spiritual

Devotion With A Side of Emotion ~ Flashback

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I love this post from last year. I sat with my dearly departed Dad, In a church. wtf? Actually, church has been calling me again this year, not to sit through a mass, just to sit — what’s up with that?
Tradition. Life, Death, Love. Maybe you guys can relate.
Love you!
xox


DEVOTION

de·vo·tion
dəˈvōSH(ə)n/
noun.
1.) Love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity
synonyms: loyalty, faithfulness, fidelity, constancy, commitment, adherence,allegiance, dedication.

2.) Religious worship or observance.
synonyms: devoutness, piety, religiousness, spirituality, godliness, holiness, sanctity
“a life of devotion”

3.) Prayers or religious observances.

Devotion. What does that mean to me? What does it mean to you?

As a Catholic I thought I had an idea, but the edges have blurred and I’ve been left to define it for myself.

This is an interesting time of year.
It’s ripe with the energy of endings; and new beginnings.
Deaths and re-births —— figuratively and literally.

We can practice our devotion inside this energy of change with Easter, Passover, the full moon, eclipses, and all other assortments of ancient and new age cosmic rites of passage.

Take me for instance; I am sitting as I write this, in a pew, basking in the warm glow of stained glass, inside of St. John The Baptist De La Salle Catholic Church— the church I grew up in — the church of my youth.

The one where I whiled away hour after hour of my childhood.
Some in innocent devotion, kneeling with sweaty little girl hands piously folded together, fervently praying my little girl prayers and later, in a pre-pubescent stupor, stifling yawns during my eight years there in the late sixties, early seventies.

Now, I’ve gotta tell ya, this retired Catholic is finding it…surreal to be back here, and I have to make this snappy.

I could spontaneously combust if the powers-that-be realize that I’m here, or the light from that stained glass baby Jesus hits me just right.

All kidding aside, recently my Catholic roots have been calling me. Their siren’s song running lightly in the background of my life.

It all started when I began burning Frankincense incense in the mornings. I attempted subconsciously to counteract its effects by simultaneously playing a Buddhist chant, with mixed results — that smell to me, still to this day signals Lent.
Then I noticed, lo and behold it is exactly that time of year. Hmmmm…

That smell transports me back to Stations Of The Cross, a ritual of remembrance of the absolute worst day in the life of Jesus Christ.

As a little girl I loved rituals.
The smells, the cool, dimly lit ambiance, the notes played on the organ that resonated inside my chest and head, and the drone of the priest’s voice. They all conspired to “send me” to another place and time. (still do).

As I write this there is an actual organ rehearsal happening right this minute. Sending me…

Yet, even as that devout little girl I had a hard time wrapping my brain around commemorating the days leading up to someone’s horrible, torturous, barbaric death and THAT little kernel of doubt, that one right there, started my life as a seeker.

Devotion as religious observance.
I sat with my dearly departed father Friday in another church much closer to my home, (that now makes it twice in one week, a personal record as an adult).

We sat together devoutly, he with his invisible hand on my knee to keep me from bolting during Stations Of The Cross, the first one I’ve sat throughout since eighth grade. It was faster and much…dryer than I remembered.

And no fragrance of frankincense — a crushing disappointment.

Still, I sat with my dad on the tenth anniversary of his passing… in a church…during Lent. And only one of us made it out alive…barely.

I’ll tell anyone I did it for him, but truth be told, that experience was calling ME.

Devotion.  

To others?  To a practice?  To a cause? 

I think we can all relate to that.

How about…

Devotion as Love and loyalty, enthusiasm for a person or an activity.

To tradition.

To family , friends and matters of the heart.

To times past.

To ritual.

To the planet.

To sacred places; temples, sanctuaries, churches, nature, Sephora, the bakery.

To whatever sends you and floats your boat.

To kindness and courage.

To mala beads, crystals, chanting, yoga and meditation.

To ancient childhood memories resurfacing.

To triggers; Smells. Sounds. People.

I’m getting a bit misty-eyed over here.
It must be a combination of the lousy organ music (he just needs more practice), and the fact that my fifty-seven-year-old butt is currently seated on the same hard wooden bench that my innocently sweet, but always questioning, seven-year-old butt sat.

Devotion to change.
I used to believe that religion and spirituality were mutually exclusive.
One told you no, the other said… perhaps.

Call it old age, or just a general unclenching of the fists that happens naturally over time; but I’m finding myself more and more belonging to Team Meh where our motto is: “Well, that’s not my thing — but good for you!”

