spirituality

This is dedicated to my rebels. You know who you are. xox

“You can just stop with the damn smoke blowing thing!”
Me ~ to my Shaman.

I once had a shaman. I highly recommend it. 

Mine appeared out of nowhere, like a questionable smell, and actually moved in with me back in the winter of 1993.
With his bald head, Australian accent, and wild, Rasputian eyes, I call him my “pocket shaman” since he was barely shoulder height — and for just shy of a year he literally went everywhere with me. 

If I want to sleep at night I don’t think about that time of my life. The memories remain dark, murky, and mysterious. Definitely NOT a place that’s safe to go without a weapon…or a guide…or as fate would have it—a shaman. 

My friend Mel posted this “Promise of a Shaman” on her Facebook page the other day. I wish I knew who wrote it because I can tell they’ve lived it. Their words bringing every detail of our little dance alllll back to me…

The rituals. 
My fear.
His refusal to meet me in my fear.
My rage at that.
His indifference to my rage.
The energy work that I initially scoffed at and then later counted on to save me.

I’m not being hyperbolic when I say that he saved me, my pocket shaman. He saved my sanity—and in turn, he saved my life.

“Be careful what you wish for,” they say. Up until that point I’d never listened to “them” anyway—and I wasn’t about to start.

I was a thirty-five-year-old seeker who’d been seeking since she was seventeen, and was beyond ready to end her seeking and find her enlightenment already! 
I wished to know all the secrets of the universe. To have them revealed to me so that I alone could understand them.

“Be careful what you wish for,” my pocket shaman admonished as he sat in front of me with eyes the size of salad plates, seriously questioning the direct, solo route I’d chosen to take. It was not working out well for me. Yet I persisted. He was in favor of a more circuitous path; one that came with rest stops, snacks, and water—in other words—a lot of help along the way.

“Fuck that shit!” I ‘m done waiting! I want it now! I’m in a hurry! I argued.

Then I lost my mind.

Sacred texts suggest that when undertaking the path to enlightenment, it would be wise to apprentice for like a thousand years while following the sage advice of a master, guide, or guru.  They say that for a reason, the most obvious one being that the edges of the path are littered with the bones of those who’ve tried to “go it alone”.  And if you don’t die, you are doomed to wander the streets of LA or some other place you no longer recognize, barefoot and afraid, babbling incoherently about “going fast, going solo.” 

Trust me. I was almost there. Luckily for me, a shaman showed up. 

I say thank you to whoever sent him my way. He was exactly what I never knew I needed. 

I also say thank you for the experience we went through together. It was most definitely a battle, and he will forever be my primary overseer and James Bond-level-super-duper-gizmo-in-the-toolbox-fighter-of-the-dark-arts-foxhole-buddy.

And even though it took me twenty years to get here I’d also like to say a heartfelt thank you to the universe for scaring the living bejesus out of me, beating me up every which way imaginable—and some you cannot; and for scrambling my brain, rewiring my nervous system, and then spitting me out on the other side with a cadre of “lovely parting gifts”—that took me two decades to discover. 

And I say thank you to myself, for being brave enough back then to even make the journey. 

So, what is the moral of this story you ask?

That in some instances, good things come in small packages and everybody loves a shaman?

That, in the case of chasing spiritual enlightenment, you’d better put a team together because you are quite LITERALLY playing with fire?

That “they” are right when “they” say, be careful what you wish for because you just may get it—and then have no fucking idea what the hell to do with “it”? —OR—that we don’t say “thank you” nearly enough to that part of ourselves that offers acts of audacious mercy, like conjuring shamans out of thin air at times when we barely have the wherewithal to remember our own names—and that the access code for said mercy should be on page one of the Being Human Handbook?

Hmmmmmm….That’s a hard one. I’ll let you guys decide.

Carry on,
xox

The Promise of a Shaman

If you come to me as a victim I will not support you.

But I will have the courage to walk with you through the pain that you are suffering.

