searching

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

On Sunday mornings one of my best friends since…well, forever, comes over after her hike, for coffee and a donut (the coffee is for her, the donut is for me).
Don’t laugh, it’s our thing. She’s the healthy hiker and I’m the slug who sits waiting patiently for a donut. We used to hike together, but that’s a long story about sore feet, with way too much whining (mine) for today.

Anyhow, even though she’s exhausted and I’m a donut scarfing Jabba The Hut on Sundays, we still get together for a few hours to offer each other advice on life (which if you knew us would be laughable), and we do. Laugh—a lot that is.

Lately we’ve been pondering that old idiom: Getting to the bottom of things.
Why do people say that?
Why did we do that? Why, as human beings is that something we do enough to warrant its own idiom?
We needed answers.

If you look it up here’s what you get: Getting to the bottom of things—
To discover the real but sometimes hidden reason that something exists or happens.

And therein lies the rub.
In the history of human relationships when have we EVER had a clue as to why anyone does anything?

Why does someone go out to get cigarettes…and never return?
Why do the Republicans give Donald Trump ANY airtime?
Why are some people liars?
Why are most landlords idiots?
Why didn’t he call for another date when he said he would?
Why do bad things happen to good people?

I used to believe the reason would reveal itself, like the missing piece of the puzzle, if I would just give it my undivided attention.

So I would chew on the dilemma, like a dog with a bone. I’d obsess about it, call my friends to talk about it, worry myself sick about it and cry myself to sleep over it.
Then I’d start over again the next day.
I was relentless in my pursuit of the truth, and like one of those competitive, deep water free divers, I’d put on my two hundred pound weight, hold my breath and hope not to die on my way to the bottom.

But with every trip to rock-bottom I left a little bit of myself down there.
You know, lack of oxygen, lost brain cells, and stolen time. I can never get those days, months, years back.

My friend agreed. She had done the same thing after her divorce. She was determined to discover the real and hidden reason her husband had left she and her two young sons. And just like me, (and probably you too) she was dragged to the bottom. The depths of her despair. Unable to surface, her lungs bursting, gasping for the fresh, clean air of truth.

Here’s the thing we eventually came to realize you guys.

Don’t fucking look for the bottom!

You will never find the truth, the hidden meaning as to why something happened. So don’t go there.
What you want to know doesn’t reside there, not even close. It’s not even in the same zip code.

As you dig and chew and dive below the surface with the weight of the world around your neck, you get further and further away from where you need to be:
1) Making peace with the situation;
2) Accepting the fact that you may never know all the reasons;
3) Making your way back to the surface where you can start your giant. life. reboot.

So quit looking. There is no bottom.

Yeah, we got all that from coffee and a donut (‘cause wisdom needs sugar and caffeine).
Good stuff, huh?

Carry, carry, carry on UP!
xox