Devotion to Neutrality or I’m in a Switzerland State of Mind
Daily I struggle with judgment. I know, it’s just me.
I’m striving to be for more things than I’m against.

I feel like after this week I can move the Catholic religion to my neutral list. At last!

Some people hang out in groovy cafes and write.
I sit weeping in Catholic Churches.

Who knows what’s next?

Can you explain devotion? What are you devoted to, I’d love to know.

Happy Easter & Passover my loves,
Xox

Another Year… Another Birthday.

Make Your Case

Hi you guys,
Same day, different year!
I’ve posted this essay for the past three years and well, it’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it!
Love you, Carry on!
xox


It’s my birthday today.
Yep, another year older. I’m game for that. It still remains better than the alternative.That is until death makes me a better offer.

Once upon a long time ago, a wise man told me that it’s very important to meditate on the day of your birth and to set an intention for the year to follow.

He also told me a story that I swallowed hook, line and sinker, and it went something like: Either the night before, or the night of your birth, you go before a council, in your dreams. You then state your case as to the reasons why you should be allowed to remain on the planet for another year.

What will you add?

What mark will you leave?

Who will you effect?

Will you move further toward your purpose, or stay asleep?

When he explained that to me over coffee and a huge dose of caffeinated conviction –– I took it very seriously…and I still do.

I used to look around at the people who appeared to just be marking time, figuring their council session probably didn’t go so well. Until I realized, someone could be wondering that about me. Everyone’s entitled to have an off-year, right?

The older I get, the more I understand that this is not a dry run. This is the real deal.

You’ve gotta try your damnedest to find out why you’re here, and then get on with it.

What do you think you last told the council?

That you’re going to spend another year at that dead-end job, or in that abusive, loveless marriage?

That you’re not going to take that trip you’ve always dreamed about…again?

That you’re not going to take any chances…you’ll be sitting on the sidelines, playing it safe again this year?

How would that go over with them? I’m thinkin’ not so good.

We may be given some slack in our twenties, ’cause we’re newbies, but by now, we had better make a hell of a case for walking the planet for another 365 days.

I only get the privilege of being me this one time around. I’m not looking at blowing it.

Maybe I stood before the council last night, or maybe it will be tonight. Doesn’t matter. I’m prepared, notes in hand, maybe even a PowerPoint presentation, my intention set.

I plan on kicking some serious butt this year.
Wish me luck.

Xox

Coercion

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This blog post by Seth Godin feels SO relevant right now you guys. Use your gut, your discretion, your instincts in order to make sense of the noisy rhetoric that’s being broadcast to us daily.
Bullies are LOUD! Try not to be coerced.
Carry on,
xox


Coercion

“You are with me or against me.”

“Being against me is the same as being against us.”

“If I determine that you are against us, you deserve all the problems that you brought on yourself by your actions. Don’t make me hurt you again.”

We are fortunate to live in a civil society that is governed by ideas, ideals and laws. Lincoln correctly warned us about the mob and the bullying leader who eggs them on.

Coercion can make change happen (in the short run). Coercion can look like leadership. But it doesn’t scale and it doesn’t last, because ultimately, it burns down the very institution it sought to change by mob force.

We can encounter bullies at work, coaching teams and even working in law enforcement. Wherever people organize, they show up.

Coercion gets its start because well-meaning people believe that the short-run cost of the mob mentality is worth it. It almost never is. Coercion uses force and blames the victim. And coercion is impossible to live with.

Real change happens because of enrollment because it invites people in, it doesn’t use fear. Real leadership patiently changes the culture, engaging people in a shared effort. It’s more difficult, but it’s change we can live with.

~Seth Godin

Fear, Chapped Lips and Heinous Side Effects

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Hello, fear. (Said with sneering disdain, like “Hello Newman” on Seinfeld).

Fear reared his ugly head again on Tuesday.
Like me, you probably woke up to the report of yet another terrorist attack on innocent civilians in Brussels. And again if you’re like me your first response was to gird your loins.
To hunker down, plant your feet, cross your arms and close your mind.

In your body you probably felt, along with me, a nauseous gut pit, turning to sadness, then empathy and finally anger. Oh, yeah, and all of that with a fear chaser.

You know you guys, it reminds me of those pharmaceutical ads on TV and their heinous side effects. You know the ones I mean. They’re laughable.

“For chronic chapped lips try *Chaplipocine. Taken regularly, it reduces the symptoms of chapped lips in only three days!
Side effects may include (and this is said at the speed of a professional auctioneer), flatulence, headaches, amnesia, seizures, constipation, swelling of the tongue and testicles, facial hair in men, women, and babies, eventual loss of consciousness — and death.”