I will put you in the fire, I will undress you, and I will sit you on the earth.
I will bathe you with herbs, I will purge you, and you will vomit the rage and the darkness inside you.
I’ll bang your body with good herbs, and I’ll put you to lay in the grass, face up to the sky.
Then I will blow your crown to clean the old memories that make you repeat the same behavior.

I will blow your forehead to scare away the thoughts that cloud your vision.
I will blow your throat to release the knot that won’t let you talk.
I will blow your heart to scare fear so that it goes far away, where it cannot find you.
I will blow your solar plexus to extinguish the fire of the hell you carry inside, and you will know peace.
I will blow with fire your belly to burn the attachments and the love that was not.
I will blow away the lovers that left you, the children that never came.
I will blow your heart to make you warm, to rekindle your desire to feel, create and start again.
I will blow with force your vagina or your penis, to clean the sexual door to your soul.
I will blow away the garbage that you collected trying to love what did not want to be loved.
I will use the broom, and the sponge, and the rag, and safely clean all the bitterness inside you.
I will blow your hands to destroy the ties that prevent you from creating.
I will blow your feet to dust and erase the footprints memories, so you can never return to that bad place.
I will turn your body, so your face will kiss the earth.
I’ll blow your spine from the root to the neck to increase your strength and help you walk upright.

And I will let you rest.

After this you will cry, and after crying you will sleep, 

And you will dream beautiful and meaningful dreams, 

and when you wake up I’ll be waiting for you.

I will smile at you, and you will smile back

I will offer you food that you will eat with pleasure, tasting life, and I will thank you.

Because what I’m offering today, was offered to me before when darkness lived within me.

And after I was healed, I felt the darkness leaving, and I cried.

Then we will walk together, and I will show you my garden, and my plants, and I will take you to the fire again.

And will talk together in a single voice with the blessing of the earth.

And we will shout to the forest the desires of your heart.

And the fire will listen and whisper the echo, and we will create hope together.

And the mountains will listen and whisper the echo, and we will create hope together.

And the rivers will listen and whisper the echo, and we will create hope together.

And the wind will listen and whisper the echo, and we will create hope together.

And then we will bow before the fire, and we will call upon all the visible and invisible guardians.

And you will say thank you to all of them.

And you will say thank you to yourself.

And you will say thank you to yourself. 

And you will say thank you to yourself.

~Author unknown

Carry on,

xox

This is riot you guys!
But not really.
Ugh.
I’ve sat at this table haven’t you?

Wait! It gets better. I’ve been that well-intentioned jackass who speaks in self-righteous therapist or guru induced gibberish. That’s not communicating you guys. That’s not even a conversation.
THAT is a monologue.

I want to throw a roll at all of them. Don’t you want to throw a roll?
That’s what they need—a good old-fashioned food fight!

CAUTION: this is what happens when you take “spirituality” to the extreme. You think you’re being “authentic”, self-aware, and just telling the truth when you’re actually looking down your nose at everyone, not listening and plain old just being an ass.

Just goes to show that extreme ANYTHING, even enlightenment—is NOT the way to go.

Carry on,
xox

Hi you guys,
Below is a recent blog post from Dr. Brene Brown who studies and writes about vulnerably, courage, worthiness and shame.
With the energy that’s been circulating around us lately, clutching at our hearts, bringing up past hurts to be healed, and in the process fucking with the stories we’ve made up about ourselves, our lives, who we’ve been, and who we’re becoming; well,this feels apropos.
Carry on,
xox

As we enter the Rising Strong launch countdown, I thought I’d share one of my favorite passages from the new book with you. Even though this is something I know in my head, it remains something I have to practice in my heart.

From Rising Strong:

The most dangerous stories we make up are the narratives that diminish our inherent worthiness. We must reclaim the truth about our lovability, divinity, and creativity

Lovability: Many of my research participants who had gone through a painful breakup or divorce, been betrayed by a partner, or experienced a distant or uncaring relationship with a parent or family member spoke about responding to their pain with a story about being unlovable—a narrative questioning if they were worthy of being loved.

This may be the most dangerous conspiracy theory of all. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past thirteen years, it’s this:

Divinity: Research participants who shared stories of shame around religion had less in common than most people guess. No specific denomination has emerged as more shaming in my work; however, there is a strong pattern worth noting. Over half of the participants who talked about experiencing shame in their faith histories also found resilience and healing through spirituality.

