the casting session was doomed.

So if you meet your energy where you left it— how can you change that?

First, by being aware of it, recognizing that it’s your low expectations, your disappointment, or your painful past that is causing the gut-knot.

Also, time has passed and things have changed. You’ve changed. Right?

When you do that, you can rewrite the story, and while you’re at it you can make sure it’s a much better one. It’s the story of how you called your power back; how inanimate objects, buildings and even people have no power over you — and that you’ve moved on and left no forwarding address.

It’s easier said than done, it took weeks, but that’s what worked for me you guys.

I had a real Come to Jesus with myself (I’ve been doing that a lot lately) where I told myself that inertia was no longer acceptable. Neither was settling, acting like a victim, or being broke.

For Godsakes woman it’s been five years, the statute of limitations on powerless victimhood has expired! Round up all that stuff, take all your old juju off of it by remembering how good and exciting it was to purchase it in the first place, and SELL IT! Go call your power back to you and then be done with it!

Even though I seldom take my own advice, I woke up yesterday, the day everything was getting picked up, with no knot. For once…and for all.

The day could not have gone any better. It went faster, smoother and was more organized than I’d ever imagined. Obviously, my loser energy had flown to Vegas to cause some real trouble.

As I drove away feeling newly empowered, reborn, like a Phoenix from the ashes, it made me remember all the times that the energy that met me — was good. It does work both ways ya know.

So I’ve re-written that story, the story of the store and the flood, and in the new version the auction results five years later — are AMAZING!

So the end is where I’ll be starting from — a new beginning,  a fresh start.

Where does your shitty energy never fail to meet you? How can you re-write your story and regain your power? Do you believe you need an ending to have a beginning?

Lets talk.

Carry on,

xox

This is so fucking good you guys that I read it three times today…and I wish I’d written it. Especially nessesary with all the changes in the air right now.
It’s by the beautiful and brilliant Daniele LaPort
Take it away Daniele!

“I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete. (Say it with me now.)

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

I was moving out of a house recently and told a friend I was going to smudge the place. (You know, “smudge” — you burn some sage and clean the energy out. Stay with me, this is going to get more logical for some of you. Actually…it will probably get weirder.) So, Cool Friend asks me, “Why bother smudging? You’re leaving.” Fair question. Usually you want to clear out the energy of places you’re moving IN to. “Because, I want to take all of my energy with me.” I clarified.

“Huh,” nodded Cool Friend. “That’s a new one. I like it.” I skipped the sage and went for vocal incantation. More direct.

I’ve been quietly working with a particular energy worker for the last year+. Ataana. Thanks to Ataana and my cosmic crew, my energy tool kit is super-activated now. This is one of my choice instruments:

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

At my old house, I walked through every room and repeated the magic formula. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete. Then I dropped the keys in the mailbox and got on with my new life. Clean. Free. All my power with me.

LIFE. It’s all energy. You know this.

When we give energy away willingly, intentionally, with positivity, we get stronger. We become truer, purer, bigger. Power-full.

When we give our energy away unconsciously, under duress, as we are victimized, or taken advantage of, when we over-give out of a sense of deficiency or obligation, we … don’t get stronger. We constrict, we get depleted, we start to stiffen from fear.

You are always in relationship with your life force. Ideally, you want access to your FULL life force. Not just half it because some of your power is on obligation-loan to the needy, or stuck in a past life, or knotted up with the person who did you wrong, or tangled up in dreading the future. Painful events create fissures that your power gets trapped in. You want to empty those pockets and get your gold back.

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

Words have incredible power. You know this.

THIS IS HOW POWER RETRIEVAL WORKS:

You don’t want to ever run into that person. The very thought turns your stomach. Get bigger than it…. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The love songs that make you sick. Own the beauty. Sing it for someone else. Take it back. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The scene of the crime, that words that broke your spirit, the time you got rejected — painful stuff … those situations all have your energy inside of them, waiting to be freed up and restored to you. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The places that you used to go to, but avoid now, extract your mojo out of them…I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The years you tried to make it work, poring, praying, pleading, dancing on egg shells … take back every plea, take back every prayer — take back every time you wished for it to be different than it was — it’s over now. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The incident that traumatized you. The blow that caused the wounds. Call your strength home. Snap it back from the betrayer, from the abuser. Take it all back. NOW. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

Triggered agony, symbols of defeat, waves of anxiety, emotions of disempowerment, memories that really hurt. Transmute it all into fuel. …I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

For all the times you were quiet about deception and disrespect, quiet about the life force that was being syphoned from your generous nature. Speak your power into fullness. …I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

THIS IS AN ONGOING PRACTICE

Part of your old chapter will follow you in to your new chapter. “Stop resenting that have you to deal with this,” Ataana would say to me. “Every trigger is your power wanting to be called back.” In that case, instead of resenting the shit out of recurring triggers, get excited when you trip on them. Like this: Negative feeling happens. A-ha! THERE’S where my power has been. Right where I left it.

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

Take your power back so you can put it to wonderful use. Because if it’s floating out there, someone else is going to plug into it and hoover on your juju. Yes, it works that way.

You have the power. Maybe you left some of it somewhere. It’s still yours and it will always be yours. Go get it.

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.”

Thanks Daniele, genius advice.

xox

Did you know the meaning of this word? Yeah, me neither!
Cool huh?

The reason I’m bringing this up is…This is something a genie says when he grants your wish.

He crosses his arms and with a nod of his mighty turbaned head he proclaims Abracadabra! and with that one word he creates exactly what you asked for.

But can you remember what he says before he grants that wish?

I can only recall it because I’m mildly delusional, AND it’s been the first thing in my head a few mornings this past month.

Your wish is my command.

Seriously.

Imagine waking up to that.

It sets the bar pretty high.

Suddenly having your coffee brought to you doesn’t quite cut it anymore, because my genie would know that what I really wished for was a rich, creamy hot chocolate, not a cup of breakfast blend with rice milk.

Your wish is my command.
It puts the abra in Abracadabra, because think about it; first the genie has to know what you want in order to speak it into reality.

Do you know what you want? Really?
I can be vague and often completely misdirected (hot chocolate).

Are you conscious of what you say, what your words are creating?

Yeah, not so much.

I know how I want to feel: happy, healthy, vital, successful, relevant, loved, etc, etc, etc. But what wishes will deliver those feelings to me?

What if in the mornings the first thing the Universe said to us was: Your wish is my command (which it does).

How would that feel?

If you knew that to be true, how would that change the way you look at life?

What in the holy hell would you be wishing for after three weeks, a month, six months; if you had a wish granted every morning?

I love a good theory and my latest is this: that waking up with that phrase in my head was a not-so-subtle reminder that that is really how the world works, and I’ve forgotten to remember — so I think I have to struggle and effort my way through life.

Right? Haven’t you forgotten?

Your wish is my command.

Abracadabra!

Fuck, I love reminders.

These are my favorite words until further notice. That and gobsmacked. I LOVE gobsmacked.

Carry on,
xox