And it’s making billions because people are willing to suffer those consequences to get chapped lip relief!
Wtf?

But just as ridiculous and shoved down our throats even more aggressively, are the side effects of fear. They consist of paranoia, anxiety, uncontrollable security cravings, unwillingness to travel, suspicion, inability to turn off CNN, intolerance, giving away your privacy, dis-empowerment, not living your life — and death.

Seriously?

I for one, feel that’s unacceptable.

We all have a choice of how to respond.
I can eyeball the hipster next to me suspiciously while he sits there on his computer with his luxurious man-beard and wonder if he’s crafting his jihadist manifesto. And I can cancel my trip to Europe that I saved years for.
Because I could die. We all could die.
Because it’s too dangerous. The airports. Subways. Cafes. Sidewalks. Everything.

These are some of the side effects I’m not willing to suffer. How about you?

Listen, we have to be aware. We can’t and we shouldn’t walk with our faces buried in our phones or our head in the clouds. But there’s a difference between awareness and suspicion.

Don’t shake hands with fear. Please.

Girded loins never did anyone any good,

And chapped lips go away in three days regardless of the medicine you take.

So don’t endure the heinous side effects just for the illusion of being saved.

Anyhow, carry on,

xox

*you know this product doesn’t really exist, right?

Be Like Bob. Be a Scout.

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This is Bob.
Bob is a scout. Scouts by definition are out looking for something.
They go ahead of the others. Often, even they don’t know what they’re looking for. They’re…scouting.

Bob crossed my face seventeen times last night. I assume he was looking for food.
The last time I checked I don’t keep spare food on my face. I keep my chin hairs pretty short. They don’t catch food anymore, so Bob was shit out of luck, but that didn’t stop him from looking because that’s what scouts do…they scout.

Bob was tenacious. He was determined, undeterred.

Which made me want to kill him. To roll him between my fingers until he was reduced to a balled-up version of himself but I didn’t have the heart. I admired his tenacity.

I look up to the Bob’s of this world, those who march on with conviction into the unknown. Way ahead of the huddled masses. Scouting.

I’ve only recently started it, scouting that is, and I’ve gotta tell ya, it ain’t easy.
Louis and Clark, I am not. I want detailed maps with well-marked routes and plenty of rest stops. This scouting thing means that you may very well be the first one to venture down a certain path. That sort of thing used to make me… nervous. Twitchy. When I got to the unmarked fork in the road—I called a cab and went back to the hotel pool with the shitty drinks and the scratchy towels.

Let’s just say I’m no Bob. But I’m learning.

Scouting takes a certain fearlessness. Bob was a prime example.
He crossed the unmapped craggy Mars-like terrain of my face seventeen times. Undeterred by my forest of eyebrows, large, black nose caves, or the chin hairs I mentioned that have the tensile strength of steel cable and are sharp enough to cleave him in half with one false move.

I can’t venture into an unfamiliar neighborhood without Google maps, global positioning, snacks, and my knowledge of the three points on the human body where if you kick a man—he dies instantly. But these days, I’m getting much braver about  moving into the uncharted territories of my life.

On a scale of one to five, one being fraidy cat Janet at the crossroads, five being Bob — where do you stand?

These days I’ve inched up the scale to the middle somewhere. You know how it goes, one step forward two steps back. But that’s okay, I’ll always have Bob’s example to keep me moving forward.

Because I want to know the unknown, discover the undiscovered — in other words, be a scout. Because scouts…scout.

Carry on,
xox

Dare To Be Special

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Do you walk into a room and get the luke-warm treatment?

Or do people light up when they see you coming?

Is your enthusiasm met with… crickets?

Are you applauded for your ideas and insights?

Or are they met with indifference?

Which one feels better to you? More life expanding? Closer to the finish line?

Dare to be special. Dream big. Nope, even bigger still.

Ditch the nay-sayers, run towards the yeahers — the ones who are cheering you on.

I give you permission to feel like a superstar inside of your own life.

Now go, make me proud.

xox

 

 

The Dog’s Life Handbook — Reprise

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I was talking to a friend the other day and all I’ll say is THIS post from a year and a half ago came to mind. Does it sound familiar? Yeah, I know. Me too.
xox


As I write this, I can feel the soft, cool underbelly of the big, older dog snoozing on my feet.
The puppy appears to be asleep except her eyebrows give her away. They signal that she is following my every move. She is plotting another caper and is patiently waiting for me to quit writing, get up, and leave.