The majority of them changed their churches or their beliefs, but spirituality and faith remain important parts of their lives. They believed that the sources of shame arose from the earthly, man-made, human-interpreted rules or regulations and the social/community expectations of religion rather than their personal relationships with God or the divine.

Our faith narratives must be protected, and we must remember that no person is ordained to judge our divinity or to write the story of our spiritual worthiness.

Creativity and Ability: In Daring Greatly, I write, “One reason that I’m confident that shame exists in schools is simply because 85 percent of the men and women we interviewed for the shame research could recall a school incident from their childhood that was so shaming that it changed how they thought of themselves as learners. What makes this even more haunting is that approximately half of those recollections were what I refer to as creativity scars. The research participants could point to a specific incident where they were told or shown that they weren’t good writers, artists, musicians, dancers, or something creative. This helps explain why the gremlins are so powerful when it comes to creativity and innovation.”

Like our lovability and divinity, we must care for and nurture the stories we tell ourselves about our creativity and ability. Just because we didn’t measure up to some standard of achievement doesn’t mean that we don’t possess gifts and talents that only we can bring to the world.

Just because someone failed to see the value in what we can create or achieve doesn’t change its worth or ours.

~Brene Brown
http://brenebrown.com/about/

Wow you guys!
Sunday’s post regarding the word DEVOTION  and all that it means really got our  blog family thinking…and talking!

Lots of great feedback in the comments, several emails and a couple of you were even compelled to text!

Many of us it seems, responded to a kind of Catholic Cosmic Memo, feeling a slight nudge, or in my case an insistent calling to Go Sit In Church.

More than that, it became a full circle moment, ripe with emotion, healing and even some tears – Who knew?                  

To get the memo, listen to it, share it with you guys and then get to hear about all the synchronicities, you guys, that’s why I do this!   

I went to bed Sunday night grateful and giddy, really happy that a bunch of us had shared that experience.

So you can imagine my surprise when I read that yet another soul had received the memo, and it was someone whom I really admire.

It seems that we can count the author, lecturer and life coach extraordinaire Cheryl Richardson, among our ranks. Her experience was very close to mine, which affirms the fact that we’re all connected, (but I have to admit, it still freaks me out a little when that happens).

So who else was with us? Although I’ve called it the Catholic Cosmic Memo, that’s only  because I’ve heard mostly from them (confession).

You Guys, it doesn’t have to be a church. Did you make a long overdue visit to a Temple for Passover, or visit a Mosque?

I’m so curious now about who else received this Cosmic Memo!
Please share.

God sure does work in mysterious ways!
Carry on
xoxJ

Take it away Cheryl:

~*~ How God works in mysterious ways

This morning I went to church for the first time in years.
I’d been thinking about going to celebrate Easter and a last-minute invitation from a friend who wanted company sealed the deal.
Raised Catholic, I spent every Sunday morning at church with my family. We’d file in, one-by-one, all nine of us, and sit in a pew near the front of the altar so we could watch the priest as he said Mass.

Today, staring at the coffered ceilings, the stained glass windows, and the mighty arches overhead, I was transported back in time.
My body knew the rituals by heart. Stand. Sit. Kneel. Stand.
My mouth remembered every word.
My spirit lifted as I listened to the thundering organ and felt the sacredness of ceremony.

When we sat down for the sermon, I stared at a young girl – maybe ten years old – sitting in a pew in front of me. She had long, dark hair and she wore a pale, pink dress with a matching ribbon tied in a bow around her ponytail.

Wiggling back and forth, doing her best to sit still, I smiled as I remembered my own restlessness as a kid in church constrained by the fear of getting ‘the look’ from one of my parents.
Watching her, I felt emotion well up inside me, bringing unexpected tears to my eyes. I lowered my head and squeezed them shut, unsure about what prompted this reaction.

I took a slow, deep breath and tuned in.

This is where my spiritual life was born, I thought to myself, the place that introduced me to the love of God and the belief in a power greater than my small self.