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”

That is their credo, their theme song, and the canine unspoken agreement.
If I’d let them get tattoos, that’s what they’d say.
But that statement gives ME a pit in my stomach. It sparks a crusty, old, unkind memory that hits me like a sucker punch.

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”, is a quote is from the cover of a book about dogs.
It’s kinda funny, but it got me to feeling and thinking, which makes me run to start writing. Isn’t it weird how something as innocuous as the title of a dog book can trigger an emotion?

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”
That is a declaration of ownership of…the scraps.
The stuff that is tainted enough that it isn’t fit for public consumption.
It can’t even pass the five-second rule.
Most likely the crap on the floor came off the bottom of someone’s shoe — literally.

“I call it! It’s mine!” That’s fine for Fido, but not for us.

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”
It is the cover page and the first rule in the Dog’s Life Handbook.
Not ours. Our first rule is “Call Your Mother.”

But what about us? How many times have you and I settled for the scraps in life?
From the blouse at Target that is marked down to 99 cents but is missing a button, (which as much as we say we’re going to—we never replace), to accepting pity sex from your ex-boyfriend?

That shitty “bridge” job that was just supposed to get you through the summer?
What happened? It’s five years later, why are you still there?

I’ve been so broke I have lived off scraps. Specifically, days of leftovers salvaged from one meal or my sister’s “doggie bag” from El Toritos. The irony of the name does not escape me.

I drove a piece of shit car that wanted nothing more in its life than to shimmy sideways.

I’ve also settled for the scraps of affection thrown to me in a dying relationship.
I’ve been seated at the table. I’ve enjoyed the love feast. But when I sensed the end, I did not push away and say my goodbyes with dignity. I dove for the scraps.
Ouch. Oh, hi Fido, funny to see you down here.

I have pretty healthy self-esteem, but there have been some glaring lapses.
I wasn’t alone. Gwen Stefani of the band No Doubt had a hit song “Bath Water” during that time.
Part of the chorus being: ‘Cause I still love to wash in your old bath water, Love to think that you couldn’t love another, Share a toothbrush….you’re my kind of man.’  UGH.

At a certain point, I’m gonna say around my mid thirties, I said: no more scraps.
And I meant it.

No more second-hand clothes, no more beat up chairs-full-of-promise fished out of dumpsters. Enough of the stuff left on the curb because it didn’t make the cut at the neighborhood yard sale. Enough of the sloppy seconds from lovers. I was finished being broke, I was done with settling.
I deserved better than that. I deserved the best.
The best love.
The best life.
The best-made plans.

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”
That is my dog’s credo, I’m clear about that now and they can have it.

Tell me, have you ever settled for the scraps?

Carry on,
Xox

Bleeding Magic and the Blank Yellow Envelope

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Two weeks ago I mailed my brother in Arkansas a birthday card.
That is unremarkable except for the fact that I may have forgotten to address it. Which these days is not that surprising. Recently, I have gargled with body wash, left my purse in my unlocked car overnight and put my phone in the fridge.

I got a text of the picture above on Tuesday, so two weeks after mailing it, with the caption: WTF?

From my brother, the most sceptical of sceptics. Here was this brainiac, computer nerd, prove-it-to-me kinda guy holding a blank envelope in his hand, asking me to explain how in the holy hell it had made its way to not only the state of Arkansas — but to his office?

Remember that thing I said about magic? How if you have it in one aspect of your life it bleeds into the other places. Magic doesn’t know boundaries. I love that about magic. It starts showing its face EVERYWHERE.

So, you think that’s pretty cool right? It looks like the card got wet and no trace of the address was left, OR a distracted sister forgot to address the thing and it still got to its intended destination.

Harry Potter’s owl dropped it off. That’s clearly the only plausible explanation.

Wait. Here’s more magic.

When the text arrived I was at lunch with my friend Kim. Kim is the Janet whisperer.
When I get wobbly — she sets me straight. She doesn’t take any of my shit. She quotes all of my insights back to me. Bitch.

Anyhow, at the very moment the text came through, Kim had just finished saying “Quit worrying! Your screenplay will get where it needs to go — NO MATTER WHAT.”

Just like the little yellow birthday card.
Magic.

So right now you’re asking yourself what is that? Is that an easily explainable mistake or the result of a clairvoyant postal clerk?  Nope. That’s just some damn good magic right there ladies and gentleman!

I’m sharing this because I’m sure I’m not the only one who worries about the how’s and why’s of life.

We gotta cut that shit out! Let the magic bleed all over the place!

Carry on,
xox

Just don’t expect crazy people to be sane (cause that’s crazy).

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You’re gonna love this essay by Danielle La Porte. I did. Keep reading and you’ll see why.
Then, Carry on,
xox


Just don’t expect crazy people to be sane (cause that’s crazy).
People are going to be who they are most of the time. In character, not out of character.

Guys with anger issues can complain about kittens and unicorns.

Folks who run a lot of anxiety will worry about the days of the week coming on time.

Positive thinkers figure that the train derailment saved them from disaster down the tracks.

Punctual people are punctual.
Sweet people are sweet.
Takers, take.
Givers, give.

People change and evolve. Breakthroughs happen. But hey…

Don’t expect crazy people to be sane (cause that’s crazy), or super emo girls to behave like stoics (did you think she wasn’t going to cry just this one time? Of course she’s going to cry. That’s how she is.) The guy who’s kinda wimpy? Well, he’s probably going to wimp out. That girlfriend of yours who runs on chaos like a truck runs on diesel? Ya, she’ll probably keep making choices that make chaos — she likes it that way. The overly generous soul, she’s probably going to be illogically generous and it’ll get her into some trouble — but most of the time it works. The friend who’s always late? Chances are they’re going to be…late.

People are — for better or for worse — generally predictable. An old gentleman friend used to say to me, “Well what do you expect from a pig, but a grunt?” Oink. Point taken. And, Eagles soar. And, you can rely on reliable people.

It’s useful to analyze the stuff of people’s character. Hunh. So why IS he such an asshole? Judgement is inevitable, it’s part of conscious discernment — but sometimes, it makes us a judgmental asshole.

There’s so much sanity to just flowing with someone’s predictability — their norm, their nature. Accept it. Forgive it. Just tolerate it; or peace out if you don’t want it in your life. But don’t waste too much time trying to change it.

All for Love,

Danielle

Doorbells, Crooks and Nay Sayers — Just Another Monday Night

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DING DONG.

What’s that? A door bell?

DING DONG.

It’s not our doorbell. Ours sounds like, DING DING DING DONG. DONG DONG DING…(It’s ridiculous, you can stand at the door, in front of someone, waiting for it to stop ringing. Sometimes they are long gone and it hasn’t finished announcing them yet).

DING DONG.

Wait, I’m dreaming. There’s a doorbell ringing inside of a dream. No door. Just a…

DING DONG.

OKAY! You have my attention!

I’m trying to remember, what does a doorbell mean in a dream? An opportunity? A new experience?

Or somebody trying to get your attention. Ah Ha!

What was going on right before the DING DONG? A voice asked inside of the dream.

Let’s see….

I was very upset about a false accusation. I had been denied a position I was seeking because of some accusations that were hidden away in my “file” from back in 1988.

“It says here you stole jewelry”, the “file keeper” revealed.

I felt the blood run out of my face, replaced by boiling rage.

“I did what?!!” I screamed. “I did nothing of the sort!!”

“Says here, four pieces. You stole four pieces of jewelry. We can’t in good conscience hire a crook, now can we?”

“A crook?!!”

I remember a tidal wave of emotions engulfed me. A surge of, Oh now EVERYTHING makes sense! Like some giant conspiracy that’s been running through my life, fucking things up, and THAT’S not true! I was a jeweler AFTER 1988 for almost twenty years! You’re a liar! This isn’t REAL!

But the most overwhelming emotion of all? Injustice. THIS ISN’T FAIR!!!

DING DONG.

My husband and I are the Norma Raye and Che Guevara of THIS ISN’T FAIR.
We will soap box stand and spark revolutions when the deck looks stacked in favor of a lie.

This runs heavily through our energy and at any given time we are fighting one or more wrongful injustices because that’s what happens when you fight lies and liars — they are attracted to you like moths to a flame.

This would be commendable if we had different lives as Union busters or Wall Street vigilantes.
Instead, it just brings us (mostly my hubby), but me too, injustices to fix. Wrongs to right. Tickets to fight. Lawsuits to win.

I believe thoughts become things. I know that to be true as much as I know chocolate has medicinal properties. And as of late, I’ve been working on purging the THIS ISN’T FAIR from my energy.

I think it fought back a little last night. Or at least, it came out from hiding in the shadows.

DING DONG.

Olly, Olly, oxen free! You can come out now where I can see you!

Do you have an idea of what’s running in your energy? I’ll give you a hint: Take a look at what keeps showing up.

Are you a problem solver? Problems.

Are you a nay sayer slayer? Hello, nay sayers.

Get it? Good. Me too!
Carry on,
xox

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

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

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