These are the rituals that formed the spiritual backbone that, to this day, supports my life, my work, and my soul.
This may be where my love affair with beauty began.
I felt overwhelmed with appreciation for my mom and dad’s commitment to instill in us a reverence for the sacred in spite of our resistance.

I’m sure we complained a lot about going to church.
It’s funny how things change with the wisdom and maturity of age.
Over the years, as my spiritual life widened and expanded to include the rituals and teachings of other faiths, I lost touch with my Catholic roots.

Today, it felt good to revisit them again.

At the end of the Mass, something beautiful happened.
As I walked out of the church, the priest who led the service smiled as I passed by and, when my friend stopped to introduce us, he threw his arms around me before she barely said a word. He hugged me tight and began to recite a blessing, asking God to fill me with love, to protect me, and to give me what I needed to continue making my way in the world.

I stood there, returning his embrace, a little stunned at his warmth and informality.

When finished, he stepped back and looked me in the eye. Then he started laughing.

“You get it, right?” he said to me.

I started laughing, too.

Yes, I get it, I replied, without a second thought.
My head unsure, but my heart and soul fully onboard.

God sure does work in mysterious ways.
Happy Easter to you and yours… may we all be raised by the Light.
heart emoticon Cheryl

You can subscribe to Cheryl’s blog here:
http://cherylrichardson.com/

Dearest, Darling Failure,

Do you mind if I call you by that name?

I realize it’s much more politically correct to refer to you as re-direction, contrast, un-met goals, course correction,
blah, blah,blah.

I admit, you do possess ALL of those more soul soothing attributes; but let’s be honest here, let’s call a spade, a spade.

You are greatly under-appreciated but let me be clear — No One wants you around!

When shit hits the fan, when careers crash and burn, when marriages end, when we get fired, sued, or otherwise fucked over, when things in our lives fracture and give way under stress, it’s YOUR face we all see at the scene of the crime.

In any case; I’ve come to know you well over the past few years and – well – I’ve fallen for you….
Hard.

I don’t mean to sugar coat things, but you came into my life with the face of my foe; and you have become my friend.

You shook things up for me BIG TIME.
You took my tiny Etch A Sketch of a life, with all of it’s perfectly drawn straight lines, and you hurled it into an F-five tornado.

But I love you for that, ya big lug.

Just uttering your name, failure, can definitely set a negative tone and cause anxiety; please don’t take it personally, we just don’t want you in our lives and when you do show up – we’re afraid you’ll never leave.

But truth be told, you are just as fleeting as success, THAT you’ve taught me.

When you are standing next to me knee-deep in the rubble of my life, you know what I do the next day?
I get up and put one foot in front of the other, each step moving me forward.

You know what I do the days success holds my hand?
I get up, put one foot in front of the other and move forward with my life.

Success has its value don’t get me wrong, but you, failure, your lessons have marked me deeply and profoundly, and I love you for that.

Success never caused me to grow, gave me depth or made me an internally richer person. 

But by God, you have failure.

Success made me lazy, afraid to try new things and take chances.

You gave me a glimpse of my true nature. You have delivered to me some of my most agonizing moments, but they have transformed me.
You made me better. Better in business, better in life. A better friend, sister and wife.

Damn it, I love you man.

We all go to extraordinary lengths to avoid you, I know I did, but I realize now that was a mistake.
It’s like trying to avoid aging, which is a similar double-edged sword, and just as futile.
There are as many benefits to be gained from failure as there are from growing old, and BOTH are a privilege.

I truly love you failure
If you had not come into my life when you did, I would not be the person I am today.

Big hug and a sloppy kiss,

We’ve all failed at something, What have you learned from your failure?
Do you agree that it’s made you a better person? All the action happens in the comments below, don’t be shy, your feedback could help someone.

Xox

Ultimatums are rarely a good idea.
In life, in relationships and when dealing with the Universe.
When we are driven to taking this tactic, hands on our hips, lips pursed, loaded with attitude, wearing our bossy pants…we will lose.
And we’ve ALL done it.

Think about it, you have set your terms, made your demands and you are promising some kind of retaliation or an end to communication all together, if you don’t get the answer you desire.
First of all, that’s called emotional extortion, that’s a topic for another day.
Still, it seems like you have all the power… butcha don’t….Not really.

The final outcome lies in the hands of the receiver of the ultimatum.
It’s his call, he could end it all. Because YOU said so.

You know what the Universe says to an ultimatum?
“You’re not the boss of me”.

You know how I know that? Because it told me so.

Recently; like yesterday, I was giving the Universe my latest, in the long line of ultimatums I’ve been issuing, and that “voice” chimed in:
Me: So, here’s the deal, you’ve gotta do “this thing” or I can’t make all this other stuff happen.
Uni: Don’t give me an ultimatum, you’re not the boss of me, give me choices.
Me: What do you mean, choices?
Uni: Give me your three most preferable choices, in descending order, from best to worst. I’ll take it from there.
Me: Why would I do that?
Uni: To maintain your flexibility. It also allows us to throw you a curve ball. Something amazing, that’s completely unexpected.
Me: But I really, strongly, feel that it has to go down my way.
Uni: You are acting stubborn and misguided.
Me: Don’t sugarcoat it, tell me how you really feel…Shit…okay.

After that, I did come up with three scenarios that would work in that situation.
Funny, earlier I was convinced there was only one. So, I shot off a mental memo to the Universe, and sat back feeling relieved.
I wasn’t nervously waiting for the shoe to drop. Now I knew it could go any number of ways and that would be fine.
I DID feel more flexibility around my expectations.
I’m Gumby dammit!

Now I’ve got to go borrow a baseball mitt, gotta be ready for my curveball.
How about you?

XoxJanet 

I like to clear the air.
Literally and Energetically.
I like to have all the windows open when weather permits, with cross ventilation and a breeze. I can smell the difference in a room. No more stuffy, stale dog farts hanging in the air.

It also FEELS transformed. Like all the molecules have played musical chairs, and have repositioned themselves; and the nasty ones have left the room.

I usually take this a step further and burn Nagchampa incense. I must admit right here and now, that I have a thing for incense.
It really sends me. I blame my Catholic upbringing. When the smoke from that rich Frankincense would envelope me during Mass, my eyes would roll back in my head, and I’d be GONE.
Anyway…My original meditation teacher from back-in-the-day turned me onto Nagchampa. It is widely used in yoga, and meditation, to helps create a sacred space. For centuries in India it has been used for cleansing and purging areas of negativity & unwanted spirits and energy. Who doesn’t need some of that?
It is the smell you are likely smelling in every Yoga studio, meditation class and New Age bookstore. And here is why: Nagchampa incense has several benefits. It has a natural sedative effect and will help to unwind your body. It consist of sandalwood which is a strong calming agent and is said to have a high spiritual vibration and aid in calming the restless mind.
Which makes it my best friend and my go to energy unwinder.
If it’s too early for wine, I burn some Nagchampa.

I’m also a big believer in burning white sage.
I KNOW it changes the energy of a room or a person.
The American Indians call it “smudging”. It comes in bundles at any health food store, and has two distinct properties:
1) It is a bitch to keep burning. I’ve heard all the tricks, it’s not dry enough, blah, blah, blah. You either get a bundle that sets off every smoke alarm or one that won’t stay lit.
The benefits are totally worth it; just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
2) It smells suspiciously like pot.
If you smudge your place of business, and any of the smoke lingers, you will get those “knowing” smiles.
My sister and I burned sage so much when my nephew was young, we joked that when he became a teenager and went to his first rock concert, he would wonder to himself (silently we prayed) “Who’s burning the sage?”
I’ve saged every new apartment and house I’ve lived in since I was 19.
You start with the doorways, windows and hallways. Make sure the smoke reaches the ceiling, and just trace the outline of each room, paying attention to the corners.
High traffic areas are a must. Bedrooms are essential. Then I concentrate on any place where a fight or even snarky words have occurred. That is pretty much every square inch of my living space. And since I can be the Queen of Snark, I sage the shit out of myself. I just follow the outline of my body, paying special attention 
to. my. mouth.
All kidding aside, saging someone who is or has been going through emotional crisis can be very healing.

Clearing the emotion off of objects is a different story.
When I worked with antique jewelry, I handled every piece that came through our store, especially in the early days. 
I would clean it, price it, and enter its description in our inventory. Last but not least, I would display it.
Occasionally, I would pick up a piece and it would reek of sadness.
Or anger.
Or both.
Stones, especially diamonds are huge energy absorbers and transmitters.
Think of a crystal radio.
The two methods I know to clear the energy and bring a piece of jewelry back to just metal and stones, are to bury it in dirt or submerge in saltwater for three days.
Get a dedicated pot of dirt if that’s the method you choose. And be wary of squirrels. I’m not kidding.
Back in those early days we had a saltwater fish tank in the store and on any given day you could walk by and see 8-10 pieces of jewelry hanging by their tags in the tank.
My boss would roll his eyes so hard I thought he was going to do a backflip.

I also kept a laminated chart, hidden under my desk blotter, of gemstones and their energetic properties. He was convinced I was nuts and that my “woo woo” techniques were bullshit…until a customer would ask a question about the energy of a diamond, or what healing qualities an amethyst possessed.
As the end of the 20th century approached, it became a regular occurrence.
We catered to celebrities. Celebrities believe this stuff.
In order to make a sale, I would overhear him:
“We have a chart that can answer your question” or 
“We can put that ring in our fish tank and you can pick it up Friday.”
I loved that he said “We.” Ha!
I had no idea he had been paying attention.
I think he may have even started to believe.
At least he didn’t roll his eyes anymore.
Listen, I wasn’t out to convert anyone, but I think it may have just been absorbed through osmosis.

Ah, who am I kidding, he probably has a drawer full of Nagchampa at home, and a dedicated pot of dirt.

XoxJanet

Man ,woman, doesn’t matter.
One person’s trash is another person’s treasure
And I mean that in the kindest way!

It can run the gamut from the pair of boots that gave you wicked blisters every time you wore them, to old boyfriends.

I was recently gifted some new MAC lipsticks.
Not all of them were colors that looked good on me.
These fifty-five year old chicken lips no longer look good in that blackish-blue
deep purple, but the nineteen year old daughter of a friend lost her mind with joy!
Same with that corpse looking grey nail polish, I kept the dark blue,
and she’s rockin’ the grey.

And you know what??
I didn’t feel one ounce, not one second of guilt or remorse.
It just wasn’t right for ME, so I let it go, and moved on.

Why oh why can’t we do that with jobs, boyfriends, college friends,
bad habits and basically all things that no longer serve us?!
If they add no value, or worse yet, subtract value from our lives…
Like give us blisters…
THEY NEED TO MOVE ON.

But how can they, when we continue our remorseful, guilt ridden strangle hold on their ankles as they try to walk out the door.
We just don’t want to hurt anyone, or feel bad, so we’ll keep wearing the purple lipstick, even though we outgrew it in 1988.

I had a therapist back in the day, that cautioned me,
“You just want to love, Janet, you don’t want to take hostages”
God I love that.  Even all these years later.

When something is finished, let it go you guys!

It’s your ego that thinks they’ll never be able to replace you.
That job, that guy, that old friend from fifteen years ago.
Of course they will.  And the person they find will be so much better for them than you were! Remember? You were done!

Your trash (metaphorically speaking, calm down)…their treasure.

The next person will bless you and the day you put your trash on the curb,
or your boyfriend on the market.
Trust me, I’ve seen it happen over and over.
I’m my husband’s third wife…I rest my case!
XoxJanet

“I’ve come to believe that there exists in the universe something I call “The Physics of The Quest” — a force of nature governed by laws as real as the laws of gravity or momentum. And the rule of Quest Physics maybe goes like this: “If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting (which can be anything from your house to your bitter old resentments) and set out on a truth-seeking journey (either externally or internally), and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, and if you are prepared – most of all – to face (and forgive) some very difficult realities about yourself… then truth will not be withheld from you.” Or so I’ve come to believe.”

― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love